Perfect Summer (18 page)

Clint kissed her fourth knuckle and placed her hand on the hard bulge at the front of his pants. “Does it feel like I have a problem with the way you look?”

He was rock-hard. She swallowed the last of her tears. He wanted her…
her
. The girl who had been chosen last for everything, had never had a date that wasn’t paid for by her mother, and had been dumped by her one and only boyfriend.

Clint Grayson wanted her.

“True, you aren’t stick-model thin, but you weren’t meant to be. You’re curvy and built like a girl. I like it…a lot.” His Adam’s apple bobbed twice, and he tried to pull her hand away, but she wiggled out of his grasp to keep it where it was.

“Don’t.” His voice was an octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat. “I mean don’t.”

“You want me.” Summer said it out loud just to hear the words. “You aren’t being nice.”

“Nobody’s that nice.” He took a deep breath and stared down at her like the hero of the movie looks at his heroine.

She chewed on her top lip and felt herself fall into his eyes.

“I love when you do the lip thing.”

“What?” She did a lip thing? Her eyes crossed trying to look at her lips.

“Chew on your bottom lip. God, it drives me crazy.” Gently, he removed her hand from the front of his pants, brought it to his mouth, and kissed her palm.

Doing something sexy now would be a good idea. She sucked in her lip, racking her brain for something seductive.

“Could you stop doing that?” His breath was coming in short puffs. “I’m in some pain here.” Slowly, he eased back to his side of the truck.

“What about the jeans ripping?” She looked down at her NYDJ tummy-sucking-in jeans. He’d need industrial strength machinery to get through those. And then there was the problem with her panties. She hadn’t done laundry in two weeks. “Okay…here’s the thing. I was planning on doing laundry tonight so um…I’m wearing, you know”—her whole body cringed—“ugly panties, so maybe you could keep your eyes closed while you’re chewing.”

Clint laughed. “Damn, you’re good for me. Great body, killer lips, and you make me laugh, which is a bonus.”

“What happened to the jeans ripping? I thought we were going to…you know.” She tried to wink, but it probably looked more like a tick.

Clint shook his head. “We’re in the school parking lot, in broad daylight. You have a reputation to protect. You deserve better than the front seat of a truck. You should have a bed—a king-sized brass one or a four poster covered with thousands of fluffy pillows.”

“I have a four-poster bed and lots of pillows.” Summer sat back and looked around. Damn, he was right. She’d forgotten they were in the student parking lot. Thank God it was empty. “You’re right, but it would have been nice. I’ve never done it in a parking lot…” She shrugged. “Or in daylight.”

“I still don’t get how you ended up with him.” Clint shook his head. “I’m trying to understand.”

His life hadn’t been easy, but she doubted he would ever know what it felt like to be awkward and chubby and always on the outside looking in. The mortification that had been lurking in the back of her mind leapt to the forefront. Was it so wrong to want a few more minutes to revel in the wonder that he wanted her? “Can we
not
talk about this…please?”

“I’m sorry this hurts you, but I don’t get how someone as wonderful as you ever went out with him. Did he tell you he was dying and his last wish was to date the perfect girl?”

Summer knew better than to mistake pity for flattery. Before Clint went any further, she needed to tell him the truth. “My mother bribed Jack to marry me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Clint cocked an ear in her direction. Surely he hadn’t heard her correctly.

Summer flopped back against the seat, rested her head on the window, and closed her eyes. “My mother paid Jack to date me, and he convinced me to buy him a little red sports car after he proposed.”

“Jesus, I thought my family was screwed up.” Clint mashed his lips together. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Trust me, Lillian Summerville Ames is in a league of her own.” Summer banged her head against the window a couple of times. “I had no idea. That’s the kicker. I thought he loved me. This handsome, smart, charming man wanted me. I should have known better.”

Clint couldn’t see Summer falling for Jack. She was nobody’s fool.

“How did you find out?”

“About a week before the wedding. I answered his cell phone because he was in the shower. It was his stripper girlfriend.” Summer shook her head. “I feel like such a fool. How could I not have known?”

The fact that Jack had been showering at her house made Clint want to hit something, preferably Jack.

Clint covered her hand with his and squeezed. “It took guts to call if off.”

“That’s the worst part. I didn’t. Instead of confronting him, I looked the other way. I wanted a baby. I had myself convinced that he was my only chance at a family.” Summer smiled sadly. “I traded in my self-respect because I was tired of being alone.”

Her vulnerability made him ache.

She swallowed, and her face glowed red. “The world moves in twos. Being part of a couple was nice. For the first time, I felt like half of something instead of a whole bunch of nothing. I didn’t find out until later that my mother had set up the whole thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Cute guy asks me out because my mother set it all up. I should have put two and two together sooner, but for once, the world was laughing with me instead of at me. I know it’s shallow, but I liked it.”

“Did you love him?” Part of him wanted to know, but another part was afraid of the answer. It occurred to him that he’d never had a conversation this honest with anyone. Jesus, he wanted her to say no—even if she had to lie.

Summer exhaled slowly. “I thought I did, but I'm not sure I believe in love. It doesn’t exist anymore. My grandparents loved each other, but that was a different time. True love has gone the way of typewriters. It’s a relic from a bygone era.”

With her sunny personality and genuine love of people, he wanted her to believe in true love and Cupid. “My aunt and uncle are still in love after fifty-five years.”

“See what I mean? I think it’s a generational thing.” She turned to him, and a faint smile played at the corners of her mouth. “My mother’s parents were in love. They met at a concert. My grandfather saw my grandmother across the sea of people and bam—love at first sight. He bought a rose from a vendor, walked right up to her, and asked her out. From that day forward, he brought her a rose every day. He didn’t like the long-stemmed ones because they were too delicate and didn’t last. Grandpa Henry liked the native varieties because they were perfect in their imperfection and beautiful without being showy—just like my grandmother.”

“She never got tired of it? Or expected it?” It was a sappy story but Clint had to give the guy some credit—he had moves.

“No.” Summer shook her head. “Monday through Friday, Papa Henry got home from work at exactly five-thirty, and I remember my grandmother primping—you know, brushing her hair, fixing her makeup, and changing into a clean blouse so she could look her best for him. They loved each other.” Summer’s eyes crinkled in the corners, remembering the past. “The day after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, he bought an heirloom rosebush and planted it next to the front door so she’d always have roses. He died two months later. The day of his funeral, the plant bloomed for the very first time. And now, I’m killing the poor rosebush.”

“Did Jack bring you flowers?” It was none of his business, but he wanted to know.

“Never.” She pointed at Clint. “There were gifts—always things that I liked. At the time, I thought it meant we were into the same things, only now I know it was staged.”

“How?”

“Jack played me. It was my naïveté that led me to believe he really knew me, you know, got me. I thought we had so much in common. Music, wine, movies, but it was all a setup. My mother gave him a list of my favorite things so he could conveniently like the things I liked and hang out in the places where I’d be.”

Clint stared out the window over her left shoulder. He had one of those lists, but he’d never read it. Did that make him less slimy?

“Love like my grandparents’ doesn’t exist anymore.” Summer’s eyebrows arched. “Have you ever been in love?”

“No. When I was a kid, my uncle told me that everyone has a ‘one’—the one person who understands them, knows their faults, and loves them anyway. While I’d like to believe it, I don’t know. Love works for other people, but not me.” Clint had never gotten close to anyone. It wasn’t that he was gun-shy or had commitment issues; he’d never cared enough about someone to get to know her.

“I like that. Love works for other people.” Summer glanced at her watch. “Crap. I should have been home hours ago.”

“I guess dinner is out?” He wasn’t ready to call it a day. She was easy company, and the only plans he had tonight were takeout and an empty house. And he couldn’t leave knowing she was sad. He wanted her to laugh and smile.

“I hope not, but if I don’t get home soon, it’ll be burned.” Summer chewed on her bottom lip.

This was the third time she’d deflected his invitation to share a meal.

Summer checked her watch. “I have debris cooking in the Crock-pot, and I have to make cupcakes—”

“Yes, I’d be happy to come for dinner.” Clint smiled. “Normally, I’d fish for an invitation, but you had me at cupcakes.”

“What if I hadn’t offered?”

“I’m not above begging. I don’t get homemade food often.” He shot her a soulful puppy-dog glance.

“Do you practice that look in the mirror?”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “Did it work?”

Summer rolled her eyes. “Let me see your phone.”

“Why?” Clint handed her his iPhone.

“So I can put my address in the map app.” She typed in her address.

“I have a map app?”

“Right here. See? It looks like a map.” She leaned over and showed him. “I’ve set up my address in the driving directions section. All you have to do is touch this icon to update your current location and hit start.” Summer handed him the phone.

He got a whiff of her chocolate chip and furniture-polish-scented hair, and his skin tingled. His eyes went to her lips. He’d had a taste of her naughty mouth and wanted more…so much more.

She continued. “That way you can go home first and change.”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” He looked away from her mouth. “What’s wrong with this suit?”

“It’s a little formal for cupcake decorating.” She pointed to his lapels. “You’re working for your dinner, and chocolate frosting stains. We have twenty dozen cupcakes to frost.”

“That’s two hundred and forty.” He yanked the handle, and the door swung open.

“You get a gold star in math.”

“Do you have an espresso machine?” Clint slid down. It was going to be a late night, and they needed caffeine. This was a way he could help.

“Yeah, it’s right next to my diamond-studded refrigerator.” Summer grinned.

“I’ll bring mine.” Clint clicked the key fob to unlock his car. “What time?”

Summer looked at her watch. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour and a half. Anytime before that.”

Forty minutes later, Clint stood, freshly showered with a towel wrapped around his waist, and contemplated his outfit options. His enormous closet was a sea of the best clothes money could buy. On the entire wall to his left, perfectly tailored suits in sedate grays, blues, and blacks were hung exactly an inch apart on wooden hangers. Below the suits, drawers were filled with workout shorts, tee shirts, socks, and underwear. On his right, silk and cotton shirts and slacks, organized by color and style, ran the length of the wall. At the back, floor-to-ceiling shelves held dozens of pairs of shoes. Just because he liked nice things didn’t mean he was a clotheshorse. And he had exactly the right outfit for every occasion—except cupcake decorating.

After some indecision and a pile of discards, he finally decided on jeans, an OU tee shirt, and Reeboks. Gazing in the full-length mirror in his bathroom, Clint scanned his appearance one more time. This wasn’t normally what he’d wear on a date, but Summer wasn’t his normal girl. She was special—easy to talk to, funny as hell, and she didn’t want anything from him. He smoothed the shirt into the waistband of his jeans. Tonight there would be no media or pretense, no apprehension about making conversation—just an interesting, sexy woman making him dinner.

Clint winked at his reflection. With any luck, he’d get his hands and his mouth on her again and turn dinner into breakfast.

***

Lilly turned into the driveway of her house. The sprawling, twenty-acre estate on Lady Bird Lake had been in Franklin’s family since well before the Zilkers had donated a giant chunk of land to the city so they could have a park named after them. The white Georgian house had stately black columns, wraparound verandas, and enough old-money elegance to lend her the air of breeding valued in society. Speaking of society, Leticia’s car was parked outside the garage.

Wonderful. Just what Lilly needed…company.

She pressed the large button on the garage door opener clipped to her visor. The single-bay wooden door rolled up, and her empty space waited for her car. She pulled in. Altogether, she had five vehicles in her seven-car garage, but she really only drove the BMW. Why did she have so many when she only needed one? It was wasteful.

Why hadn’t she noticed until now?

With one hand, she popped the lock on the seat belt and opened the car door. Slowly, she turned her bottom, keeping her knees together like a lady, and eased her legs out of the car. Her feet went splat on the cement. Looking down, she noticed that she was still wearing the ugly, black rain boots Davis had slipped on her feet.

Davis…just his name brought pain so deep that tears weren’t possible. She felt like she’d left the living, breathing part of herself back in Lambert with him. He’d broken up with her. It was for the best. She was too old, and he was too young. He deserved better…someone his own age who could give him babies. A nice girl, a cross between Giada De Laurentiis and Laura Ingalls Wilder, who would garden, can jams and jellies, make deviled eggs, love Bobby the peacock, and have dinner waiting on the table at six o’clock.