Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (25 page)

He doesn’t want her.

Millie could scream. She could stomp and yell
and curse Heaven, literally. And get campus security called on her.
Nothing like a set of bars to help a girl pout.

AJ took her by the shoulders and turned her
to face him. “This isn’t the answer, Millie. We still have
time.”

Millie pulled away. A lamppost nearby
flickered to life making her realize it was getting dark. Her eyes
burned and her breath steamed.

We still have time.
Didn’t feel like
it. This match may as well be water falling through her fingertips.
The more she tried to shape it, to hold it, keep it, the more it
fell away. Like the only reason she was there was to feel it wash
over her. Leave her wet and confused.

Empty.

Her vision blurred a bit. Millie blinked it
back to focus on the pair inside the glass paned doors. Michelle’s
flirtation visibly sagged. A sulk began to take over the line of
her posture and tilt of her face. Rejection. Millie almost pitied
the girl.

Things would have been a lot easier for
everyone if Michelle had gotten what she’d wanted. Even for Brooke,
eventually.

“Let’s get out of here,” Mille said and
looked at the ground.

AJ wrapped his arms around her, held her a
moment then guided her back to the parking lot, not a single
I-told-you-so in sight.

Chapter Nineteen

What had Brooke gotten herself into?

Saturday morning, Brooke pulled her car into
Elliott’s driveway fifteen minutes early. He had said he was ready
when she called ten minutes ago. His voice had sounded groggy but
she believed him and hoped he would have the same thing she did on
his mind. Namely, a few stolen minutes, naked, in his bed? Or on
the sofa, or on the floor? Up against a wall? Three days without
him might as well be a year. She needed more.

Smiling, staring off into space, replaying
every minute over in her head didn’t help time fly. Last night
she’d slept like a kid on Christmas Eve. Visions of orgasms dancing
in her head. “This is not a date,” she reminded herself, killing
the engine. “This is business.”

Business. Once she felt his skin against hers
again, the heat of the most exquisite passion she’d ever
experienced again, it was back to business. Strictly. Brooke’s
insides quivered as she knocked on the door.

Elliott answered the door and the music of
Brooke’s libido screeched to a stop. What on earth was he wearing?
Better yet,
why
on earth was he wearing it?

His oversized slime green fanny pack nearly
blocked her way past him when he asked her to come in. The thing
cinched his faded, bleach spot splattered black sweatshirt that
might have read Jimmy Z at some point in time. The slime green
vinyl of it—unfortunately?—didn’t match his camouflage print cargo
pants. His usual brown tortoise shell frames were gone. Instead, he
sported bulky wire rimmed frames circa the Barney Miller Show.

“What are you wearing?” she asked. Where had
her hot, naughty lust slave gone?

“You like it?” Elliott grinned wide and
closed the door behind her.

Brooke clamped her gaping mouth shut,
reeling. Was he seriously going out in that getup?

If he noticed her speechlessness, he didn’t
show it. Brooke barely took in the brief tour of his home. The
décor was simple, tasteful, masculine. She hardly processed any of
it, even the outfit, until he headed for the door.

“Brooke, you’re not going to wear that, are
you?” he asked.

He wasn’t serious. Was he? She couldn’t help
it. Isn’t that what she was about to ask him? “Um, yes, I am going
to wear this,” Brooke stammered.

She didn’t even need to look at her plain
front khakis and fitted cable-knit sweater to know, she looked
great. She’d better look great after two days combing her wardrobe,
planning the perfect casual-but-alluring-yet-serious outfit to
arrive in.

“Do you dress like that for all your yard
sales?” Elliott said, eyeing her.

Brooke bristled. “Absolutely. Why wouldn’t
I?” Why wouldn’t he?

Elliott shook his head. He rubbed his chin in
thought. “You’ve been paying too much.”

“What? Paying too much? No. I’m a very good
negotiator. I pay fair price for my merchandise. And then I put a
modest markup on them.” Just because he wanted to be Indiana Jones
and Last Year’s Curtains didn’t mean he was some expert. “You’ll
see. I haggle with the best of them.”

Elliott grinned again. “You must be laughing
your ass off at me right now. But, trust me. It takes more than
good negotiating at these things. Image plays a huge role in
selling price. Perception is reality.”

“Yeah, right.” Brooke snorted. “Are you
trying to tell me if I show up looking like some fresh out of the
trailer—whatever it is you are trying to look like—I’ll get better
bargains?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t even
smiling anymore.

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” she said.

“Says you. Have you ever tried it?”

“Uh, no. I wouldn’t even go out looking like
that for Halloween. You couldn’t pay me to.”

“Mmmm. Sounds sexy,” he said. “Tell you what.
I’ll make you an offer. Dress like I am. No, wait, hear me out.
Dress down, just this once, just for today. Go yarding. If I’m
wrong, prove it. I’ll even cover all your costs for whatever you
want to buy today.”

Now he was really being ridiculous. She
wasn’t going to dress like him, like that. “No way.”

“Why not? Scared?”

“Uh, no. I don’t have the time to go home and
change anyways.” She didn’t even own anything remotely useful for
what he clearly had in mind.

“I’ll get you something to wear.”

Tapping her watch, she shifted one hip out.
“Interesting offer there, Handsome. But, I’ll have to take you up
on it some other time.”

He wagged a hand her way. “Uh-uh. Give me
five minutes,” Elliott said, then disappeared around a corner.

So much for the dirty, hot, take me now sex.
Damn it. Nothing sounded better than getting him out of those
clothes. The far wall near the stairs would be perfect for a quick
liaison, too. Those pants off, fanny pack out of site, sweatshirt
pulled up to expose tasty inches. Her hands pinned above her head,
his arms cradling her legs, pelvis diving deeper and deeper. A
shudder ran through her limbs, then halted. A raggedy red flannel
shirt whipped through her fantasy, evaporating it.

“Here. Put this on,” Elliott said. Enthusiasm
lilted his voice. “And I found this, too.”

Another fanny pack? How could he possibly own
not one, but two fanny packs? The second one was worse than the
first. The thing was actually sequined, hot pink flowers on gold
sequins. Red flannel and gold sequins? “I’ll look like a clown. A
trailer clown.”

Elliott chuckled deeply.

Brooke shook her head. Had to let him down
gently because he was popping with eagerness. “Elliott, I can’t
wear this. Thank you, really, but we’ll test your theory another
day, okay?”

The day after hell froze over, perhaps? The
day she clinically lost her mind, maybe?

“You’re scared,” he said, but not daring her
this time. He said it thoughtfully. Quietly. Like a scientist
making an observation.

“No. I’m not scared, per se. I just don’t
believe your theory and don’t care if I’m right or wrong. In fact,
even if you are right, I think I might prefer higher prices over
not looking foolish.” Imagine what Debbie would have said about
seeing her fanny packing instead of Juicy couture-ing!

He plopped a dirty, trucker style ball cap
on. “So, you think I look foolish.” A hint of humor teased his
voice.

“Well,” she said. Should she risk being
honest? One more hot naked night could be at risk. She turned to
the door. They really needed to leave if they wanted to get there
before peak rush. “A little.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind,” Elliott said,
following her. “In fact, I kind of like it. I find it interesting
how different people treat you, look at you, or don’t even look at
you at all. It’s my secret disguise. No one recognizes who I really
am and I’m able to be a little invisible for a little while.”

“Invisible?”

He did give a very different impression, that
was for sure. Made her wonder, would she be so hot for him if she’d
met him looking like this? Would she have run instead of walked
away that day at the bookstore?

“Interesting.”

Elliott locked his front door. The morning
wind whined. “Should I follow you?” he asked.

“Huh?” He was pointing at his car, three down
from hers. Brooke swallowed. “No, I thought we could take mine, if
that’s okay. Unless you think you’ll want to leave early or get
bored.”

He tucked the red flannel and sequined fanny
pack under his arm and followed her lead. “Bored? Yarding? With
you?” He winked. “Not a chance.”

Was ‘yarding’ common slang for yard sale
shopping? No, she wouldn’t ask. She went any deeper and she’d end
up in Star Wars collectables territory or something. It was the
tiniest bit endearing. And the last thing she needed was more
sighing inside over his winks and quirks.

Ignoring the warmth spreading through her,
she drove them to their first stop off of Prater Way. The flannel
and fanny pack sat in Elliott’s lap. Every now and again, he’d fold
the shirt or toy with the fanny pack, make all sorts of obvious
noises to flirt with her attention. The whole charade should have
been annoying the hell out of her. Instead, she found it difficult
to keep a straight face. So much for strictly business.

If he kept it up, she’d start thinking he
looked pretty cute in those grandpa glasses. She could almost see
him, older, on a porch swing at sunset, his arm around her,
whispering all sorts of skin tingling nothings in her ear. The
warmth heated up a notch.

Elliott pointed out the house, just in time.
Any more driving and she might have pulled over and asked him to
neck. Neck? Yeah right.

“Last chance,” Elliott said, waggling the
costume before leaving it on the seat.

Brooke only grinned and they strode to the
sale. They walked together but split up upon arrival. Brooke
focused on product and did her best not to notice what Elliott did.
Part of her itched to stand back and observe. Did people really
treat him differently? Or was this part of the kid in him having
fun.

The kid in him. Did that make her too old for
this, or him too young for her?

Trying to focus, she went to a far table.
Novels. Dishes. Nothing she could use. A skinny-nosed, spiky-haired
woman sidled up to Brooke at the table. She inched closer and
closer, peering over Brooke’s shoulder. Brooke moved to another
stack. The woman trailed after, seemingly interested in whatever
Brooke might get to first.

Brooke found that a superior glare usually
discouraged these types, but it had no effect on the spry little
woman. Shaking her head, Brooke bent to a box and decided to ignore
her and her bird hair. Maybe some wide arms and pointy elbows would
send her the right kind of back-off body language.

No such luck.

Finally, Brooke gave up browsing until the
woman left. She stood to the side, near a table of knickknacks and
scanned the small area. Three other people milled about. Elliott
was talking to the apparent homeowner. He held a silver box
carefully in one hand, gesturing animatedly with the other. The
host nodded, smiled, spoke. Curious, Brooke drew closer.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s actually a Tiffany
piece,” the host said, rubbing his silver haired head. “Even if
it’s worth much, there’s no one to leave it to.”

Emotion shone in the older man’s eyes.
Brooke’s chest squeezed a little. She couldn’t see Elliott’s eyes,
only his somber nod.

“No grandchildren, huh?” Elliott said. He
traced the lid. “It’s really a nice piece. Where did your wife get
it?”

“Oh, I gave it to her. Twenty-first birthday
present. Found it in some old shop down in Kanab, Utah. I knew
she’d like it, Tiffany or not.”

“I’ll bet she did. It’s beautiful.” Elliott
turned the silver box with care. He lifted the lid. Closed it.

“Oh, yes, she loved that thing. I’d have
liked to give it to someone if they’d enjoy it like she did.”

“What did she keep in it?”

Brooke held her breathing in a little,
worried suddenly for him, for the old man. They were such personal
questions and the man had obviously really adored his wife. Was it
wrong for her to eavesdrop like this?

“Candy. Chocolates, mostly. She was a real
nut for sweets. Had them stashed all over the house. This one was
by the bed. I’d hear her hand scratching around the table in the
middle of the night digging for something sweet.”

Elliott chuckled along with the man. “That
story makes it even better. I think I know someone who would really
love this. How much can I give you for it?”

The old man put up his hands. “Not a penny.
It’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh, I can’t do that. Please, let me give you
at least what you paid.”

“Nope. You’re money isn’t good here. Knowing
someone will get a little bit of happiness from it like Opal did.
That’s payment enough for me. Opal would have wanted it that
way.”

Elliott bowed a little at the man. “Will do.”
They shook hands. “Where are you moving to? Someplace warm?”

The older man laughed and shoved his hands
into his pockets. “Don’t I wish it. No, I’ll be heading on up to
Montana. Outside of Billings. Friend of mine has a place. Good
fishing.”

Brooke turned away then walked away, her face
hidden in her hands. The hiccup of a sob threatened the top of her
throat. Emotion, raw and sudden, welled over her. She busied
herself over a cardboard box, wiping her stinging nose and eyes
before their moisture spilled for someone to see.