Play Fling

by Amber Scott

  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 n
ot 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.

  Ostrich lady moved in.

  On an irritated sigh, Brooke strode to the end of the drive. She wiped at her eyes, blinking the sting away. She breathed in and out. In and out.

  More shoppers arrived and crowded where they could, worried they might miss something someone else had found. A small laugh coughed out of Brooke, relieving the pressure in her chest. She stole a glance Elliott’s way. No one went near him. In fact, one rather single minded-looking woman walked right around him without notice. Like he was part of the sale. Furniture.

  Maybe it was the way he’d treated the sale host or maybe she felt like an old stick in the mud that made her think, how nice to be invisible to all the elbowers.

  Once Elliott made his goodbye to the host, handshake and all, they got in the car to leave. Wordlessly, Brooke grabbed her costume. When he opened his mouth to speak, she shrugged and put the car in drive.

  “If this were yours, what would you keep in this?” he asked after a moment, gesturing to his new box.

  Part of her was disappointed he’d skipped teasing her about her change of heart. “I don’t know. I don’t really keep things,” she lied, scared his question was filled with hope and meaning.

  “Really? Not even mints or earrings or straw papers twirled up in little springs?”

  “Straw papers?” She kept her attention on the road.

  He laughed. “Long story. Seriously though, there must be something.”

  Sure there was. But the idea of telling him such little intimate details made her heart ache. Those were the things you were supposed to find out about the love of your life, like that man and his wife. Things Jason should have known.

  Elliott shouldn’t be the one interested. He shouldn’t be the one making her hopeful. He shouldn’t be making her wish for the impossible. “I don’t know,” she said.

  She turned the car left onto Pyramid Way, headed out toward Spanish Springs and wished the next sale were closer. She shouldn’t adore the fact that he was asking her, or be half hoping if he’d gotten it with her in mind.

  “I’d keep wintergreen lifesavers in it,” Elliott said. “The big ones you can get at the grocery store bins.” He examined the lining of the box. “They crumble in your mouth if you suck on them long enough.”

  Lifesavers? Brooke bit her inner cheek. If he kept all this cute up, she’d be pulling over and making out with him on the side of the road for anyone to honk at. What was it about him that got her so bundled up with emotion and girlish longing?

  That boyish smile? His unabashed sincerity? Or maybe it was just the way he could look at her and make her feel like she was all he saw. Whatever it was, this spending the day doing business together had danger written all over it. Her heart was still too vulnerable from the divorce. No, that wasn’t it. It was still vulnerable from the idea that love still existed for her, that Jason had only been a detour and that her path to love remained open and waiting once she found her way to it.

  She pulled to a stop at the light. Her belly was tight and the back of her throat was tighter. The warm air from the heater began to feel too hot and she thought about rolling down a window. The next sale was two blocks away. Ditching this rotten mess of emotions would be so much easier if they’d taken separate cars. Why, oh, why had she fooled herself into thinking she could handle this proximity?

  Should have stuck to simple sex. Gorgeous, hot, delicious trysts until she got her fill and said goodbye.

  Before she could dwell or dwindle any further, the next yard sale came into view. She parked, put on the red flannel, the awful fanny pack then strode to the sale. Elliott was close on her heels and silent. Contemplatively silent. One of those silences when you just knew someone was sizing you up and strategizing a move.

  She couldn’t take any more moves. Her heart was beating too hard and his smile did too many marvelous things to her. She had no business dreaming of a future with him. So, she’d stop. She’d find four or five things to sell if it killed or maimed her, drive him home and leave. By herself.

  On her own.

  Alone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Elliott shoved his hands in his pockets and walked slower. He hung back a little and watched Brooke begin her attack at the sale. Like a force of nature. One table, the next, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings or the crowd. Her arms crossed over her so tight they might have fit a straightjacket.

  She adjusted the fanny pack,
tugged at the flannel’s collar. Probably scared to death walking around in those clothes. But damn it if she was going to let it stop her.

  He almost laughed. She made a nice little spectacle in her getup. The fanny pack sequins glinted in the snatches of sunlight. The hat sat on her head like a box, and the shirt could’ve been a dress. He wanted to laugh. But the large lump in his chest wouldn’t move over for anything.

  His mind reeled. Uh-oh. Lookout, folks. He had fallen in love with her.

  This would not be pretty. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Not this fast. This intense. But there it was, the rush and crash of undeniable joy and fear.

  If Brooke found out, even suspected, he had zero doubts she’d drop him like fire. She viewed their agreement—viewed him—as an indulgence. She didn’t want to let him in. Probably anyone else, for that matter.

  She must have lots of sturdy reasons why, too. There were probably a few excuses he should have, as well. But, he’d done more than let her in. From that first day at the bookstore, he’d laid himself wide open. Now he knew why.

  She was raw, hidden beauty, through and through.

  Whatever had happened between this sale and the last, she’d changed. So had he. Or had he before and was only now seeing it?

  It hurt. His chest, his heart, his shoulders, his mind. In that sweet, achy, wishful way of childhood. He should have known from the start. Should have seen it coming. She did things to him.

  Being around her grounded him. Made him bigger than he used to be. Braver. No, that wasn’t it. More insightful? Suddenly, life, work, the past, his future all fit together like an intricate mosaic enigma that had waited for her to arrive and turn his perception just enough to see it.

  They’d only known each other a handful of weeks. Yet he felt he’d known her all his life.

  Days in bed pouring his heart out like a fool. He should have recognized it then. That invisible pull to her, from the start, pulling like some addiction. So strong he couldn’t ignore it. So fresh and real, he’d run from her after that first night.