Page 3 of Flirting With Fire

I sucked in a breath. I really didn’t want to lean up against a man who pushed all my buttons, even if he was an angry douchebag. But I had to hang on somewhere, so I wrapped my arms around his waist, and the horse moved off. Once I figured out the horse’s rolling rhythm, I found the movement quite hypnotic.

“You know horses?” he asked.

“Not since I left here,” I said. “Not much call for horses in Chicago.” I could smell the lemon-scented shampoo and leather, which was a weird combination and strangely alluring. I told my dick to pipe down. I didn’t need the other guy getting the wrong idea.

He chuckled. “I guess not.”

“Do you always ride?”

“I’ve got a truck for work and a mountain bike. I can’t stick a ladder on the horse.”

It was my turn to cackle, imagining the horse carrying a ladder.

“Not one car has passed us,” I said after a moment of comfortable silence between us. “I always forget just how quiet the town is. It amazes me every time I return. Then I go back to the city, and all the traffic seems normal.”

“I love it,” the guy murmured. “I feel like I can breathe here.”

I knew just how he felt, but I still loved the city. “Have you lived anywhere else?”

“No. But my sister lives in Denver. I visit her occasionally.”

He didn’t seem to need directions to my mom’s house, and neither did he want to talk, so I focused on looking around me,anything to distract my dick that was very happy pressed up against this stranger.

“My Uncle Mark lives in Denver, too. He’s a cop,” I said.

“I know.”

Of course he did. My mom loved her brother. I thought he was a bit of a dick, but we both loved Lindy Jones and respected each other for that.

As we ambled down the main street, I felt a sudden lump in my throat. I was back in Charming. I’d lived in Chicago for years but never lost my love for my hometown.

The guy waved at a couple of women gossiping on the sidewalk. They waved back, then blinked as they noticed me behind him.

“Meyer? Is that you?”

I groaned. I really didn’t want them to call Mom before I got home.

The guy answered before I could. “It is, Mrs. White. I picked him up outside of town, but it’s a surprise for Lindy.”

She chuckled. “Mum’s the word. Good to see you. Meyer.”

“Good to see you too, Mrs. White,” I called, waving at her.

“Do you remember her?” the guy murmured.

“Nope, not a clue,” I confessed. “Thanks for giving me her name. Who is she?”

“Mrs. White. Skip’s mom.”

“Skip?” I furrowed my brow. “Skip White? I don’t remember…. Oh wait, yes I do. He was the kid who got Ginny Isles pregnant. Small, weasely guy.”

I was rewarded with a chuckle. “Skip was nearly six feet tall when we were teenagers. Small and weasely is not how I’d describe him.”

“He was always smaller than me,” I said. “Is he still in town?”

“Yeah, he and Ginny married after they finished high school.”

“Shotgun wedding?”