He couldn’t remember how they’d ended up in bed that first night, but if he closed his eyes and traveled back in time, he could almost feel his hand moving down her body. He remembered exactly how she had felt, how she’d tasted. He also remembered he hadn’t just had sex with Jenny. He’d made love to her.
In a world of men claiming to be oversexed, Ben figured he must be on the other end of the curve. Undersexed. Oh, he thought about it now and then, but logic always won out. An affair or a weekend fling wouldn’t be worth upsetting his ordered life.
Plus, if he were honest with himself, if he couldn’t love like he had with the redheaded girl, he’d rather not settle for what he’d had with Marti. The act without passion.
And now, before Monday, he had to push a memory back into the shadows of his mind and never mention it to Professor Clark. They were different people now.
Benjamin decided the next month would be the longest of his life.
Chapter 5
Ketch
Afternoon
The phone on the windowsill woke Ketch with a jolt. “Crystal,” he whispered. No one ever called on weekends but her. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe?
Not likely.
Step back into reality, Kincaid, he told himself.
Dragging his hand through his hair, he groaned when he passed over the bandage, then glanced at the stranger sitting at the head of his bed.
For a moment he looked at the girl as if part of his dream had decided to come alive. In the cloudy daylight she looked more like a vision than a real person.
Faraway lightning flashed across the huge windows and reflected as she opened her green eyes. Rainy-day green, he thought. Beautiful eyes looked at him, and he knew she’d been watching over him.
Then he remembered her name. Tuesday Raine, the waitress from the bar. She had walked him home and she’d apparently stayed.
The phone rang again. He ignored it.
“Anyone ever tell you that your name is a weather forecast?”
She rolled those jade eyes and didn’t bother to answer.
For no reason at all, he smiled.
In the shadowed light, she was prettier than he remembered. No makeup on now. Her hair pulling loose from the ponytail. Her clothes wrinkled and spotted with blood. Her sad stare seemed bottomless.
The phone rang for the third time.
He grabbed it and sat up. “Morning, Professor,” Ketch said as he noticed the caller ID.
“Good afternoon. I hoped you’d be home. Not much roofing happening during thunderstorms.”
“Thanks for calling in the weather report, Professor.” Ketch sat up and fought down the urge to swear. He liked his chemistry teacher, but he didn’t feel much like talking. “Can I help you with something?”
“I’m calling to ask if you’re interested in helping with research for a project I’m working on. Pays twenty an hour and it will look good on a job application after you graduate. I’m working with Miss Clark in biology, so this could mean two letters of recommendation in your file.”
Ketch lost interest in the conversation as he watched the girl stand, stretch, and walk to the bathroom. She’d spent the night, probably to make sure he didn’t fall out of bed. He seemed to have developed a habit of toppling over.
He pulled himself back to the phone conversation. “This research have anything to do with construction?” Ketch had helped the professor with two projects on his little farm. The guy might be a solid teacher, but he was worthless with power tools.
“No, but it pays good. Probably take about ten hours a week from now to graduation.”
Ketch took a deep breath. He’d make twice that in construction, but this would be something different, and most of the Randall projects were waiting on lumber. The brothers wouldn’t mind if he took a few days off.
“I’ll take it.” He’d been carrying a full load of classes, working thirty hours a week, but right now giving up all free time seemed like a good idea. “Sleep is overrated anyway.”
Professor Monroe laughed as if he thought Ketch was kidding. “Great. We’ll talk more Monday, about ten.”
The phone went dead, but Ketch didn’t move. He just stared at the closed bathroom door and wondered what he was doing with the barmaid in his room. He wasn’t sure what had happened. He didn’t remember a fight, but his body felt beat up. His boots and jeans were off, but his underwear was still on. She’d been sitting up when he woke and looked to be fully dressed.
Ketch had a blurry memory of falling. Once, maybe twice. No memory of having sex. If that had happened, it had been so long since he’d hooked up, no amount of alcohol could have erased that memory.
He did recall seeing Tuesday at the bar last night. He’d danced with a blonde once while he was counting down bottles of beer. He thought he remembered leaning on someone as he walked home. It had to have been the girl in the bathroom. The blood on her shirt was probably his. But she was small. She couldn’t have held him if he passed out.
She opened the door, her hair was combed and her face damp. Without looking at him, she circled the room, picking up her shoes.
“I don’t do one-night stands,” he said as his foggy brain tried to put pieces of last night together.
“Neither do I, mister.”
He’d heard rumors and doubted her story, but then he didn’t have a story to remember. He took a stab at what had happened. “You brought me home last night, right?” Looking down at all the Band-Aids on his leg, he added, “And doctored me.”
“Right, mister.” She sat on the corner of the bed and tied her tennis shoes. Her voice sounded cold, and she was acting like she wanted to get out before he yelled at her.
The “mister” was starting to bother him. Like she thought him old or maybe she didn’t know his name.
“My name’s Ketch Kincaid.” His head was pounding now.
“I know. I heard your friend call you that.” Still not interested in talking.
“I’m in my last semester of college and I work for the construction company below us. I don’t usually drink. I was just in a really bad mood. I got dumped.” Too much information, he decided.
“I don’t really care.” She stood to leave. “Look, Ketch Kincaid, nothing happened between us last night. Not that anyone will believe it. Say whatever you want. I’m beyond being hurt by rumors.”
It seemed to be storming in his brain as well as beyond the windows. She was mad for some reason, and he wanted to throw up. “If nothing happened, how come you spent the night?”
She leaned so close her nose almost touched his. “Because you told me you didn’t want to be alone and I know how that feels. I felt sorry for you.”
For a moment he just stared. Ashamed of his weakness and fascinated that she’d listened. He couldn’t deny hating to be alone. He could say that he was drunk or kidding, but they both knew the truth. He had said the words real enough to make her care.
“Thanks for staying,” he finally said, his tone low and honest.
Surprise flashed in her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
He stood, took one glance at his bloody jeans and grabbed a pair of sweats from a shelf. “I’ll walk you out, or drive you home. I seem to remember walking here last night.” He tossed her a clean T-shirt. “I owe you one.”