Pepsi, who’d been sprawled along the back of the couch, startled at the sound of her voice. The orangey hair rose on his back as he slid off the couch then hit the lamp on the end table as the feline shot toward the nearby recliner that had belonged to her parents. The lamp, which was heavy enough to dent the floor, tipped over.
Bridget cursed and shot forward, catching the lampshade. Dust flew into the air and crawled right up her nose.
She sneezed.
And her sneezes weren’t the dainty kind that was barely a gasp. Poor Pepsi went bonkers at the nasal explosion and then darted under the coffee table. From there, two greenish-gold eyes peeked out.
Once Bridget had the lamp righted, she backed away slowly, before any more furniture attacked her. As she stood there, she couldn’t help but look around her cramped living room and think of all the space in Chad’s.
She cursed again.
I will not think about him or his wonderful apartment where there was actually room to walk around. And I definitely won’t think of his magical mouth and tongue. The mantra had so not been working since Friday night. All day yesterday she’d avoided Shell’s calls just so she wouldn’t be tempted to tell her about what had happened between her and the city’s beloved playboy.
But once her brain went there, it really went there. Memories of how he’d looked at her, the feel of his lips against her skin, and those fingers plagued her every step.
Stopping in front of the door, she squeezed her eyes shut and her hands into fists. Were her legs trembling? Gawd. Yes. They were. For probably what was the hundredth time in the last thirty or so hours, she told herself that she had made the right decision by bailing on Chad. Come morning, he would’ve surely regretted bringing her home and honestly, in those few hours, she had already started to feel way too much for him.
Way. Too. Much.
Love at first sight didn’t exist but lust at first sight did, and powerful lust could quickly turn into something more. The last thing Bridget needed was a broken heart to go along with her broken wallet.
She opened the door and quickly kicked her leg out. Pepsi, as expected, bolted toward the door. When he met the pink-and-blue-plaid obstacle, he sat down and put his ears back.
“Sorry, bud—it’s for the best.” Bending down, she grabbed the Sunday paper just as the door across from her swung open.
Todd Newton was doing the same thing, except Bridget had a hell of a lot more clothes on than him. Dressed only in his red-and-blue-striped boxers, he did have a body made for walking around in next to nothing. Normally Bridget was all about catching a glimpse of him, but after seeing Chad’s insane stomach, she barely raised a brow or felt any kind of stirring or interest.
Glancing up as he straightened, he sent Bridget a warm grin. “Hey there, Miss Rodgers.”
Bridget smiled. “Morning, Todd.”
His gaze dropped to where Pepsi glared at Bridget’s leg. She sent him another smile as she precariously moved her leg out of the way and shut the door just as Pepsi pounced. The damn cat hit the door with an audible thud.
Sighing, she shook her head as she reached down and picked him up. “You’re going to have brain damage along with a weight problem if you’re not careful.”
The cat let out a pitiful meow.
Pepsi was what Bridget liked to call plump. In reality, the cat was about the size of a wiener dog and probably outweighed one. One would think the cat wouldn’t be so damn fast, but the thing was a ninja when it came to trying to escape.
Cradling Pepsi in one arm and the newspaper in the other, she headed into her small kitchen. Putting them both down on the table, she punched the coffee machine on and then opened up a can of kitty chow.
Bridget’s mom would’ve shit a brick if she knew she let Pepsi on the kitchen table, but it wasn’t like anyone other than Bridget was eating off it. Her last serious boyfriend had a huge problem with it, too.
Her ex had problems with a lot of things.
Taking her cup of coffee, which was more sugar than anything else, and the bowl of food back to the small round table, she sat down and eyed the cat. “Hungry?”
Pepsi sat back on his haunches and very slowly lifted a paw, as if to say, Hand it over, lady, you’re working for me.
She sighed and leaned over, putting the dish in front of the feline. Sipping her coffee, she cracked open the newspaper and scanned the headlines. It was the same as it was every day—economy in the crapper, presidential candidates promising the world, and some poor soul murdered the night before. Was it any wonder she skipped to the gossips?
She really shouldn’t look, especially after Friday, but her fingers had a mind of their own, flipping past the finance and sports sections.
Bridget gasped and nearly dropped her cup. With a shaky hand, she put the cup down.
STAR PITCHER GAMBLE GOES FOR A TRIPLE PLAY AND SCORES!
The headline alone was bad enough, but the picture—dear God, there was a picture?—caused an irrational surge of hot jealousy.
In true black-and-white grainy glory, in the middle of three very scantily clad women sprawled across a bed, was one Chad Gamble, grinning like he’d just hit the jackpot of half-naked chicks.
“Holy crap.” Bridget grabbed the paper and lifted it closer to her face. None of the women were Stella, the model who apparently wanted a repeat of last weekend, but any one of them could easily pose for lingerie, which they were for the entire world in a bed with Chad.
A blonde had her hand on his chest. Another had her leg thrown over his. The third had her hands in his fabulously messy hair.
The article really didn’t say much other than the “wild Nationals playboy strikes again.” The picture was taken at a Hyatt in New York City within the pass week.
Bridget had no idea how long she stared at that picture, but the elated faces of the women blurred. Chad, well, he also looked pretty damn happy grinning from ear to ear. What man wouldn’t be?