“Nice place.”
I pulled my keys out of my purse and stuck the key into the lock. “Uh, thanks. I like it.”
More like I loved it. I had worked my ass off for a year to save enough for a down payment. It was my first house, and I planned on living here for a damn long time. It was big enough to grow into, but not so big that I got lost with it just being myself right now.
Five years ago, I had driven past a for sale sign and instantly fell in love with this house. A ranch with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a huge backyard. It was an older house from the eighties, but it had been remodeled right before I had moved in. The previous owner had shown me photos before the remodel, and it was mind blowing realizing it was the same house I lived in now. Gone were the wood paneling, dated appliances, and long shag carpet covering the whole house. I wouldn’t even go into the ugly wallpaper that had been hung in the bedrooms and bathrooms.
I opened the front door and stepped into the entryway. I dropped my purse on the small bench by the door and held the door open for Playboy.
“Damn, darlin’. You’re living the good life.”
“Hardly,” I muttered. I basically had money for bills and an occasional pizza. That was it. “The kitchen is just through that way.” I nodded to the back of the house. “I’m just gonna go change quickly.”
Playboy looked me over. “There something wrong with what you have on?”
There wasn’t; it was just that they were my work clothes. Blue jeans and a white polo with the Holmes and Gains logo over my heart. “Just want to put something more comfortable on.”
Lord, I sounded like one of those girls from the cheesy nineties movies who coyly said they wanted to change into something comfortable when they really meant they wanted to go get all dolled up and sexy. Not what I wanted to do. Should it be, though?
Playboy chuckled and shook his head. “Whatever you want, darlin’.”
He headed toward the kitchen, and I ducked down the hallway to my bedroom.
I wasn’t changing into something sexy to seduce Playboy. Partly because I didn’t have anything that could possibly seduce Playboy. Work polos, t-shirts, jeans, and leggings were the extent of my wardrobe. Even my underwear and bras were boring.
I grabbed the first pair of black leggings in my drawer and pulled on a black Def Leppard sweatshirt. We were totally going for comfy and not impressing Playboy. For all I knew, he was going to eat half of my pizza, tell me he hadn’t found anything about Billie Jean, and then leave.
Five minutes later, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dragged a brush through my hair, and tossed it into a messy knot on the top of my head.
“Simplicity at its best,” I mumbled.
I wandered barefoot back down the hallway and into the kitchen.
Playboy leaned against the kitchen sink, a piece of pizza in one hand, and his phone in the other. He looked down with his thumb on the screen, scrolling.
That was a sight I never thought I would find.
Playboy in my house looked like a real life fantasy. I had seen this porno before.
The hot guy casually in the kitchen, minding his own business when the blonde bombshell walks in and blows his socks off. And his dick.
My cheeks heated, and I knew my B.O.B. was going to be getting a workout tonight after Playboy left. I filed away the thought of blowing Playboy in my kitchen for later.
“Pizza okay?” I called.
Playboy’s head snapped up. “That was quick.”
“Just needed to change.” How long did he think it took to change clothes? Maybe he had thought I was trying to sex myself up for him?
His gaze quickly moved up and down my body. He seemed to do that a lot to me. Was he mentally hoping I looked better or did he like what he saw? He was so hard to read.
“Want a beer?” I asked. I pulled open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine. “I also have wine and water.”
“Beer is good, pretty girl.”
I blinked rapidly at the new endearment. I had been “darlin’” since I met him. Now, I was pretty girl. Not that I really cared about my looks, but it was nice for a guy like Playboy to call me pretty. Though it could be another endearment he used with other women. It sounded different from “darlin’” though. It didn’t sound like something he said without even thinking about it.
I grabbed a beer from the bottom shelf and tried to not think about analyzing him calling me “pretty girl.” He grabbed the beer from me and twisted off the top. I turned to the counter and set down the bottle of wine. I had no idea what to say to him. I grabbed a wine glass and thought maybe a little liquid courage would help me to start talking more.
“You got plans tonight?” he asked.
I filled my glass to the brim and glanced over my shoulder at him. “Uh, pizza, wine, and TV. Those were my plans for the night.” I twisted the cap back on the wine and turned to lean on the counter. Cheap wine in hand and a view full of Playboy. “Why?”
What exactly did he think my plans were for the night? I didn’t think I gave off the vibe of being a party girl or anything. This was me during the week.
It was also me on the weekends.
Boring and predictable.
Playboy shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t barging in on you when you had other plans.”
I shook my head. “This is exactly what I planned on doing.”
Playboy took a bite of his pizza. He took a long pull off his beer and set it on the counter next to the pizza. “I haven’t found anything about Billie Jean yet. I talked to the guys around the clubhouse but none of them saw or heard anything.”
My hopes sank, and I sighed. “That sucks.”
“Plan on going to the club tomorrow to see if anyone knows where Billie Jean is.”
“I already talked to them,” I reminded him. He needed to find Billie Jean, not do the same things I had already tried.
“They might remember something more when I talk to them.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really?”
“Got a way with people, pretty girl.” He pointed to the patch on his chest. “This right here tends to make people spill their guts with little persuasion.”
Well, he might have a point there. A couple of the girls from the club I had talked to before, but most of them had looked at me like I was an outsider they didn’t have a spare second for. “We could go tonight to talk to them,” I suggested.
We didn’t need to wait ‘til tomorrow. Each day that went by with no word from Billie Jean, my hope of finding her faded a little bit more.
Playboy shoved the last bite of pizza into his mouth and shook his head. “Monday night. Half the girls aren’t even working. Tomorrow, most of them will be back.”
I hadn’t thought about that. “Oh, well. I guess you’re right.”
Playboy chuckled and grabbed his beer and the box of pizza. “Lead the way to the TV, pretty girl. I don’t want to get in the way of your plans tonight.”
“Uh, you’re staying?” I really thought he would eat, tell me what he needed, and then leave. It was a surprise that he wanted to stay and watch TV.
“For a little bit, if you don’t mind. Jinx was watching some trash TV when I left.”
I grabbed the bag of breadsticks and snagged a couple of napkins with my pinky. “Uh, do I want to know what trash TV is?” I laughed. I led the way to the living room and set the breadsticks down on the coffee table.