Page 4 of Pearl

“I guess they don’t.”

“Umm, they need a cold wash.” She points at the bags like they’re going somewhere and I hide my smile. She’s so fucking adorable. “Otherwise, the colors will run and the fabric will shrink. We found that out the hard way last year.”

“Got it.”

“You can tumble dry them, but not on a high heat, for the same reasons.” She bites her lip again, and my eyes dart to her mouth. Her lips are a berry shade, plump and full. I imagine her on her knees in front of me… Wait, what the fuck?

I clear my throat, my dick hardening at my illicit thoughts. What is wrong with you?

“Okay, thanks for the tip. I don’t want to suffer the wrath of my daughter if I shrink the team uniforms. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I’m not sure it’s Phoebe’s wrath you have to worry about.” Her voice is soft and warm.

Our eyes meet again; this time, the energy between us practically crackles.

I palm the back of my head, and her eyes follow the movement. Should’ve grabbed a damn shirt.

“Well, it was great meetin’ you, Pearl. I’ll be sure to stop by Saddle Hop sometime.”

“That would be great —I mean, it was good meeting you, too.” The pink rising up her cheeks suits her. It only enhances her skin. “It’s nice to put a face to a name.”

I smile like a ridiculous fool. Is she flirting with me a little? “That it is, Pearl.”

I’m not one of those guys who thinks every woman is in love with him just because they’re having a conversation, but the signs are all there.

Her eyes darting over my body when she thinks I’m not looking.

Cheeks flushing.

Breath quickening.

She’s stammered half a dozen times.

She’s fucking played with her hair.

Her lips keep parting, but no words come out.

I swallow hard.

That doesn’t mean she’s into you, you old fool.

I give her a warm smile as she turns to leave, and I don’t mean for my eyes to drop to her ass in those black jeans, but they manage to do it all by themselves.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I need to take a cold fucking shower. I slap myself the second she’s out of sight, reprimanding my brain to get it together.

I don’t know what the heck is wrong with me, but a cold shower should sort it out. I adjust my dick, not proud of myself. This is Phoebe’s best friend, not some random woman.

Granted, Pearl is beautiful, and part of a motorcycle club. One I’ve heard all about. I’m not gonna deny it’s sexy, imagining Pearl mounting a motorcycle. I have no fucking words for that.

I’ve ridden all my life. Anything that moves. Motorcycles. Horses. Race cars. I love adrenaline.

I’m not a thrill-seeker just for the hell of it. Because I had a highly stressful job on an oil rig, riding in some form became my therapy whenever I had time off. Horses are probably my favorite thing about living out in the sticks.

When I told Pearl about taking over the Peters’ farm, it was a dream come true. I get to be closer to the two women in my life; my other daughter, Penelope, is only an hour away. She has a new baby: my grandson Oliver, who’s only a few months old. The fact I get to be close to both my girls and my grandkids, and start a new life here, is exactly what the doctor ordered.

At fifty-four, I’m no spring chicken, however, I keep fit and look after myself. I always have.

Once I’ve dragged the bags to the laundry, I start the first load, ensuring it’s on a cold wash. I smile to myself when I remember Pearl’s instructions. She’s a sweetheart. I’ve been around the block a time or two, and maybe that’s where men these days are lacking. I never had a son, but I’d sure as shit slap him upside the head if he didn’t know how to use a fucking washing machine, or worse, expect the woman of the house to do it. I’ve been by myself for years now, so I rely on no one. Would it be nice to share the company of a woman again? Sure. I lost my wife, Phoebe’s mom, to ALS six years ago. We had separated before her diagnosis, but I was with her every step of the way until the end. I haven’t purposely stayed single; it just worked out that way.