She normally wouldn’t wear the darn things at all except her work had strict dress codes about things like naked legs and arms. As a fundraiser for Children’s Choice, a nonprofit foster care advocacy group, she could hardly blame them for requiring a little modesty in the workplace, so she complied as best she could. Tights were her alternative to pantsuits, which always made her feel like a politician.
“What are you doing?” Irritation tinged Sean’s voice. He was a man of little patience when it came to the demands of being a woman. “Nobody cares about your stupid socks.”
“I care.” With a quick, furtive glance to make sure all the restaurant patrons were intent on their notes-of-oak wine and happy hour appetizers, she shimmied out of her tights. It wasn’t her most elegant moment, but then, no one had ever accused Lexie Sinclair of being classy. Sean was by far the more sophisticated twin. Better dressed, too.
Wiggling her toes as they gratefully escaped the confines of the stretchy nylon, she bent over and shoved the wadded tights into her purse, where they could nest with all her other flaws. It was only when she sat back up that she noticed Fletcher’s horrified expression.
“What?” Her eyes widened. “Is something wrong?”
He pointed an accusatory finger at her bag. “You…those…the restaurant.”
Sean released a snort of laughter. “You’re scarring Fletcher with your disgusting table manners.”
Awesome. Here she was, trying to prove to Fletcher—and herself—that she could hang with the boys, and she’d just undressed herself in public.
To cover her discomfiture, she smiled brightly and said, “It’s okay, Fletcher. I promise they weren’t touching any lady parts—at least not directly. I’m fairly sure I remembered to put on underwear today.”
Fletcher coughed heavily and turned away. It was a cue Lexie knew well—one that signaled his discomfort with the conversation and indicated immediate retreat.
Growing up, Fletcher had often been holed up at the Sinclair house, so much so that he’d had his own place setting at their table and a toothbrush in the bathroom. As Lexie bounded through adolescence, Fletcher had been there for each painful moment. And since neither of her parents shied away from making puberty dinner table talk, Fletcher knew the exact date she started her period (October 16, 1999), how far she was allowed to go with a boy (second base, but only over the bra), and how much exploratory touching was normal for a girl her age (she refused to revisit that conversation ever again).
Understandably, there had been a lot of coughing and turning away on Fletcher’s part. It was a wonder he’d been able to survive the whirlwind that was the Sinclair family. She was a much less reserved person than him, and she’d barely made it out alive.
“Now that you’ve ruined both of our appetites,” Sean said smoothly, “should we order another bottle of wine?”
Lexie nodded eagerly, grateful for the distraction, but Fletcher had other plans.
“Can’t,” he said. “I have to run.”
“Look—I’m sorry about the tights, okay?” What was it about this man that made her feel like a baboon waving her bright red butt in front of an uninterested male? “I promise to keep it buttoned up. I’ll even talk politics if you want. You can tell me all about the Republicans.”
“No, it’s not that.” This time, a genuine smile crossed Fletcher’s face. The Sinclair family was unquestionably liberal, right down to their free trade shoes. For all their powers of corruption, they’d never been able to turn Fletcher. He was a rock like that. In a lot of ways, actually. “It’s the pager. I’ve got a thing. Raincheck?”
“Sure, Fletch. We can do this again next week. I’m free Thursday and Lexie has no life any night of the week.” Sean rolled a quarter over his knuckles, not the least bit dismayed at his friend’s imminent departure. Lexie suspected he knew more about the clandestine pager meetings than he let on, but since the two men were ironclad bosom bows, she’d never been able to coerce a word out of him about it.
Typical. Silly Lexie, always tagging along, unwanted and usually in the way.
She stuck her tongue out at her brother. “I have a life. I just always make room in it for my two favorite boys.”
Fletcher mumbled something incoherent and ducked his head. He dropped a handful of bills on the table—way too much for his portion, considering he rarely drank. He preferred sitting back and watching as Lexie and Sean made themselves ridiculous and bickered into oblivion. Which they did. Constantly.
With a hand raised in casual farewell, he left.
“You know, I’m half tempted to follow him one of these days.” Lexie watched him go, disappointment pulling at the corners of her mouth. So much for making her inroads. It could be days before she saw him again. “Do you think I could effectively tail someone?”
Sean snorted. “No. You have as much finesse as a drunken elephant. And I don’t think you should go sticking your nose in Fletcher’s business without his permission. You know how he feels about you.”
She sat up straighter and tossed her longish blond hair over her shoulder. “No, I don’t, actually.” As far as she could tell, he bounced between indifferent acceptance and mortified horror. So…pretty much how most people felt. “Are you going to finish that drink?”
Sean sighed and pushed the glass across the table, where her greedy hands awaited. “I can’t believe you took your clothes off at the table.” Before she could open her mouth to defend herself, he laughed and shook his head. “Never mind. I can believe it. And that’s why Fletcher refuses to reveal his secrets to you.”
“Because I lack finesse?”
“No. Because you’re you.”
She let out an irritated noise and promptly drowned every last one of her sorrows in her glass. She couldn’t count how many things in her life had been denied her by virtue of being herself. Success. Respect. Dates.
But after twenty-six years of practice and still not getting it right, who the heck else was she supposed to be?
Keep reading In the Clear.
Other Books by Tamara
Montgomery Manor Series
If I Stay
When I Fall
Because I Can
Getting Physical Series
The Rebound Girl
The Derby Girl
The Party Girl
Games of Love Series
Love is a Battlefield
The World is a Stage
Partners in Crime Series
Confidence Tricks
About the Author
Tamara Morgan is a contemporary romance author of humorous, heartfelt stories with flawed heroes and heroines designed to get your hackles up and make your heart melt. Ninety-nine percent of her information comes from television, movies, books, and all other pop culture activities that limit the amount of time she has to spend both in pants and in polite company.
Her long-lived affinity for romance novels survived a B.A. degree in English Literature, after which time she discovered it was much more fun to create stories than analyze the life out of them. She lives with her husband and daughter in the Inland Northwest, where the summers are hot, the winters are cold, and coffee is available on every street corner.
I’d love to hear from you!
Website: www.tamaramorgan.com
Twitter: @Tamara Morgan
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: Author Tamara Morgan
Goodreads: Tamara Morgan
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN-10: 0991050002
ISBN-13: 9780991050000
Copyright © 2014 by Tamara Morgan
Editor © Deb Nemeth
Cover design © Travis Berry
Cover photograph © omgimages | istockphoto.com
Digital Edition 1.0
All rights reserved. Where such permission is sufficient, the author grants the right to strip any DRM which may be applied to this work.
Off the Map (Winter Rescue #2) Page 14
