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softly snoring at his feet, and Tuesday was snuggled up against his chest.
He certainly didn t mind being alone, but there was something to be said for having the right to touch
another person. Just running his fingers along her back felt good. Tuesday woke up the same way she
did everything with lots of words. She was saying something about the hair on his legs and he was
only half listening. Normally he did find her interesting and entertaining but it was too early, so he just
nodded occasionally and let her do her thing.
I m hungry.
Of course she was. Why does that not surprise me? I think you have a tapeworm. It s the only
explanation for how you can eat so much and be so damn skinny.
That s the most beautiful thing you ve ever said to me.
You re welcome.
Tuesday yawned and sat up. But unfortunately I need to go. I have to watch the race. Sundays are not
my day off.
Diesel remembered that all too well. Sucks to be you. I can stay in bed all day long if I want to. Not
that doing so by himself sounded all that appealing. Not after having Tuesday draped across him.
Tuesday under him. He felt an erection stirring to life.
She was well aware of it, too, because she dropped her hand down onto him and squeezed. Ooh,
don t tempt me. I really do have to go.
Then quit touching it. Or he was going to make her late. He leaned over to kiss her, wondering if he
could talk her into a quickie.
But she squawked and rolled away from him. No, I m resisting you and your penis. She stood up
and stretched.
Diesel let her go without a fight, not wanting to be responsible for interfering with her work. But she
came out of the bathroom, her clothes bundled in her arms, back in his T-shirt and shorts, but now
clearly with a bra on, he was tempted to tumble her back onto the bed with him. Shit. I just realized I
have to drive you home.
Being a gentleman is a pain in the ass, isn t it? she told him, smirking. I told you I should have met
you at the church last night.
Giving a mighty yawn, he forced himself out of bed. No.
No, what?
Just no.
He pulled jeans and a T-shirt on and he was ready. Alright, let s go.
Can I wear your clothes home?
Of course. Though I d kind of like to see you wear the riding boots with my basketball shorts.
No, thanks. She headed down the hall. Can Wilma go with us?
Sure. But she ll want to sit on your lap.
That s fine.
Most women didn t like his dog. Wilma was big and slobbery and on the jealous side. Yet she and
Tuesday seemed to really dig each other.
They went through a drive-thru for his coffee and for a breakfast sandwich for Tuesday. He did like
that she had an appetite. He wouldn t have to feel guilty if he ever wanted ice cream. Assuming they
saw each other again. Which he definitely wanted to happen.
So you busy next weekend? he asked her as he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building.
No.
Want to do something? He wasn t one to beat around the bush.
She smiled, then leaned around Wilma and gave him a kiss. I d like that, Daniel. Give me a call.
Then she was out of the car and he was left sitting there with his dog, wanting an aspirin for his knee
and for her to be back in his passenger seat.
Wilma, I may be in trouble here.
His dog licked his face before giving a bark.
Tell me about it.
Tuesday reached the door to her apartment and turned back. She waved to him with her crop, a grin
on her face.
Oh, yeah. He was in trouble.
TUESDAY stared at the three manila folders in front of her, a thumb drive resting on the stack, and
tried to force herself to open one of them. Inside was the last article her father had been working on
before he d gotten too sick to use his computer. The sports editor had asked her to finish it as an
homage to her father.
She couldn t even bring herself to look at it. She didn t know what it was even about. She just knew
she couldn t handle it. So she ignored it. Again. Opening up her word processing program, she stared
at the blank screen, at a loss for an idea of what to write for her daily blog. It didn t have to be
elaborate, just newsworthy or at least gossip-worthy. But all she could think about was that she had
been in Diesel Lange s bed and had the sore vagina to prove it.
It wasn t a productive line of thought.
Yet it was the only one she had. Sipping her now-cold coffee, Tuesday made a face. She needed to
troll the Internet and see what was going on in the world of racing. Or she could just continue to stare
at the screen and remember what it felt like to come at the hands, or tongue actually, of a very skilled
man.
There was a knock on her door. Given that it was Sunday, it couldn t be a deliveryman so she was
betting it was either her next-door neighbor, who frequently got bored with his retirement and wanted
to chat with her, or Diesel. Which meant it had to be her neighbor, because why in the world would
Diesel be at her door twenty minutes after he d dropped her off?
He wouldn t and she was a lunatic for letting her hopes jump up for even a split second.
Glancing at the manila envelopes again as she headed toward the door to answer it, she had a
disturbing thought. What if she were distracted by Diesel as a way to distract herself from her father?
That would really make her one messed-up chick, which she refused to believe. Diesel was plenty
distracting all on his own.
She opened the door and discovered her mother standing on the other side, a basket in her hand.
Hi, sweetie, I brought you lunch. Her mother breezed in, fluffing her short gray hair with an elegant
hand.
Tuesday s heart sank. Seeing her mother made her feel guilty. Her mother had lost twenty pounds in
the months since her husband s diagnosis, and she had been thin to begin with. She d stopped dyeing
her hair and had abandoned her Pilates class. Tuesday thought she looked fragile, tenuous, and that
upset her. It upset her even more to realize that she hadn t called her mother in days because she
didn t know how to deal with her own grief, let alone her mother s.
Hi, Mom. She leaned in and kissed her mother on the cheek. You didn t have to do that.
Keeping busy is good for me. Her mother gave a brief smile. Besides, I ve baked every other day
for the last two weeks. I need someone to give all these desserts to.
Her mother had always been the type who headed to the kitchen when she was stressed or upset.
Tuesday preferred her own method of turning to liquor but she did understand where her mom was
coming from. Mom, you know I love dessert, but don t you think eventually all the butter and sugar
you ply me with will catch up with me?
No. You have my metabolism and it s never caught up with me.
That s true. In fact, you could stand to gain back about ten pounds. Tuesday opened the basket.
There were chicken salad sandwiches, fruit, and brownies inside. Her mouth started to water.
So I hear you had a date, her mother said, ignoring the weight comment.
Brownie halfway to her mouth, Tuesday paused. How on earth do you know that? The woman was
a little scary.
I hear things. So how was night at the races? And more important, how was Diesel Lange?
She so didn t want to go into this with her mother. It was fine. He was fine. He s nice and we re
friends. Who did wicked naked things to each other in the dark.
Well, that s good. I heard he was at the wedding brunch with you as well. Does this mean we can
finally start planning a wedding of our own?
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