Text Me Part 4

Well, that one she could answer honestly. She tapped a finger to her chin twice. Should she?

Yeah, I'm here. What's up?

I sent u 3 msgs and got zilch Sorry. Busy.

No prob. Did u read them?

Yeah. U met running chick. Who's that?

U don't remember?

Should I?

The girl at the park. One I see running all the time.

Abby stared at the screen, realizing she was about to cross that line again. It was wrong to snoop, but the guy was talking about her. He had been nice-and funny. In fact, he hadn't seemed the least bit torn up about the ex-girlfriend. Amanda. Gorgeous Amanda.

Oh yeah. What about her?

Amazing.

She stared at the display as warmth flowed into her body. She grinned. He thinks I am amazing? Really?

He wasn't so bad himself. She typed in a few letters then backed them out. What would a man say to compliment another? Would it be considered gay to tell him he was pretty amazing too? Yeah, probably.

How would a best friend respond? Okay, well, technically the person he thought he was texting was a seriously s.h.i.tty best friend, so she wasn't sure it mattered what that man would say. She keyed in the next thing that came to mind.

No warts or missing teeth?

Seconds ticked by.

No and not any moles either. So far. I haven't checked everywhere yet.

Yet. Abby tapped her feet in a quick happy dance. That sounded promising. Hmmm. So, he wanted to check her for moles? She grinned. Now there was a new game. She shoved the reminder of his recent break-up aside.

LOL. Good luck with that.

Abby snickered. This was fun. Dishonest, but fun.

U don't think I have a chance?

Of course he had a chance. In fact, if he'd made the move the other night and actually gone in for the kiss, she might have ... what, let him check her for moles? Of course not. Well, she wasn't sure. She clicked at the keys.

Go for it, man. Screw Amanda She didn't feel the least bit regretful about that statement. Nothing dishonest there. She meant it. He deserved better.

Amanda who?

Chapter Seven.

Carter watched ESPN highlights and drank the last beer he'd pulled from the fridge, which happened to be the only beer in the fridge. Actually, it was the only thing in the fridge at all, other than takeout from Hunan Joe's. He wasn't sure how long the box had been there but the contents couldn't be edible. Surely sushi had a finite expiration date and, judging by memory, it was overdue. Best not to look.

Preseason highlights were on for baseball and the Astros looked ... pitiful. He didn't care. He'd watched them for years and they always turned it around eventually. Who knew when it would happen?

The tickets sat on his coffee table, a reminder of how badly he'd tanked with Amanda. The message from Jackson glared at him as if to say sayonara, sweetie. He should be remorseful, or at least miss her. He didn't and that seemed a little strange. In fact, he was ... relieved. Which was even stranger. Was that callous? Or had she merely met expectations?

Jackson was right about Abby. He should go for it. And he would. Tomorrow. Twice in one day would be creepy. He'd taken the dog to the park but didn't bother to search her out.

When the highlights were over, he picked up the new phone and pecked another message to Jackson before heading to bed.

Don't 4get about game Sat.

He didn't wait for an answer; he was too tired. He wished he could say work had been a drain and he'd put in a rough day. It wasn't true, though. All of his days were rough, and this was no exception. The only difference was his mood. It had lightened just a bit after his dinner with Abby. He tore off his clothes, dropped them in the closet, and crawled into bed. Sleep came easily.

It never occurred to Carter that Jackson hadn't answered the earlier text until he was on his way to the ballpark. Work had been stressful the remainder of the week; piles of contracts and meetings that promised significant growth in his fledgling customer list had snowed him under. Not to mention the weather had turned ugly and, other than racing outside with Ruckus, he'd barely stepped foot past the door of his apartment. He'd searched for Abby a couple of times while out. Had she stopped running? Or was she avoiding another meeting with him? Probably just busy.

Maddie had growled at him every time he showed up, and it was evident her solitary confinement had worn her nerves thin. Fortunately, the boot on her foot would be off in a week and she'd be able to move around again. That would improve her mood. He shrugged as he drove. Maybe she lived alone because she was perpetually grumpy. Ruckus seemed happy and loved though, and was getting easier to corral on their walks. That would be over soon. He'd have no excuse to scour the park for Abby as she did her run and that was disappointing.

He braked at a light four blocks from Minute Maid Park and sent a text to Jackson.

Meet me by the gate at the east entrance.

The light turned and he continued to the closest lot and parked. His phone beeped as he walked toward the field. He looked around for his friend's familiar face. Nothing.

It wasn't like the guy was hard to find either. He was three inches taller and as big around as a string, not an ounce of fat on him. Not much muscle either. What he lacked in physique, he gained in personality though. Carter hated to admit it, but his best friend had a flair for flirting and could charm just about anyone he met.

Sorry, man. Can't make it. Work thing. Maybe next time?

c.r.a.p. If he'd known earlier, he would have given the tickets away. The extra one in his hand would go unused this time. He cursed again.

Oh well, no reason to waste both. He strode in and watched the game-alone. Thankfully, the Astros won. He thumbed a quick message before leaving.

U missed a great game. Ur off the guest list now.

No reason not to put a guilt trip on him.

Yeah, listened to it while I worked. Can't believe they waited until the sixth inning to make a run. How was it?

Carter stubbed his toe on the curb as he crossed to the parking lot where his car waited. He swore, the adrenaline of victory waning under the pain. The prior day's weather had wet the concrete such that it smelled damp. Still, the faint aroma of barbecue at the bar down the street masked it enough to tempt.

He considered going for ribs and a beer then shrugged. He, too, had work to get done.

Awesome. They're out of town for two weeks to Seattle now.

He dropped the phone into his console and drove home with the intention of firing up his laptop for a few hours. Maybe he'd stop and ask Maddie if she wanted to go to the next game. She probably needed to get out. h.e.l.l, he could just give the tickets to her and let her take someone else. Or he could take someone other than Jackson. There was a thought. He grinned and flipped on the turn signal. He suddenly had a need to spice up his apartment.

With plants.

Other than the shrill of sirens from the cars tearing out of the police department, Abby hadn't seen a lot of excitement for a weekend afternoon. Of course, she over-thought the implication. Was this the sign of a business slack that could be trouble? She had no idea, but she hoped it was only the prior day's rain that had potential customers sidetracked.

Still, she'd been able to listen to the game and now was whistling to the blare of Miranda Lambert's latest tune. Actually, she alternated between singing the parts she knew and whistling the ones she didn't. With no customers, she wasn't worried about offending.

The display shelf by the counter had to be rearranged to make room for twelve bridal bouquets and boutonnieres for the Taylor-Babbinet wedding. She grappled with baby's breath and roses, gasping then cursing when she caught her finger on a thorn.

"Dammit! Missed that one." Abby thrust the blood drip on her fingertip away from the lace ribbon and leaned over the counter for a clipper to cut the little b.u.g.g.e.r. Her fingers wouldn't-quite-reach.

"Whatever it is, I'll get it for you."

She jerked upright and dropped back to the floor. As she whirled to see who had entered while she danced and whistled, her elbow snagged a crystal vase and water sloshed onto her pants. The vase teetered, threatening to fall.

"Uh-oh." Carter apprehended the vase just before it tumbled from the edge. Unfortunately, the entire contents had already dumped onto his shoes-and pants.

"Holy c.r.a.p, you startled me." Abby scrambled to collect the flowers and tossed them on the counter before heading to her stock room to get a towel.

"Sorry about that."

"Did you-" She stopped herself from finishing with have fun at the game?

She hadn't wanted to see him and have to set the record straight, but here he was. In the flesh. "Um, you want to buy more flowers for your girlfriend?"

He snickered. "Nope. Over. Done. Stick a fork in her. I was just out and about and thought I'd get some plants for my place."

"No flowers? We have some great arrangements over there and they smell wonderful."

He briefly glanced where she pointed but shook his head.

"Flowers die too fast. I want something that will last-that I can't kill."

"Okaaay. Well, almost anything can be killed with the wrong care. Plants are kind of a personal thing. If you get ones that fit your habits they flourish. So, are you high maintenance or low and easy?" She meant to say low maintenance and easy-going, but it came out different.

"Hmmm." Carter rubbed a finger and thumb across the leaf of a braided money tree. "Easy? I guess but not that easy. High maintenance, definitely not. Not sure what you mean by low but I'm willing to give it a try."

Then he had the nerve to grin. Seriously?

"Low maintenance and easy-going, goofball. As in, don't give me something I have to water every day because I'll probably forget. High maintenance would be someone that has a set routine and never varies from it. I once knew a guy whose entire life revolved around his watch. His alarm went off at 6 a.m., he showered until six fifteen. He dressed in fifteen minutes and promptly brushed his teeth at six thirty, following with a comb through the hair at six thirty-five. He left work on time and ate dinner at seven every night regardless of where or with whom. He couldn't handle variations. He could do high maintenance."

Carter grinned. "Sounds boring."

"You have no idea." Yikes, did she really say that? She thrust a hand over her mouth and tasted blood from her finger. Should she add she once considered marrying the bore?

He lifted the money tree and inspected the pot. "I guess he penciled in s.e.x around nine p.m. on Wednesdays and Sat.u.r.days so he could be promptly asleep by nine thirty? Did he also kiss good-bye at six forty in order to be out the door by six forty-one?"

He did not just say that. Blood dripped to the floor, reminding her she still needed to dress the wound.

"I wouldn't know." Technically, she did know and he was spot on, but for some reason that was TMI at the moment. There was no reason to discuss something that had been over for two years. She pulled a paper towel from the roll on the counter and wrapped it twice over the thorn p.r.i.c.k then cupped it in her fist. "A guy that can handle the high maintenance type-"

"Of plant."

"Yes, of course, the high maintenance type of plant-can probably go with something that needs to be watered more often and on a set schedule. Those kinds of plants wither quickly if their schedule isn't kept up and they have to wait for attention. They're more finicky and needy."

"Needy for attention," he repeated with his back to her as he bent over a fern that perched on the floor.

"Yes, as far as care goes." He baited her with an innuendo. In a way, it was entertaining. Also dangerous. With his back turned, she had ample time to soak in the way the jeans slung low on his hips and cupped gently against areas that-her eyes jolted upward as he whirled to her with a wide grin.

"What about you?"

Her mouth went instantly dry. "Me?" she squeaked.

"Yeah, what would you suggest? High maintenance or low? If you were choosing a plant, which one would you go for?"

"Well, I'm not a good judge. I work here every day and can pamper them as much as they need."

"Do you?"

She had the distinct impression he meant something else, and she wasn't sure what. "Do I what?"

Her knees wobbled when Carter strode closer, pulled the towel from her hand, and wiped the blood gently from her skin. "Do you pamper your plants? Do you give them the attention they crave right on schedule whenever it's needed? Or do they suffer and wither, awaiting that precious care they yearn for, only to have it denied until they're so shriveled they can't function?"

Abby swallowed the gigantic lump in her throat. His fingers were darker and rougher but they stroked intimately against the injury.

"I always pamper the things I care about but, for the most part, I'm a low maintenance kind of person. Sooo," she dislodged herself from his grasp and picked up a philodendron, "this is the only kind of plant I'd bother with at home. It's easy, undemanding, and still perks up when I douse it with water. No matter how poorly I manage it. Here, at work, is a different story."

Carter tsked. "Sounds like you're one of those lucky few that can keep professional and personal lives separate."

Okay, that's it. He made no sense and all of this tiptoeing around something was fun, but weird. "Okay, Carter, what exactly are you getting at? You want a plant, take this one. Or not. That money tree you had earlier was good too. And easy."

"Easy works."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Aargh, you know what. Stop all this innuendo. Buy a plant. Or don't buy one, but stop the word games, capisce? I'm busy." She grabbed a water spout and headed toward one of the shelves. The plants didn't need watering, but it kept her mind elsewhere.

"You didn't look busy when I got here, you looked-happy. Like you were in your zone."

She was glad he hadn't mentioned the particular zone she joined included dancing and singing wildly to country music. "I was, thank you."