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“A football team is like a beautiful woman.
When you do not tell her, she forgets she is beautiful.”
Arsène Wenger, Arsenal manager
It was a sign of how desperate Abby’s life had become that a trip to the bank was almost a holiday. When her business with the bank manager concluded, too quickly for her liking, she found herself dallying outside the bank in the hopes of stealing a few more minutes to herself. That was when she spotted him.
Flynn stood at the water’s edge facing out over the loch. He had on nothing but a pair of navy swim shorts, and his back rippled as he stretched his arms above his head. The sun caught the sheen on his skin, making Abby’s mouth water to taste him. She tried to pull her eyes away. She had to focus on her mother’s threat. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by her libido.
Flynn dove into the cool water, making barely a splash. He sliced through the vast blue expanse, his strokes rhythmic, steady, powerful. Oh my...
“Here.” A tissue appeared under her nose, making her jump. “For the drool.”
Abby batted her best friend’s hand away. “Idiot.” It took serious effort to pry her eyes from Flynn to focus on Jena.
Her friend was decked out in work clothes—cut-off beige dungarees with a sparkly purple tee under them. She’d painted her nails to match the tee, and her hair was tied into a ponytail high on her head. She worked at the hardware store and had talked the owner into training her to become a handyman. She called it her apprenticeship, and she loved every minute of it. For a woman who looked like she belonged in a nail salon, Jena wielded a sledgehammer with glee.
“So you’re still kissing him?” There was no censure in Jena’s voice. No matter how annoying Flynn proved to be, if Abby wanted the man, Jena wouldn’t judge. Her friendship was a gift.
“No, we’ve stopped.” With a heavy sigh she pried her eyes from the loch. “We had a chat, decided now wasn’t the best time to get involved.” She thought about it for a minute. “Although I’m not sure we were getting involved exactly. Is three kisses enough to be involved?”
“For you, yeah.” Jena hooked her arm with Abby’s as she turned to walk back up the high street. “You don’t do casual, honey. And right now you’re under a lot of pressure. I’m worried you aren’t thinking with your brain. I’m worried you’re thinking with your—”
Abby smacked a hand over her best friend’s mouth. “Don’t say it. I beg you.”
Jena grinned against her palm. Abby dropped her hand. “Say what? Hoo-ha?”
“You went there.” Abby hung her head. “You just had to do it.”
“So tell me.” Jena nudged her with her hip. “How does he kiss? I bet it’s good. I imagine dirty and forceful. Am I right? You can tell me.”
“Jena Donaldson, are you perving over your cousin-in-law?”
“Yeah, that does sound a little twisted.” She smiled wickedly. “It was good, though, huh?”
“He makes me lose my mind,” Abby confessed, her cheeks heating at the memory. “I melt. I can’t think. I get desperate. It’s like I’m being set on fire from inside.”
“Wow.” Jena heaved an exaggerated sigh.
Abby snapped herself back to the present. “But this isn’t the time to lose my mind. I need all of my faculties to deal with mother’s latest plan.”
“I get it, but you still deserve a little time for you. Some time to get your mind blown—even if it is with Flynn.” Her smile let Abby know she understood the appeal. “How are things with Victoria? Are you coping? If you bring her by the hardware store, we’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Please, don’t! Everywhere we go, someone feels the need to tell Victoria how virtuous I am. In the bakery this morning, Morag McKay said she was so impressed with me that she wouldn’t mind having me as a member of her morality society.”
Jena barked out a laugh. “Do all the members have to get poodle perms and wear polyester coats? Because if they do, say no.”
“You’re wicked.”
“I know.” Jena grinned widely. “But how are you really?”
“Don’t worry. I’m coping. I came up with a new way to deal with the stress.”
Sympathy wafted off Jena. “Denial? I hate to tell you, honey, but that method is tried and true.”
“Not denial, organisation. I scheduled my worries into my planner. Today I’m scheduled to worry about getting the business off the ground. Tomorrow I’m going to worry about Victoria and Mother. The following day I’m going to worry about Katy starting school. And so on. See, it’s perfect. Each day is booked, the worry is spread out and there’s no danger of my head exploding.”
Jena slapped her palm against Abby’s forehead. “No fever. So it’s not that.” She frowned in concentration. “Are you hallucinating? Have you eaten something suspect recently? Dodgy mushrooms, maybe?”
“I’m not hallucinating. There’s nothing wrong with my brain. In fact, I’d say it was working brilliantly, seeing as I came up with an amazing plan to reduce stress.”
“Yeah, you scheduled it. That’s not normal, honey.”
“Like you can judge normal!” Abby grinned as she pointed at Jena’s purple sparkly platform sandals—or as Jena liked to call them, her work shoes. “You do DIY dressed like a stripper. Normal people don’t wear stripper shoes to plaster a wall.” Which Jena had been doing all morning.
Jena’s eyes sparkled. “As I keep telling Gordon, I’m bringing sexy back to DIY.”
As Abby listened to Jena talk about her latest renovation project, Abby’s eyes strayed back towards the loch. One week. She could push Flynn from her mind for one long week. How hard would it be to fight hormones? Women did it all the time. Right?
“Is it possible to die from sexual frustration?” she asked her best friend.
“No,” Jena said. “But I hear it makes women stupid.”
“Good to know.” Abby decided she’d worry about that particular problem the following Wednesday.