Catching Claire by Cindy Procter-King Page B

I’m beautiful.
Everybody thinks I’m fat. No one loves me. Everyone loves Tanya.
Everyone loves Lacey. Some people even love Alicia. But I’m
unlovable!”
    “You’re not unlovable. And you’re definitely not
fat.” Why did women think all men wanted to date human pogo
sticks?
    “If I were five-seven and had great boobs, then
would you have sex with me?”
    Ridge trained his gaze on her face. “You do have
great boobs.” From what he’d noticed moments ago.
    “You’re not looking at them. You’re not feeling
them.” Flinging her arms in the air, she launched herself at him.
“Catch!”
    Instinctively, Ridge’s hands shot up. Her rack
landed in his palms. Oops.
    “There.” Her loopy smile returned. “Now tell me they
aren’t great.”
    “I never said they weren’t great.” Damn, they felt
amazing. Spilling over his fingers. Firm yet soft. Perfection.
    Don’t look down .
    He looked down.
    His thumb edged the center bow, his fingers pressing
the paper strips lining her bare skin above the modest
neckline.
    Look
back up, Pederson. Don’t you dare squeeze these babies. Not even
once .
    She slumped against him. Ridge stumbled back a step
as her temple knocked his chin and her head sagged onto his
shoulder. Her arms flopped at his sides.
    “Claire?” He glanced at her face.
    Her mouth had slackened with sleep, her eyes sealed
shut.
    Damn
it .
    She’d passed out with her hot knockers filling his
hands.
    What the hell did he do now?
     
    ~*~
     
    Coffee. She smelled coffee. And something
fruity—with milk.
    Claire’s stomach roiled. Gross, not milk.
    The bright mid-July morning sun streaming through
Alicia’s deck window pierced Claire’s closed eyelids. Moaning, she
buried her pounding head deep inside the sleeping bag on the
sofabed. The zipper chilled her nose, but the soft pillow cradled
her aching skull. A few blissful seconds of silence passed.
Then— ugh —an irritating munching sound assailed her ears.
Like someone eating cereal.
    Her nostrils twitched. Alicia hated cereal.
    The munching grew louder.
    Please stop. Oh, please stop. Ohhh, pleeeeeease, S-T-O-P
STOP .
    Claire’s mouth tasted like the inside of a sweaty
sock. And she only had herself to blame. She rarely drank. Yet how
many Mudslides had she consumed last night? Four? Five?
    Vodka, Kahlua, Baileys, and way too much light cream
had brimmed her glass. The drinks had tasted amazing.
Now… disgusting.
    She huddled beneath the sleeping bag as fuzzy
memories blipped in her brain. Last night…Tanya’s bachelorette
party. In Alicia’s apartment. This apartment. Where Claire
had planned to sleep over.
    As maid of honor for Tanya’s August wedding, Claire
had felt obligated to keep up with her best friend. However, while
usually Tanya could handle her liquor, Claire could not. Then, not
only had Tanya rambled on about the male stripper Claire had hired
as a surprise, her friend had nearly scrambled out the door after
the handsome young guy who’d left every woman at the party
salivating. Including Claire.
    Fearing her lust would reflect in her eyes, she
hadn’t even met his gaze when she’d paid him. She’d spent most of
the evening in Alicia’s kitchen, mixing drinks so he wouldn’t
notice her gawking at him.
    Yes, it was all coming back to her now. In
snatches.
    The cereal munching continued.
    “Stop,” Claire managed in a raspy whisper.
    A second later, the TV snapped on. Sports news
played, and the munching ceased.
    A
lull. Heaven .
    Claire inhaled the sleeping bag’s cozy campfire
scent.
    Her eyes snapped open.
    Wait a minute. Alicia didn’t own a sleeping
bag. And she didn’t watch sports.
    Footsteps neared. The weight of someone far heavier
than Alicia sat on the end of the thin mattress. Springs
creaked.
    Claire froze. “Alicia?” she mumbled into the
bag.
    The munching commenced anew. The noise from the TV
and the mystery person’s chewing must have smothered her voice.
    Holding her breath, Claire peeked out of