Rugged Hearts by Amanda McIntyre Page B

her skills in softball.
    “Oh, oh…yes, baby, oh yeah…there….”
    Seriously? The closet? Aimee rolled her eyes, unsure if her frustration with the amorous couple was simply jealously. Regardless, there’d been times of late, when the paper-thin walls had depleted her of sleep. She glanced at her watch, smiling with amusement to time this particular tryst.
    A throaty, male groan punctuated a series of repetitive thumps against the wall. Aimee cradled her cheek in her hand and waited. In an odd way, it made her feel better to know someone in no man’s land was getting some, though it made it difficult to strike up a normal conversation when they met outside the building. She wondered if she should perhaps find a way to mention how thin the walls were.
    “Oh, oh…wait, there’s a hanger poking my shoulder. Oh don’t stop, don’t stop,” the woman ordered.
    Aimee chuckled and picked up an old high school yearbook. She flipped through its pages amid the dizzying crescendo of moans and sighs. Then all was silent. She waited, fighting the urge to break into applause. Instead, she struggled to her feet, painfully aware they’d fallen asleep as the blood rushed back through her veins. She replaced her shoes on the shelf, hearing titters of laughter coming from the other side of the wall and tried to sidestep the twinge of envy poking at her heart. To make matters worse, she emerged from the closet more restless and aware of her solitary status, flushed with thoughts of Wyatt and their the insane kiss. and hadn’t found the paper she was looking for in the first place. She made a mental note to run to the drugstore over her lunch hour the next day.
    Tense from her closet experience and visions of dark-eyed cowboys, Aimee padded to the bathroom and changed into a comfy men’s flannel shirt that hung to her knees. Clenching her toothbrush between her teeth, she fished through her dresser for a pair of ragg wool socks, and sat on the bed, drawing them over her chilly feet. She caught her reflection in the dresser mirror and stopped, assessing her less-than-sexy ensemble. Perhaps there was good reason no guys ever ventured up to her apartment. She sighed and sauntered back to the bathroom sink, rinsed her mouth, and pressed the towel to her lips. For a moment, she held it there, imagining the sudden kiss. She’d jumped to a conclusion. Granted, a wrong one, by her suggestion of his sexual inclinations, but she hadn’t anticipated how he would choose to prove her completely incorrect. That kiss was intended to make a point and it had, straight down to her core.
    Butterflies took flight in her stomach as she thought of how his mouth fit hers. The memories dominated her thoughts, made her weak in the knees. The taste of his lips, the scent of him—a heady combination of leather and winter wind. She placed her hand on her chest and felt the rapid thud of her heart. Her thoughts conjured the memory of his dark eyes, framed with absurdly long black lashes, staring at her, hanging on her every word.
    “Complicated.” She spoke to her reflection in the bathroom mirror and reiterated Betty’s warning. “Intoxicating is more like it.” She checked the front door, turned out the living room lights, and hurried to get into her small double bed. Pulling the blanket and two quilts over her, she snuggled in.
    Another thump on the wall made her grimace and with a sigh of resignation, she reached over and turned out her bedside light. The familiar sounds from next door began again. Aimee stared at the bright patch of light on her ceiling created by the parking lot outside. She let her mind drift to her mysterious cowboy, mentally peeling away the sexy duster and stained T-shirt. Visions of him, like sugarplums, danced in her head as she listened to the couple next door. That, combined with her torrid thoughts about Wyatt made her restless and she tossed off the blankets, her body too warm, from reacting to her wayward fantasy. She