This Thing Called Love (The Romantical Adventures of Whit & Eddie Book 7) by Frank W. Butterfield

Author:Frank W. Butterfield [Butterfield, Frank W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2020-10-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Rancho Cañón

Medina, TX 78055

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

5:57 p.m. CDT

I was sitting at the kitchen table going through Mona's not-urgent list on my laptop when I heard Whit call out from the bedroom, "Honey, I'm home!"

"I'm in here, dear," I replied.

He stomped into the living room and said, "What's for dinner? I'm starving." He then poured himself a glass from the pitcher of cucumber water I'd made after Billy left (pretentious, I know—but it does have electrolytes) and thirstily drank the whole glass.

"Where'd you get the cukes?"

"There were three in the refrigerator. I have no idea why." I watched him as he did so and grinned. He was shirtless, soaked from head to toe, and I could smell that he'd been exercising somewhere. He didn't really give off a body odor when he worked out. But the smell of his body was a little different. And I could smell him from further away as well. It was odd, but nothing about it was unpleasant. Far from it, in fact.

"What are you grinning at, boss?"

I closed the laptop cover and stood. I looked him up and down. "Please tell me you didn't go for a run in that heat."

He nodded. "I did. Five miles up and down the canyon." He poured himself another glass. "If my players can do it, I can do it." Like he always did after a first big gulp of water, he started sipping instead of gulping.

"You're a good team owner, Whit Hall."

He winked at me and then asked again, "What's for dinner?"

"Brisket, spicy sausage, and all the fixins from some place in Kerrville."

"What time? I definitely need to take a quick shower."

"Take as long a shower as you want, cowboy. The doctor at Nob Hill doesn't want any gatherings in the lodge." I pointed to the box of disposable masks on the little table by the door. "Everyone wears a mask when they're in the common areas, including us."

"Where'd those come from?"

"I packed a box in my bag for just in case. Did Walt, the nurse, find you?"

"Yep." Pressing his nose, Whit added, "He's got a much better bedside manner than Dr. Kavanaugh. Barely hurt."

I nodded. "I asked him if he was able to get a sample and he just smiled and said he loved it when anyone asked him that."

Whit winked. "Yes, he's a musclehead. But he's not tall enough for you, boss."

I just shrugged. But I'd been busted. Walt was Black, about my height, and wore tight clothes that explicitly advertised how much time he spent at the gym. He also had a great smile.

Whit was down to about a third of a glass by then. He put it down on the table and then stretched his arms behind his head.

I knew he was doing that on purpose to remind me how tall and developed he was. It had the effect he was hoping for, so I asked the obvious question, "Did you work out also?"

"Nope." He stretched one arm in front of his chest and grabbed his shoulder with the opposite hand.

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