“Huh?”
“Can I crash on your couch?”
“Uh, yeah,” Jonathan said, and stepped aside.
In walked Mr. Success, dragging his carry-on luggage behind him. “Chelsea kicked me out.”
“’Cause you went salmon-fishing?” That seemed a little extreme.
“No, because I forgot our anniversary.”
Jonathan, no expert on women, still knew this was a cardinal sin. “How’d you manage that?” If he was with Lissa he’d never forget their anniversary. Heck, he’d make everything an anniversary—first date, first kiss, first time they slept together. At the rate he was going, that wasn’t even happening in his dreams.
Adam paced into the living room and parked his carry-on next to Jonathan’s couch. He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to forget.” He fell onto the couch. “She says I take her for granted.”
“Do you?”
“No. Well, maybe. Once in a while. I don’t know.”
Like hell he didn’t. “Right.”
“Okay, so I’m not perfect like those men on the covers of her dumb romance novels.”
Jonathan caught sight of his Vanessa Valentine paperback on the kitchen counter and subtly dragged his copy of PC World over it.
Adam never noticed. He was too involved in his own drama. “But cut a man some slack, you know?”
Jonathan didn’t know.
“She changed the locks.”
Whoa. His friend had sailed down the river of no return. “That’s harsh.”
“That’s what I thought,” Adam said. “Anyway, I know we’ll get it all straightened out tomorrow.”
And now who was dreaming?
“Sorry to get you out of bed. You were the first one who came to mind.”
Vance lived right down the road from Adam, but Jonathan understood why Adam hadn’t gone there. Vance would have taken great delight in taunting him. Whereas Jonathan...was a soft touch.
“I just need a place for tonight.”
Jonathan had a suspicion that his poker pal was going to need a place for longer than one night, but this probably wasn’t the time to point that out. Anyway, he was tired and he wanted to get back to bed. Back to Lissa in her pink gown. He pulled a sleeping bag out of the closet and tossed it to Adam.
“Thanks, man,” Adam said. “I’ll get this sorted out in the morning. Right now, I just need a good night’s sleep.”
He needed a lot more than sleep. Jonathan didn’t tell him that, either. Some things a man had to figure out for himself.
Chapter Five
Jonathan never found Lissa again. Every time he drifted off, he was awakened by the sound of a rumbling train. It didn’t take more than the first rude awakening for him to realize that no one had built a train track through his house in the night. No, the horrible noise that dragged him from his dreamland search for Lissa had been Adam’s snoring.
He finally gave up on sleep around seven to find Adam still zonked out on his couch, like a giant caterpillar half out of his sleeping bag cocoon, his hair going every which way and his mouth hanging open. There was a sight a guy didn’t need to wake up to.
Coffee. He needed coffee.
He had a handy-dandy little coffeemaker that delivered one serving at a time, and he made himself a mug. The aroma of brewing java sure would’ve awakened Jonathan, but Adam slept on. How could the guy sleep so well when his wife had kicked him out? And didn’t he have to be at work? Jonathan’s schedule was flexible and depended on what clients he had lined up for the day, but he assumed that on a Monday Adam would have to report in to his office.
Not your problem, he told himself as he filled Chica’s dog bowl. You’re not his mother.
Still, the idea of Adam happily snoozing away after ruining his sleep the night before wasn’t appealing. It was quarter after seven now. Time to wake up. Jonathan yanked the sofa pillow out from under Adam’s head and whacked him with it.
Adam bolted up. “Wha?”
“Thought you might have to get up.”
Adam groaned. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
Right. He’d just been faking. “You snore.”
Adam frowned and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Quarter after seven.”
“I have to get going. Man, I’m shot.” He eyed Jonathan’s mug. “Is that coffee?”
Jonathan nodded at his coffeemaker. “You can make yourself some.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Adam said, and unzipped his sleeping bag. “But first things first.”
Jonathan watched him wander off down the hall to the bathroom, wearing boxers and a T-shirt. Lucky for Adam he had a suitcase of clothes. It was a cinch he wouldn’t be getting into his house for more anytime soon. Poor guy.
From what Adam had said the night before, Jonathan suspected he’d had it coming. Still, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for his poker pal. Locked out of your own house. That had to be humiliating.
He heard the toilet flush and suddenly realized that potential humiliation was lying out in plain sight on the toilet tank. Oh, no.
Maybe Adam hadn’t seen it....
“What the hell?”
Adam had seen.
Jonathan rushed down the hall and arrived at the bathroom to find Adam holding The Undercover Tycoon and staring at it in horror. He looked at Jonathan as if he’d just discovered Jonathan was an ax murderer.
“Give me that.” Jonathan strode over and grabbed the book to snatch it away.
Adam wasn’t ready to let go. “What the hell is this?”
“Never mind.” Jonathan yanked again.
Adam yanked back and Jonathan pulled harder.
“Give me the damned book,” Jonathan growled.
Adam let go at the same time Jonathan gave up the struggle. The book did a swan dive, putting the tycoon in the toilet.
They both stood for a moment, watching the paperback floating in the toilet bowl. Who knew what was going through Adam’s mind, but Jonathan had only one thought. “My sister’s gonna be pissed.”
“That’s your sister’s book?”
“Yes,” Jonathan said grumpily, fishing it out. “Well, it was.” Maybe he could dry it off, set it out in the sun. Once it was dry she’d never know the difference.
“What are you doing reading your sister’s romance novel?”
This wasn’t exactly something he wanted to share. He wished he’d remembered the dumb thing and ditched it while Adam was snoring. “Never mind,” he said, and took the soggy tycoon out to the front porch.
Adam was right behind him. “That’s a chick book.”
“I know,” Jonathan said as he laid it out on the porch railing. Chica, who’d come over to see what was going on, sniffed it. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, picking it up again. Maybe if he put it in the dryer.
“So, why are you reading a chick book?”
Jonathan hadn’t