Lipstick on His Collar Read Online Free PDF Page A

climbing since he signed on board. It didn’t hurt he could charm a penny out of Scrooge’s purse either.
    He thought like a dispatcher, like a firefighter, like a cop—not a politician or a salesman. That was his trick, his ace in the hole. When the front line—those who answered the calls twenty-four seven—had their concerns listened to, heard and actually implemented, lives were saved. He knew. He’d been at the end of that radio, that nozzle, faced that blistering monster until his skin felt tight. He’d been front line. You couldn’t fake that shit and it translated to cold hard sales.
    Jack’s barking laugh jerked Bram back to the present and he muttered a vague noise in response. Climbing from the hotel bed, Bram toed off his loafers, pulled at his tie and unzipped his bag. Normally, he could get away with wearing khakis and a polo bearing the company logo, but on days he had to present to county commissions, city councils or emergency boards, he had to break out the business suit. Now all he wanted was downtime clothing. It took some rummaging in the dark canvas depths to come up with a clean shirt. Shit, I have to do laundry .
    He tugged on jeans and a sweatshirt, his fingers trailing over the collar of his white dress shirt. No lipstick marred the fabric. His mind started to slip into a mental PowerPoint presentation with honey hair but he yanked it back. Those summery images he reserved for late night or in the shower. He’d relived every sweaty, indulgent minute with her a hundred times, created new fantasies that nearly gave him raw palms.
    Late at night, alone in his bed—or another mind-numbing series of hotel rooms—he longed to be in a cheap, drab room with her, cocooned away from a sudden summer shower. Strangely, it wasn’t just the sex he thought about. There were the words, the stories, the secrets exposed. It was the promise of something that never had been fulfilled that stung the most. He felt like he was still chasing smoke, still looking for that spark. Was it possible to become a stalker if you didn’t know who you were stalking? The irony twisted his mouth into a grimace. His life sounded like a bad country love song. Now all he needed was a dog that could kick off to make his life complete.
    A fast glance through the hotel information in the nightstand proved he was out of luck, no laundry service. Under the listing for local amenities, one lone Laundromat sat with the ultra-creative title of the Greenville Wash-n-Dry. Jack rattled on.
    “Hey, Jack, I have to go. I’ve been on the road for two weeks with three more ahead of me. You’ve got Carol to wash your socks. I have to take care of my own.”
    Bram tossed the phone on the bed and surveyed his options. Since he wasn’t into nude public dining, he didn’t have any. Blowing out a sigh, he accepted fate. He’d rather eat ground glass with a spoon, but he zipped the duffle closed. Wash-n-Dry, here I come .
    The drive was short. All drives in this town were. It boasted a grand total of one stoplight and, as his luck dictated, Bram hit a red light. With his thumb bouncing on the steering wheel, he checked the hotel information sheet he’d grabbed and looked for the turnoff to the small business district.
    The Greenville Wash-n-Dry was a squat white cement block building with a massive glass front. Bram jammed the Durango into park and absently noted the gleaming washers and dryers through the sparkling window. During his travels, he went through enough tolls that he kept a stash of coins in the dashboard cubby, and he scooped out a handful of quarters. The brisk wind sliced through his sweatshirt with a bite and the metal bar across the glass door chilled his hand. He hated driving in a jacket and rarely wore one.
    Inside, the scents of steam and Tide smacked him in the face. Dual rows of gleaming machines in steel gray greeted him, their bellies rolling splotches of suds and colors in circular windows. A harried mother chased