Loving Ms. Wrong Read Online Free PDF

which, we have
none.
    This one seems like she may have issues . Who wants to save someone from
themselves? Too much work. Not me. No thanks. I’d much prefer a
frivolous woman who likes to shop. Much easier to figure out. A
woman with a blowtorch and metal saws in the next room? Wouldn’t
want to piss her off.
    Judgmental prick. Aren’t you the one who
always preaches that you’re not looking for anything serious with a
woman? What the hell do you care what her life is like?
    Okay, that’s true. I do say shit along those
lines. But it doesn’t mean I’d turn down the perfect woman if she
came waltzing into my life either.
    Perfect woman? They don’t exist. Get over
yourself.
    I toe my shoes off and leave them by the
door, glad I don’t have wet socks to add to my sodden pile of
clothes. God, I can’t wait to get out of these jeans. I swear I
haven’t been this cold in years. At least with the power out the
building’s AC isn’t making it worse.
    The door opens and she walks in shyly,
wearing tight exercise pants and a loose t-shirt, holding a fluffy
towel in one hand. Her short hair is spiked up like she rubbed it
vigorously with a towel. She looks less like a drowned street
urchin and more like a woman fresh from the shower.
    “Do you mind if I hang my pants up in the
bathroom?” I ask. “They’re a mess.”
    “No, go right ahead.” She hands me the towel
in passing. This all feels a little surreal. I’m literally going to
be down to my skivvies with a woman I just met and we’re not going to be getting busy. “There’s a
robe on the back of the door. You’re welcome to it if you don’t
mind pink.”
    I smile. “I’m so cold, I’d wear pink satin
with hearts if it was dry and warm.”
    I shut the door, thankful she left the small
candle, and strip out of the clinging material, leaving on my damp
boxers. They’re wet, but not as bad as the pants. Just a guess, but
going commando under her robe would probably not be well
received.
    Thought you didn’t care?
    There’s nothing wrong with showing a little
respect. She is letting me stay here until the storm passes.
    I hang the jeans over her shower rod, the
die I pocketed earlier falling onto the floor. I scoop it up with a
smile and shove it into one of the pockets on the robe. After
toweling off I don Katrina’s pink fluffy robe. The sleeves are
short and the hem stops above my knee.
    Uncaring if I look ridiculous or not, and
grateful to be dry again, I emerge from the bathroom with a
flourish of arms. “Ta-da! Dry and encased in this year’s biggest
fashion trend: pink chenille.”
    Katrina laughs from her position by the
counter. She’s lit the blowtorch again, adjusted it way down, and
holds the wildly flickering flame under a glass measuring
container. “You look good. The robe is cute on you. Not many guys
could pull that off.”
    Glad to see her in good spirits, I join her
by the sink. “Not many guys have the inflated self-confidence to
try.”
    She smiles while moving the torch under the
glass slowly. “And you do? You didn’t strike me as the cocky,
arrogant type.”
    I shrug. “Wait ’til you get to know me. I
put up a good front.”
    Her eyes seek out mine in the candlelight.
“Meaning what?”
    “Nothing.” Eager to change the topic I nod
toward her experiment. “You’re pretty industrious in a pinch. Good
idea for heating the water.”
    “I like to think of it as indoor
camping.”
    “Nice! All we need are marshmallows and we’d
be all set.”
    “Why don’t you take a seat? I’ve got tea and
hot chocolate. No instant coffee, sorry. Which would you like?”
    I move to the futon and take a seat,
conscious to pull the robe closed so I’m not flashing her. Boxers
can sometimes be more open than a guy might like. “Cocoa sounds
great. Perfect for chasing off the last of the chill.”
    “That rain was pretty bad, eh? I’m really
lucky you were here to help.”
    Her words warm me. How long has it been
since a woman