Miss Fix-It

“Oh, boy, that’s the most romantic proposal I’ve had all month.”

“I’m guessing you’re a pepperoni girl.”

“That’s presumptuous.”

“Am I wrong?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

Turquoise eyes flicked across my face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I try.” I pushed my still-damp hair behind my ear. Kids. “Honestly, it’s fine.”

He pushed the fridge door shut and used a magnet in the shape of Colorado state to uncap his beer. He replaced it on the door with a click. “Did you eat tonight?”

I went to answer, but nothing came out.

Brantley raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“It’s fine,” I insisted. “I can go home and heat something real quick. You might not be surprised to know that my stepmom regularly hands me Tupperware tubs of food.”

He paused. “Your stepmom?”

Crap. He didn’t know Portia wasn’t my real mom. I forgot that not everybody knew that.

“Um, yeah.” I set my phone down and my hands instantly went to fidget with the hem of my shirt. “My mom isn’t my real mom.”

He blinked at me. “Now, I’m definitely ordering pizza.”

“No, you—”

He left the room before I could finish my sentence. I chased after him, but by the time I joined him in the living room, I was greeted by the sound of “Hi, yes, I’d like to place an order for two pizzas, please.”

I’d lost this round.

Fine.

I was a red-blooded, human woman.

I wasn’t going to turn down free pizza.

My ass wouldn’t thank me for it, but you could bet yours that my soul would throw a fucking party.

Brantley smirked as he placed the order and handed over his card details. Honestly, he was lucky I had a terrible memory. If I had a better one, I’d be able to buy more than just pizza on his dime.

As it was, I couldn’t even remember my own phone number. Never mind any card details.

He hung up and put his phone on the coffee table. “Do me a favor?”

“I already let you buy me dinner without causing a fuss.”

“Sit down and let me get you wine.”

“That sounds more than an order than a favor.”

“Favor…Order…Interchangeable.”

I stared at him. No, no, they weren’t. “Actually, they’re completely different. A favor is something agreed upon between two people. An order is something given by one person and followed by the other.”

“Interchangeable,” he replied.”

“No. The person on the receiving end of the order doesn’t have to agree.”

“Are you always this pedantic?”

I paused. “Only if the person telling me things is incorrect.”

“By incorrect, you mean ‘idiotic,’ right?”

“Ah, look—you understand me more than you thought.”

Laughter filled the room. That deep, raw, rough sound that forced goosebumps onto my arms made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Slow, easy steps closed the distance between us.

“Kali.” Brantley said my name slowly, sexily, temptingly. He set his hands on my shoulders, pulling me forward as if my feet were nothing more than his slaves, until I stood in front of the sofa. “Sit,” he said, pushing me down.

I sat.

He left me there, sitting in silence while he went to the kitchen and into the fridge. A cupboard, a clink, the swish of a fridge closing.

Returning to the front room, Brantley put a glass of white wine in front of me. He dropped himself on the sofa, his beer dripping with condensation as he put it on the table.

“Just one,” he said. “I know you drove. It’s the least I can do after you looked after my hellions.”

“They’re weren’t too bad,” I said honestly. “But, shit. I feel like I could referee an international soccer tournament after this.”

“Don’t. They dive a lot.”

“They’re on grass. How can they dive?

He stared at me. “You don’t watch soccer, do you?”

“No. Baseball is where the tight pants are at.”

He leaned back on the sofa and laughed at me. “Of course. All right—never mind. Tell me about your mom. Stepmom?”

I shifted uneasily. I never really talked about Portia or my mom. Everyone here knew about my family, so it was never an issue.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “But she’s just my mom, really.”

Chapter Thirteen

He looked at me. Not judgingly. Not even expectantly. Patiently. Waiting for me to elaborate.

I was ready to respond when there was a knock at the door. I knew that was the pizza—there was only one pizza place in Rock Bay and they prided themselves on super-fast delivery.

Freaky-fast delivery, actually.

Brantley got up and took the boxes from the young guy who was responsible for it. The door clicked shut, and I tucked my legs beneath my butt as he set the boxes on the coffee table in front of us.

“Eat it,” he said. “It’s my thank you for helping me. I know you’re hungry.”

I glanced between the box and him. I was hungry, no doubt about it, but there was something about him buying me food that didn’t sit right. Nothing nefarious, but it felt…weird.