Miss Fix-It

“Generally, not with paintbrushes.”

“I improvised. Sue me.”

He laughed, pressing his hand against his stomach. “Come on. It’s lunchtime. I stopped in to the Coastal. I got lunch and an interrogation.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you accidentally buy too much, or…?”

“No, I deliberately bought you a sandwich. Marcie told me your favorite, then proceeded to interrogate me about dinner last night.”

“Oh no.” That meant my mother knew and I could expect a visit tonight. “What, um…What did you say?”

“I told her I couldn’t tell her anything because a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but that you left later than she’d been told.” He winked and ran out of the room.

My eyes widened. “No, no, no! You did not say that!” I ran after him. “Brantley! Brant! No! Tell me you didn’t say it!”

He had his hands flattened on the kitchen table. He leaned forward, laughing.

I pointed my paintbrush at him. “Tell me you’re messing with me!”

“Nope. Sorry. That’s what I told her.”

“No! Oh my god! My mom is going to kill me!”

He laughed even harder.

I darted around the side of the table.

“Oh, shit!” escaped his lips as he ran around it.

I stopped where he’d just been. “I swear, I will paint you with this brush if you don’t tell me you’re messing with me. I cannot cope with this.”

“I gave them something to gossip about!” He held his hands up.

My heart skipped a beat. Oh no, no, no. “You have no idea what you’ve just done!” I ran back to my side of the table, and he went back to his. I was still waving the paintbrush menacingly in his direction. “I’m going to kill you!”

He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

I glared at him.

Clearly, he had no idea how determined I could be.

Three times. I chased him around the table three damn times to the sound of his laughter and my frustrated shouts.

“Stop it! Come here so I can paint you!”

“That,” he wheezed, gripping a chair to catch his breath, “would be so much sexier if you weren’t chasing me around my kitchen table.”

“Urrrrr!” I half-growled, half-groaned.

I feinted to the right—but went left. The exact same direction Brantley went in.

“Ha!” I grabbed his arm and slapped it with the paint-coated brush bristles.

“Damn it, Kali!” He reached for the brush, and before I knew it, he was chasing me around the table.

There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to give him the brush. Who knew what mess he’d make in an effort to get me back for that measly mark on his arm?

Judging by the mess the twins were capable of…He’d make me regret ever pointing my paintbrush at him.

“Give me the brush. Now.” He dad-voiced me, holding his hand out expectantly.

I folded my arms, carefully keeping the brush close to my body without getting paint on myself. “No. That voice won’t work of me. I have twenty-six-years of practice of resistance against the Dad-Voice.”

“Worth a try. But, still… Give me the brush.”

I shook my head. “I’m not giving you the brush, because I know exactly why you want it.”

“All right. I gave you a chance.” He darted forward.

A scream left my mouth. I ran around the table once, before making a grave error—I ran out of the kitchen. Into the living room and around the coffee table before running into the hallway.

And running smack into Brantley, who’d apparently been waiting for me.

“No! Nooo!” I wrestled to keep control of the brush, but he had me. One strong arm clamped around my back, and his other hand fought for the brush. I wriggled and tugged with all my might, both hands on the brush handle while I laughed.

I wasn’t giving up, but neither was he.

A fact I realized as he angled the brush and swiped it down my face.

“Oh my god!” I released the brush with one hand and wiped it over the paint.

He laughed harder than I’d ever heard him laugh, and my whole body vibrated with the sound. Even through the annoyance that I was, once again, covered in paint, I couldn’t deny the attraction that pooled deep in my tummy.

“I told you to give me the brush!”

“Never!” I fought back, just missing getting a mouthful of paint. I managed to get the brush across his jaw, turning his stubble pink before he regained control and wiped it over my cheek.

Honestly, I had to wonder what someone would think if they could see us. Two grown-ass adults fighting over a paintbrush, both covered in pink paint.

“Oh my god, stop!” I giggled as he tickled the brush down my neck. Wriggling away, he clamped his arm tighter around me and held me against him. I managed to turn away from him, almost twisting my wrist as I kept my iron-clad grip on the brush. “Let me go!”