Tangle (Dogwood Lane 2)

I stand still, biting back a grin. There’s something about the way she said that that makes me think she might have been talking about me. If Jake were here, he’d call it narcissism, but I’ll take my chances.

“Not him who?” I ask.

She whirls around, her ponytail almost hitting me in the face. A look of shock flits across her face before it’s replaced with a tongue-in-cheek smile. “It’s you.”

“It’s me that’s ‘not him,’ or it’s me standing here?” I grin. “Because, clearly, this is me. But am I him?”

“You’re kind of annoying. You know that?”

“I’ve heard that a time or two.”

Her shoulders rise and fall. “They say if more than two people tell you something, it’s probably true.”

“Really? I’ve never heard that.”

“Yeah, really. Maybe you should give it some thought.”

“Like the thought you’re giving . . . him? Whoever him might be?”

She places her items on the conveyor belt. “I love that you hear me talking about a guy and you immediately assume it’s you.”

“So you’re saying I’m wrong?”

I shouldn’t prod. I know better. It’s futile, anyway, since I know the answer. If I weren’t sure, the way she masks the nerves in her voice would tell me all I need to know. I’m him. And for reasons I don’t care to ponder, I like it.

“Yes, you’re wrong,” she says. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Who were you talking about then?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “If you must know, I was talking about Penn.”

“Penn Etling? The guy I met at the jobsite today?” I think back to the stocky friend of Dane’s who showed up with Dane’s brother, Matt. “You expect me to believe you have something for that guy?”

“Who said anything about having a thing for him?”

“Uh, you did. With the little giggle you had when you were talking about him.” I cock my head to the side and smirk. “You know, him. Whoever-he-was-not, named Penn.”

With a roll of her eyes that almost looks painful, she turns away from me. “Hi, Shandi,” she says to the girl ringing up her items. “How are you tonight?”

Shandi looks at me and bats her eyelashes. “Tonight is getting better.”

“Please,” Haley says, “don’t flatter him. His ego is already too big for this building.”

“Well, I mean, he is tall, dark, and handsome.” Shandi looks at me and grins before looking back at Haley. “That’s twelve dollars and eighty cents.”

Haley mumbles something incoherent and sticks her card in the machine. It fires back a buzzing sound. She reinserts but it just buzzes in response. “What’s the matter with this thing?”

“They updated our system,” Shandi says. “Which is code for they broke it. It’s been doing this all night.”

Another attempt results in another buzz. Haley removes her card with an irritated flourish. “Well, I have no cash.”

“Here,” I say, sliding my items down the belt. “Ring up mine and I’ll pay for both.”

“That would be a negative, sir,” Haley says.

“Why?”

“That would be two nice things you’ve done for me today, and I don’t want to make this a thing.”

“Make what a thing? Me doing nice things for you? Besides, this is the third thing. Doughnut. Coffee. Groceries.”

She gives me a dirty look that makes me want to grab her and kiss the shit out of her.

“I’d like him to do nice things for me,” Shandi whispers as she slides my items across the scanner. “With Haley’s, that’s nineteen forty.”

I hand her a twenty and watch Haley’s face twist.

“Well, look at that,” I say, walking around her and lifting her bag. “I bought you dinner.” Peeking inside, I raise a brow. “I hope a pint of ice cream and a container of strawberries isn’t dinner.”

“No, it’s not,” she says, taking the bag from me. “I had lasagna for dinner, thank you.”

“With Penn?”

She raises a brow, taunting me. “I didn’t have dinner with him, but I did see him at dinner.”

“Interesting.”

“Is it?” she asks, heading toward the doors.

Only because you’re involved.

“Slightly,” I say, following her. “Not as interesting as if you would’ve seen the hippie. That conversation would’ve been riveting.”

She glances at me with mischievous eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t talk to the hippie tonight.”

“And . . .” I make a hurry-up motion with my hand. “Spill. I’m dying over here.”

“I told him not to call again.”

A boy pushing a line of carts cuts in front of us. We stop to give him room to get in the door.

“I’m less riveted than I thought I would be,” I admit. “I really thought that conversation would go somewhere.”

“Well, being that the relationship didn’t go anywhere, I’m not sure why the conversation should. Besides, I’m on a dating hiatus, remember?”

“Yeah, about that. Let’s discuss.”

“Let’s not.”

“Come on,” I goad. “A girl like you intentionally not dating has to have a good story behind it. What is it? You tired of beating men off with a stick?” I grin. “Or other things?”