The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“I’m waiting here for your mother anyway. I don’t mind.” I give Patrick a playful soft punch in the arm. He smiles and punches me back as hard as he can in the thigh. It nearly knocks me over, and I double over in pain. Ahh, fuck’s sake . . . dead leg. “Ow, ease up.” These kids are so violent. “You got a good hook on you, kid.”

“I know; I made Harry cry the other day,” he announces proudly. “I pulled his hair and punched him in the neck.”

&n

bsp; I smirk. This one is definitely my favorite. “Hmm, not sure if that’s okay, but . . . well done.”

Fletcher begins to pace. “So . . . I say hi.” He waves his hands around in the air as he thinks. “And then . . .” He turns back to me. “What do I say then?”

I sip my wine. “Hello, my name is Fletcher, and I don’t know where I keep my balls, so call someone else,” I mutter dryly.

Fletcher throws his phone onto the bench. “I can’t do it. I’m not calling her.”

“Call her.”

“No. I don’t know what to say.”

“Call her,” I demand as I point to his phone with my wineglass.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” I grab Patrick’s shoulder and lead him into the living room. “We’re going out here. Do it now.”

“What if she says no?” he stammers in a panic.

“Who cares?” I shrug. “The world is full of hot girls, Fletcher.”

“Not as hot as her.”

“So why are you wasting time talking crap to us, then?”

Fletcher’s eyes hold mine. “Okay, I’m going to do it.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to call her right now.”

“Less talking, more action,” I call.

“Okay.” He begins to pace again, and I roll my eyes. Heaven help him if he actually gets the chance to do the deed . . . he’s as green as a fucking tree. Hell, I was fucking twenty-five-year-olds at his age. What in the world has this kid been doing all this time?

I sit on the couch next to Patrick. “Do you want to watch a movie while we wait for pizza?” he asks.

“There’s pizza coming?”

“Uh-huh.” He smiles and picks up the remote and begins to flick through the movies.

I glance at my watch. “What time did your mother say she was coming home?”

“She’s just having dinner. Not late.”

“Has she been out with Paul from Pilates before?” I ask.

“Yes, but she has to hide from Harry. She can only go out when he’s not home, because he’s very rude and embarrassing.”

I sip my wine as I act uninterested. That evil fucker is good for something after all.

Who knew?