Made for You (The Best Mistake 2)

But oh God, how she’d wanted to.

Think of James, she reminded herself.

But James didn’t kiss like that. No nice man kissed like that.

“Well…I’d say your price was a bit high, but I’ll consider us even,” she said haughtily as she pushed him aside and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Will didn’t move as she closed the door and turned on the ignition. She’d been expecting a gloat, but instead he seemed…thoughtful.

Nah. Thoughtful wasn’t in Will’s wheelhouse.

“You’ve got a little issue there,” she said as she put on her oversized sunglasses.

He didn’t respond, so she waved in the direction of his crotch. “You, um, seem a little…aroused.” She didn’t bother to hide the gloat in her voice.

“What can I say? Bitchy, ungrateful women apparently do it for me,” he muttered.

She put the car in reverse. “Thanks for helping with the tire,” she called. “And thanks for making me feel like a prostitute to pay for it.”

Brynn gave one last jaunty wave before she began driving down the street. She hated that he’d probably leave the flat tire sitting messily in her driveway, but it was worth it to make the dramatic exit.

And she’d needed to get out of there, fast. Another second with Will pressed against her and she wouldn’t have been thinking about braces, or the mayor’s daughter, or James. Heck, she probably wouldn’t have even made it into the office.

Thank God she hadn’t kissed him back. She wouldn’t do that to James.

Or to herself.

She heard her phone vibrating in her purse, and reached for it as she pulled to a stop at a red light.

It was a message from Will. You kiss like a houseplant. And you still owe me a favor.

All the smugness she’d felt a moment ago began to fade. Every instinct told her that being in Will Thatcher’s debt was very, very bad news.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A solid career will never let you

down the way a man can.

—Brynn Dalton’s Rules for an

Exemplary Life, #39

She needn’t have worried about not making it to work on time.

The mayor and her daughter were fifteen minutes late, and neither an apology nor an acknowledgment of the tardiness was forthcoming.

Basically, she was indebted to the devil’s son over a flat tire for nothing. Awesome.

“But I don’t want braces,” Lizzie Blanton said, folding her arms over her thin preteen waist, and sounding more like a spoiled five-year-old than an eighth grader.

“I can understand that,” Brynn said with a reassuring smile. “Few kids that come in here want braces, but I can pretty much guarantee you’ll be grateful you had them when you’re grown-up.”

Lizzie gave a huff. “That’s ages away.”

Brynn and the mayor exchanged a commiserating glance over Lizzie’s head. Not as far as you think, honey. After her near breakdown in the bathroom on her birthday, Brynn knew all too well how fast time went. No matter how carefully you planned, no matter how diligent you were, time kept chugging along and soon you were thirty-one and falling rapidly behind on all the things you’d thought you’d have checked off by now.

She wished someone would have told her when she was twelve not to let any of your life goals depend on someone else. Because even the most perfect guy could drag his feet to the altar and then you were screwed.