Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly 2)

But I know him well enough to know that I want to know him better.

I know he can be a jerk, but he also knows how to apologize. I know he’s grumpy as shit, but he’ll never let a girl walk home alone at night. I know he’s good with his hands—really good with his hands—and as much as he might think Dolly’s ridiculous, he cares enough to make sure she doesn’t become a light snack for an alligator.

Last night was 20 percent seduction, 80 percent revenge.

But tonight I want to tweak that ratio and go full-on seduction.

And not with just his body.

I want to know what makes him tick. And I have exactly zero clue how to figure that out.

I pick up the phone to call Amber, but at the last minute I change tack. I need a different approach with this one. I need…

My mom picks up on the first ring. “Honey! You have your cellphone back!”

I smile. “Hi, Mama.”

“You sound happy. I love when you’re happy.”

That’s my mother for you. She’s one of those really exceptional parents—the kind whose mission in life is ensuring the happiness of her offspring, but who rarely crosses the line into meddling.

“Let’s just say I’m thinking it’s time to come out of the cocoon,” I say.

“Oh, good! Does that mean you’re coming home?”

I hesitate, not having the heart to tell her that I’m no longer sure Nashville is home. I mean, it’s more home than Los Angeles, certainly. But the thought of going back there doesn’t feel right. Not yet.

“No, I’m going to stay here a bit longer. The album’s coming along, but I want to get a few more tracks down before I submit it.”

“I think that sounds smart. Trust your gut.”

Told you she was the best.

“I could use a little advice, though,” I say. “On the personal front.”

“Oh?”

I smile, knowing that she’s probably quivering with anticipation right now.

“There’s sort of…this guy,” I say, fiddling with the lid of my coffee cup.

“Ohhhh,” she gushes.

“Which, I know is crazy,” I say, “given that the whole reason for hiding out is to get away from guys, but he’s the caretaker on the property. A young, cute caretaker, not the old crusty kind. And I kind of…like him.”

“What’s he like? What’s his name?”

“Noah. And he’s…prickly.”

“Ah, one of those,” she says knowingly.

“I guess. He just feels very foreign to me. I’m used to guys, well…”

“Chasing you?”

“Let’s just say this one’s not a groupie,” I grumble.

Mom chortles. “He’s playing hard to get.”