My sister . . .
My thoughts whirl as dots connect inside my head. Troywouldn’thave told Patton about the house, unless . . .
That little traitor! She always had a soft spot for my ex-husband. As did my dad. As did Piper. And most of the female—and some of the male—population in the world.
Honestly, if my mother were alive, I bet she’d bake cookies and take them over to his house to welcome him to the neighborhood.
Basically, everyone I love is a backstabbing Brutus and will be hearing from my lawyer. Or at the very least, they’ll be getting an earful from me later.
“Yeah.” Patton clears his throat. “Actually, I need to head back to get ready. I’m meeting him and some of his friends for brunch.”
Oh, dear God. This just keeps getting worse.
“You’re meeting the Six Schlongs for brunch?”
“Pardon?”
I shut my eyes and take a calming breath.
He’s meeting the Schlongs. At this point, he might as well become a part ofThe Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Those guys, namely Dean Meyer, are worse than a pack of gossip-hungry hyenas.
“Right.” I force my voice to sound normal, given everything I’ve had to process in the past ten minutes. Speaking of which . . .Dammit, I’m going to be late! “Well, don’t let me keep you. I need to get going, too.”
Patton’s gaze shifts to the bag at my side, but if he’s wondering where I’m headed, he doesn’t ask. Instead, he nods toward the box, that mischievous smirk barely in his control.
“I have to ask . . . seven vibrators, Neesh? Is it like one for each day of the week, or doesMichaelneed mechanical assistance?”
“Michael? What are you—” I start, my head snapping back and my brows furrowing in confusion.
But then, like a movie where the dubbing is off, my brain catches up with what he’s just said and the blood drains from my face.
Seven vibrators.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no, no.
My eyes dart to the box in my hand and then to the smile on his smug face, and I realize that the asshole isn’t just making an assumption; he’s seen the contents of the box.
“It’s one thing to accidentally open someone’s mail,” I grind out, mortification staining my cheeks. “It’s another toinspectit.”
Patton’s smirk widens. “What can I say? After I saw the ‘Peachy Cream’ edible underwear, my curiosity got the best of me.” He winks. “You know how much I love a good peach.”
My face flames so hot I’m shocked my hair doesn’t catch fire.
“You’re disgusting. And those aren’t—it’s not what it—” I take in a fortifying breath, dropping the box on my entryway chair. “Those aren’t for me. Well, they’re notallfor me. They’re for Sarina’s bachelorette party.”
Patton’s brow quirks. “So, which onesarefor you? Let me know if you need help giving them a go.”
I roll my eyes, pretending his words don’t affect me, pretending I don’t remember what it was like to say yes to him. “I don’t. But thank you for the generous offer.”
“Why? Because of Michael?”
My eyes narrow slightly, picking up the tick in his jaw and the way his fist balls at his side. But I don’t dignify his question with a response. Because if he wants to think there’s something going on with me and Micah, then let him.
“Thank you for dropping by, Patton. It’s been a realtreat. But if there’s no other surprise you need to drop on me”—I lookpointedly at the dog, now snoring with his tongue sticking out on my patio floor like a hungover frat boy—“or if your dog is?—”
“Bob,” Patton cuts in, mock-offended. “His name is Bob. Not ‘Bob’ like your seven battery-operated-boyfriends, but Bob, like the World War II hero who received the Dicken Medal for his bravery.”
