See?
No lies. No promises. Just my thumb ending the call as I reach for the doorknob.
I am not getting sold like a prize steer.
I know three back corridors that can get me out before anyone starts imagining me in nothing but an apron, delivering breakfast in bed.
That’s not romance.
That’s a hostage situation.
CHAPTER 13
Harrison
Just as I open the door, something small smacks into my chest. I catch it without thinking.
Three kids. Six hands. Catching airborne projectiles is instinct now.
I glance down. A Pixy Stix.
“Subtle.”
Zac steps into my path, dressed to the nines and wearing the kind of smug smile that means he knows exactly what I’m about to do.
“Going somewhere?”
“As a matter of fact, I forgot my tux.” I tear the top off the Pixy Stix and dump the sugar straight into my mouth, holding eye contact while I wait for him to move.
Normally, I wouldn’t mainline sugar like this.
But I haven’t eaten all day.
And it’s cherry. My favorite.
Zac doesn’t budge.
“I should go,” I add, slower this time.
That’s when Brian slides in beside him, right on cue, a garment bag draped neatly over his arm.
“You’re in luck,” he says. “One tux. Right here.”
He gives it a pat.
I look between them and shrug. “A regular tux won’t fit my arms.”
I flex, just enough to make the point.
And yes, I hear myself.
Absolutely bragging.
Brian gives my bicep a squeeze like he’s checking produce. “Good thing I dropped by. I hear the gun show sells out fast.” He taps the embroidered H on the garment bag. “Which is why I brought you yours.”
“What?”
“I swung by your place on the way here.”
