I chuckle as I stand, then grab my phone and keys from my locker to shove into my pockets.
“I’m persistent. It’s only one of my charming qualities,” I say with a grin.
Roddy, however, grimaces.
“I’m not so sure I’d call it that. Annoying? Yes, but it falls short of charm.”
We walk out together, reaching his lifted pickup truck that looks like it’s seen more seasons than he has.
“Maybe you can teach me how to be charming, old man,” I say, only half teasing. I don’t really need nice guy lessons from Roddy, but I would like the two of us to get along.
“Ha, I’m not the one to go to for lady advice. Trust me. But I’ll get that beer ready. And piece of advice?” He stops with one foot in the truck, leaning into the open door.
“What’s that?”
“Not everything is about you. Same advice goes for shooting your shot with Renleigh. Remember that.”
I nod, though I’m not entirely sure what he means. Besides, I’ve got a feeling about her. Maybe I can help her shake up those walls for a bit and let herself have a good time.
Chapter 4
Renleigh
This is what my life boils down to. Mango smoothies.
It’s truly the one thing that brings me joy, and I look forward to this damn cup of pureed fruit every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while I wait for Dad to finish with his physical therapist. I join his therapist, Heather, for the first half most mornings, which ends up being a bit of a workout for me, so I feel like the sugar reward is warranted. Plus, I like this lime green chair with the bright yellow pillow shaped like a giant Tootsie Roll. And Ilovethe romance book swap in the corner.
I’m tucking my latest read back on the shelf and pulling outWild Kissby Kacey Shea when a shadow casts over my lap, blocking the light from the nearby window.
“That looks like a good one.”
I don’t know how I recognize Hunter Reddick’s voice, given I’ve spoken to him for no more than a total of ten minutes, ever. But there he is, confirming my hunch when I glance up at him.
I nod toward the counter.
“You going to order something?”
“I’ll get to it,” he says, perusing the selection of books.
“You read romance?” I arch a brow, expecting him to make some crack about my choice in literature. That’s what mostpeople who don’t really read the genre do because they’re missing out, but instead he leans in and pulls out the Amalie Howard historical I just put back, and thumbs through the pages before meeting my gaze.
“This one was good, but have you read her romantasy?”
My mouth falls open, becausehow the hell does he know that word?
“Uh, yeah. I have.” I’m blinking more than normal. I feel it. It’s because I feel like I’m being pranked.
“I got it for my mom for her birthday, and she sent it to me when she was finished. Which reminds me, I should probably give it back. Mom’s funny about keeping her paperbacks on her shelf. She probably still has the placeholder there.” He chuckles and slides the book back in place while I continue to stare at him.
“What?” He moves toward the smoothie counter and pulls a menu from the plastic stand. “Is it so shocking that I read?”
I huff out a single laugh.
“No, but yeah. Maybe. A little. You read romance? And you know the wordromantasy?” I realize this is the pot calling the kettle and all that by judging him, but also, he does not fit the romance reader profile. Like . . . at all. And maybe I’m a bit protective of it.
“I read everything. Sometimes I need a happily-ever-after to follow a good thriller, ya know? Not every book ends happily. And some shit gets dark.”
He slumps into the chair opposite me as I shake my head and blink a few more times before deciding to just let him have this one. Hot, romance-reading pitcher. So, he gets one green flag. It’s still in a sea of red ones.
