“And jewelry. Jewelry always works,” Sebastian says. I wonder how many pieces he’s given his wife so far?
“So you just tell her why you’re upset…and then she’s cool?” I ask.
Huxley tilts his head, his eyes narrowed. “Why are you so curious? Did you piss a girl off? Perhaps a certain baker in the greater Los Angeles area…?”
“Me? Are you kidding? Ladies can’t resist my charms.”
“Right. Which is why you’re forced to steal from a poor, hard-working baker lady.” Sebastian snickers.
I point my fork. “Shut your pie hole.”
The snicker turns into a full-blown laugh. “At leastthishole gets to eat pies from Bobbi’s Sweet Things.”
Chapter Ten
Bobbi
My morning starts lazily—because I’ve decided to sleep in. Triumph deserves some celebratory sleep. The day would’ve gone even better if Noah hadn’t texted me though.Starving children my ass.
Señor Mittens hops onto the bed and slowly pads his way to my chest. He gazes at my phone with distain. He hates it when I don’t start the day by scratching behind his ears.
So I start doing exactly that with one hand and text with the other.
–Me: Señor Mittens sends his regurgitated regards.
–Noah: I love you too, light of my life.
Still throwing out “I love you”s like they’re going to make a difference. If I didn’t know him so well now, it might work. Even though he doesn’t mean anything by “I love you,” my heart picks up speed, which makes me irritated. Does he honestly expect me to swoon? Andlight of his life? I’ll fall for that when the sun starts revolving around the moon!
I send him a text telling him to choke on a bag of dicks.
He responds, saying he might be okay with a threesome if certain proprietary rules are in place.
I grind my teeth, trying not to throw the phone against the wall. My emotions are a source of entertainment for him? I simply cannottake a man like this seriously.
I start to type as much, then stop.Why am I even trying?He won’t understand, and will just crack another lame joke. I’m not wasting my morning like this.
Okay.Phone, on the night stand. Me, out of bed and into the shower before TJ shows up with the power tools I asked to borrow. Unlike some men—who I am definitelynotthinking about at the moment—TJ is both reliable and punctual…although he kind of sucks at remembering anniversaries and birthdays.
Just as I’m done drying my hair and have put on a black tank top and yoga tights, TJ walks in, carrying his precious toolbox. He’s a human Rocky Mountain, huge and solid with arms and legs designed to deliver maximum damage. Enormous muscles all over his body strain against a gray T-shirt and shorts, and he can’t even buy shoes off the rack because his feet are too large. He used to shave his head bald, but now he lets it grow like an eighth of an inch because his daycare teacher girlfriend wants to feel his hair. His eyes are two shades darker than mine, and when he shows up, kids get quiet because he has a definite I-eat-children-for-snacks look. Unfair—he’s a softie inside and loves children, but his psychopath expression works well professionally. He’s in charge of security for a billionaire, Anthony Blackwood, and his family and companies.
His existence kept the boys away from me all through high school. Nobody was brave enough to face him to ask me out. To be honest, most grown men aren’t either, which left my dating life rather sad until Noah. I’m not giving him any credit, though. He’s never met TJ. If he had, he might’ve fled.
Maybe I should introduce them.
“Thanks,” I say as TJ sets his toolbox down by the couch in the living room.
“No prob.” He looks around my kitchen. “You sure you don’t need any help?”
I scoff with affection. “No need for arms bigger than my thighs. It’s just some tile.” I haven’t had time to do anything about the foul kitchen floor until now, what with Bobbi’s Sweet Things opening and all.
“I promised your mom I’d watch over you.”
“I don’t think she meant for you to do my kitchen.” An odd conflicted feeling rises up. My mom acted like she couldn’t bear the sight of me, then hugged me like I was the only bit of sanity in her chaotic world. I might’ve thought she was bipolar, but she never behaved that way toward anyone else.
Well, whatever.I decide her final wish for me is how she truly felt. “I’ll let you know when I need your muscles. But thanks for the offer. And since you’re being so nice, I’ll serve up your favorite breakfast.”
“You made an apple pie?” He perks up like a puppy about to be walked. He’s addicted to my baking, and for an apple pie, he’ll do pretty much anything.
