“Grumpy Pantsdoes seem to fit better, does it not?” she teases, and I drop my mouth to taste the impish grin on hers.
“I’ll text you.”
She nods against my mouth.
Backing up, I put much needed space between us. Shoving my hands back into my pockets, it draws her attention, and her eyes drop to what’s quite obvious behind the fly of my jeans.
Grinning coyly, she asks, “Is that a firehose in your pants or are you happy to see me?”
The laugh that erupts from me is loud in the dark. Shaking my head, I remove one hand from my pocket and scrub it over my face. I’m actually blushing.
“Goddammit, Louise. That fucking mouth.”
She winks. “You have no idea.”
My cock twitches. Fucking hell, this woman is pure trouble.
“Good night,” I tell her, instilling a touch of gravel in my tone.
“Don’t dad-voice me.”
She winks again, biting her lower lip, backing up toward the stairs to her front porch.
I’m backing away, too, toward my own house as she climbs the steps. “Oh, Louise?” I call. She stops, turning to look at me. “I’ve been informed I have to bring you to family dinner next week.”
Her blond brows rise in surprise. “Oh. Umm. Okay?”
Backing away another couple steps, I grin at her through the darkness. “Both my brothers will be there. Make sure you behave yourself.”
“Or what?” she calls, grinning. God I love that grin. That fucking dimple that appears with that mischievous grin.
“Or I’ll keep adding to that punishment you’re getting, Brat.”
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “It’s not my fault he’s got those sexy glasses…”
“Louise…” I warn on a growl as I reach my own porch. She’s standing at her front door, half inside.
She kisses her fingers and blows me a kiss from across the yard. I grin back at her, shaking my head.
“Good night, Grumpy Pants.”
“Good night, Princess.”
Twenty-Three
Louise
“How’s the hiatus going?”
Cringing, I duck behind the bar at Bliss Garden, pretending to dig below for a cleaning cloth for the wine glasses.
“Hmm?” I ask from below the ledge. Fuck meI don’t want to have this conversation right now. “Sorry, Wils, can’t hear you.”
“I asked how the hiatus is going,” Willow says a little louder, standing on her tip toes on the other side of the bar so I can hear her better.
Fumbling and clattering things in my hands loudly, I call back up toward her, “Oh, yeah, you know. It’s fine.”
The scrape of chair legs against the wood floor sounds two seconds before her head pops over the edge of the bar above me. Her hazel eyes are narrowed on me. “Louise Nicole Miller.”
