“Yes.” Had she not just witnessed the devastation his grandmother could wreak when she was on a mission?
And why did he feel like he’d been summoned to the principal’s office? A sexy-as-hell principal in a hairnet, but still.
“Even after your grandmother tried to get revenge on me for breaking your tender heart.” She smacked her mouth closed.
“Well, yeah. But I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything else to you.” He could definitely, probably, make sure of that.
Heather took a few deep breaths. She paced from one side of the car to the other. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to have a pretend break up? You asked me out. Twice.” She held up two fingers, for good measure.
“I don’t want the kind of girlfriend they want me to have.”
“What kind is that?”
He shifted. “Look, chicks can be demanding.”
And that was the truth.
“I had no idea.” The sympathy in her tone was anything but sympathetic.
He stepped closer to her.
“You’re not that kind of chick.” He got close. Not up in her space, but close enough he could smell the lavender in her shampoo.
The light behind her eyes flared. “So if I agree to lie to your grandmother about us, what about my van?”
“Here’s what I’m thinking.” Jase pointed to his delivery van in the alley. “We’ll share my van today. Ethan can help out with your deliveries. We don’t call the police. We don’t involve insurance. I just…” Fuck it. What the hell. “Buy you a new van.”
“What about tomorrow? And the day after that?” Heather’s voice started to get pitchy, but she held herself tall.
“Ethan and I will help you out until we get you another van. We’ll order it today.” Jase’s grandmother was going to owe him.
“A pink one,” Heather confirmed. “With a cookie on the top.”
“Right. Just like this one.” But without the Buick indentation along the side. “Though, my delivery driver may quit when he realizes he has to deliver penis cookies.”
“Oh please. We box them up so you can’t see what they are,” she said. “I can’t exactly walk through town with a cockie bouquet without getting hate mail.”
Then everything was fine. Win. Win. Win. “Perfect. All sorted.”
Ethan never had to know what he was delivering.
Heather didn’t move. “I want a year of satellite radio, leather seats, a premium stereo system, and a fresh tank of gas every week for a year.”
He groaned internally.
“And I’m not taking the bus to the grocery store. You’ll lend me your car whenever I need it.” She shrugged. “Or we can do this thing the right way. The way that involves police and insurance.”
He focused his gaze on his grandmother. She had no license. And this was not her first offense. Hell, she should be the one forking out the money. But this was his fault—at least partially. He’d suck it up, open his checkbook, and take responsibility.
She could wind up in jail. Or worse, house arrest. Somehow, she’d probably manage to make that happen at his apartment. “Fine. Done. Leather. Satellite. Stereo. Gas. Plastic Cookie. Personal chauffeur.”
“And pink paint,” she confirmed.
“And pink paint.”
“Will there be tears?” she asked.
“Sorry?” What had she asked? He was busy doing the math of how much money he’d just dropped on a delivery van that he’d never use.
