Page 53 of Heaven Help Me

“I hope they accidentally give you decaf next time you go to Cloud Nine.”

Deuce just laughs harder while I snatch another piece of bacon off the plate and shove it in my mouth. “My girl Amanda would never do me dirty.”

I roll my eyes and pour a healthy stream of maple syrup over one of the stacks of pancakes. “You’re gonna fall head over heels in love with a woman some day and piss her off something fierce with this ‘my girl’ business.”

Deuce takes the syrup from me and pours it on the other plate of pancakes. His voice comes out soft and deep and carrying not one trace of the levity from before.

“When I fall head over heels in love with a woman, she’ll never have a moment of jealousy. She’ll know I’m devoted entirely to her.”

A shiver runs through me. What would it be like to be the center of Deuce’s attention? It would probably be lovely. Warm. Exhilarating. And if I keep thinking about it, it’s going to make me sad. And I don’t have time to be sad. Not today. Not ever.

We both eat our pancakes in silence. My stomach is a black hole of hunger, probably because I forgot to eat yesterday with all the nerves about pulling off the event. When I finally set my fork down and go back to the plate of bacon, Deuce scoots back to lean against the headboard, his long muscular legs stretched out in front of him.

“You know, we should put our competition behind us.”

I blink in surprise, my mouth full. I chew, wondering where this is coming from. When I swallow and wipe my hands on a linen napkin he included on the tray, I scoot backward to sit next to him.

“What do you mean?”

He huffs a little. “You can’t deny we’re always trying to one-up each other.” When I shrug noncommittally, he scoffs and keeps going. “We’d be a force to reckon with if we joined forces instead of competing.”

I think about it, a world in which he and I were a team instead of always fighting. He’s not wrong. A Valentina Rossi–Deuce St. Legare team would kick ass.

“Hmm,” I answer, still not ready to agree to something so crazy. “I’m not exactly good with cooperation and teamwork.”

Just admitting what we both already know is a step in the teamwork direction. Maybe this won’t be as hard as I initially thought.

Deuce grabs my hand and envelops it in both of his. “We could learn together. The Deuce-Valentina team.”

I’m already shaking my head. “The Valentina-Deuce team.”

He rolls his eyes. “No way. If anyone shortens it, we’d be screwed. I’m not going to be the VD team.”

I frown, then my brain catches on. I have to laugh at that. “Okay, so we should choose a name that doesn’t invoke sexually transmitted diseases. I agree with you.”

Deuce’s face lights up and he squeezes my hand. “Look at that! We’re already working well as a team.”

My phone dings once, then twice. I pull my hand from Deuce’s and grab it off the bed. “It’s a group text. Wait. Why am I on the group text?”

I hold my phone out to Deuce, who reads the messages from his friends. He just shrugs, clearly unaffected. “Well, you’re part of the group. Why wouldn’t you be added? And text back that it’s fine they all come over after church. That gives us enough time to go for a run, shower, and whip up some food.”

Deuce gets off my bed to clean up the breakfast tray while I text back. I set my phone down and watch him walk out.

What is going on?

Breakfast in bed with Deuce while we promise to work together? His friends are now my friends?

Bettina better hurry and fix things in New York. If I stay in Heaven any longer, I may never want to leave…

The nachos we made weren’t really necessary. Everyone came over with a dish like it was the most natural thing in the world to show up with unplanned food. It must be a Southern thing.

Deuce slings his arm over my shoulder and whispers in my ear as his—sorry, our—friends all assemble in the living room, loudly talking about all kinds of things.

“Proud of you, V. You’ve made friends and haven’t stabbed even one of them.”

I jab him hard enough in the ribs he has to let me go. All heads eventually turn in our direction, even with little Harlow babbling in the background while she throws dolls across the rug. Yes, Deuce keeps dolls here at his house just for Harlow. I refuse to think about how sweet that is.

“So, what’s the deal? Is your name Valentina?” Silas says, taking the lead. “’Cause I gotta say, that suits you better than Landry.”