She gives me that look that tells me she’s not buying it. “You know what I think it is? You’re sexually frustrated. I mean, just look at how wound up you are over an article. It’s not like he named and shamed you.”
I throw a pillow at her. She ducks, and it lands on the floor. "It isn't that. I keep running into this guy."
“You know him?”
“Not exactly. He’s that guy. The car I jumped into thinking it was yours.”
She scrunches her nose and scratches her head. “Oh, the one you were assaulting when I eventually found you?”
I open my mouth to deny it, but she's pulling a face.
“Then he was at the cafe the day I broke up with Will. It’s like he’s following me or something.”
"You should find him," she says excitedly, and I shake my head.
“Oh no, we are not playing PI. Besides, what makes you think I want to see him again?”
“You’re my sister. I know these things.”
Was Mac right? Did I want to see him again?
I should get pizza,I think, after Mac leaves. I’m actually starving my ass off. I call the local pizza joint and order a margherita pizza with extra cheese. I lay on the couch channel-surfing until I settle on watching a rerun ofGhostfor the umpteenth time. I am just at the part where Sam is about to use Oda Mae Brown's body to talk to Molly when the doorbell rings. The shrill of it has me shuffling around in search of a tissue to dry my eyes off.
"Just a second," I sniff, slipping on my night slippers. The doorbell rings once again, and I dash to the door. People are so impatient it isn't even funny.
I swing the door open just as the serial doorbell ringer is about to reach for the button again. My eyes widen because, on my doorstep, pizza in hand, stands the guy who’s been playing on my thoughts for the last couple of hours since Mac put that crap idea in my head. Mr. N, the columnist, in the flesh. He's dressed in black jeans and a white T-shirt that hugs his chest. He wears the signature Iz a' Pizza cap and a leather jacket, and I’d be lying if I said he didn’t look irresistible.
“Mr. N?” I blurt.
He frowns at me, his dark eyes drinking me in. “How do you know that?”
“You used the term white-haired psychopath explaining our encounter the other day. There aren’t too many of those,” I explain, pointing to my hair, which sits on my head in a messy bun.
“You don’t look so scary in fluffy slippers.” He looks down at my feet, then lets his eyes rake over the rest of me. I pull my gown closer around me, suddenly feeling chilly.
“How do you pop up everywhere?” I ask, honestly intrigued. What is it with me running into this guy?
He says nothing, just holds the pizza out to me.
"Oh, yes. I—" I rush back inside to grab a few notes off the coffee table, leaving him standing at the door.
“Thanks,” I say, handing the money over and taking my pizza. “Why’d you lie though?”
He cocks a brow questioningly.
“In the article, you said I begged you to kiss me.”
"It's just an article. People want a bit of drama," he merely remarks, backing away.
"It's Kenzie," I shout after him. I have no idea why, but I just want him to know.
I expect him to respond with his own name, but he just tips the brim of his cap to me and walks away, leaving me feeling like a fool.
Chapter 5
Kace
Iam working in a fucking pizza joint when I should be working on my novel or doing nothing. The thing about being the runt of the litter is that there is no daddy to bail me out. I bet if my brother were in trouble, his asshole father would move mountains to make sure he was taken care of. The portion of my mother’s life insurance which she left to me wasn't much, but it has kept me going. I don't mind. I'm a simple guy, but I'm sick and tired of being looked down on because my job pays shit.
