This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Teagan Hunter
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer quoting brief passages for review purposes only.
Editing by Editing by C. Marie
Proofreading by Julia Griffis & Judy's Proofreading
Cover Image: iStock Photos
Formatting by AB Formatting
Contents
Slice One
Slice Two
Slice Three
Slice Four
Slice Five
Slice Six
Slice Seven
Slice Eight
Slice Nine
Slice Ten
Slice Eleven
Slice Twelve
Slice Thirteen
Slice Fourteen
Slice Fifteen
Slice Sixteen
Slice Seventeen
Slice Eighteen
Slice Nineteen
Slice Twenty
A Slice of the Future
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Other titles by Teagan Hunter:
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Berenice Rios.
I wish I could have had the chance to meet you.
You won’t be forgotten.
Rest easy.
Slice One
Thea
Growing up, I was the kid who made little old ladies shake their heads and purse their lips by being a little too loud and a little too wild.
I don’t know how many times I caught my mom staring at me with a poorly hidden smirk as she shook her head. “You’re your own kind of special, Thea,” she’d tell me.
Her words were never harsh, always endearing, and not incorrect.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m a bit of a conundrum.
I love getting my hands dirty tearing motors apart as much as I love getting my nails painted bubblegum pink. I’d rather wear dresses than jeans, but you’ll never catch me in heels. And if I pick up a book, give me a good horror story, though my go-to movies are those dorky romantic comedies where the guy always gets the girl.
This is why I’m not surprised when Simon—the owner of Slice, the hottest pizza joint this small coastal town has to offer—sets my order down with a frown.
“One of these days, Thea, I’m gonna give you the boot if you keep coming here and spreading out like you do while still refusing to eat my cooking.”
“I am eating your cooking,” I argue, grabbing a fry from the basket he just placed in front of me and popping it into my mouth.
He shakes his head, arms now crossed over his thick chest. “That is not my cooking. Any idiot can toss a couple fries into the fryer.”
“Well, you’re my favorite idiot, if it makes you feel any better.”
He huffs out a laugh. “You wanna compliment me? Order some damn pizza next time.”
“Gross. Why would I do that?”
“Because”—he gestures around the space—“in case you haven’t noticed, this is a pizzeria!”
I scrunch my nose. “Is that what the awful smell is?”
Simon narrows his eyes, the wrinkles at the corners reminding me of my father’s. He towers over me with downturned lips. “I swear…”
“Oh, please.” I wave him off. “Don’t bother with the empty threats. We both know you enjoy my quirkiness too much to get rid of me.”
“You don’t like pizza, Thea. Pizza! It’s the most beloved food in America and you hate it. That’s weird on its own. Then there’s the fact that despite your asinine distaste for it, you still come here—frequently, I might add—to work like it’s some sort of coffee shop. It makes no sense.”
“Ah, ah, ah.” I wag my finger at him. “You just unknowingly answered your own question.”
“I didn’t even ask a question.”
“You implied one.” I shrug. “The reason I come here is because I love coffee.” Simon opens his mouth to say something, but I hold my hand up. “I love coffee and sweets way too much to be around that sort of temptation. Do you think I can work with those delectable smells wafting into my nose all day long and not indulge? Impossible! So, I come here, to a restaurant that serves food I don’t crave, all so I can still fit my ass into my jeans.”
Simon tucks his lips together, trying not to laugh at my reasoning.
Which, I admit, is a little silly.
But I know me. I have zero self-control. If I see something I want, I go after it, and that especially applies to sweet treats. I started coming here about six months ago when I realized I’d gone up two sizes in pants after just a year of being manager at my dad’s auto shop. And since I have a hard-and-fast rule about not taking work home, Slice seemed like the least tempting option.
I raise a brow at him. “So, are we good now?”
He lets out a sigh, shaking his head and grinning at me. “I still really wish you’d give the pie a try, but I respect your self-awareness when it comes to your weaknesses. Besides, you remind me of my late wife, a whole hell of a lot. That’s the real reason I let you stick around.”
“You mean it’s not my charm?”
He snorts. “Enjoy your fries, Thea. I’ll be back with another sweet tea for you.”
“That’s why I keep coming back, Simon. It’s not for the gross pizza—it’s the service!” I call out toward his retreating back.
A group of tourists on their way to the bar stop dead in their tracks at my words. Their eyes bounce back and forth between me and Simon, obviously concerned about the quality of the food.
“Don’t mind me. I hate pizza.” I shrug, popping another fry into my mouth.
The couple looks horrified, this time by my confession, and they continue making their way to the front of Slice.
I turn my attention to the books spread out in front of me.
I’ve been sitting here for the last hour and a half crunching numbers, triple-checking all the figures.
Some might say I’m a bit of a workaholic, and they’d be right. Running an auto shop when you’re not even thirty is no small feat. Now add in being a woman in a male-driven industry.
To put it bluntly: it’s damn hard.
But it’s worth it for me because there is no doubt in my mind I was born to do this.
I distinctly remember the first time I held a tool. Okay, maybe not the first time, but I remember the time that changed me.
I was six, my dad had taken me out to grab hot dog buns for dinner, and we blew a tire on the side of the road. No big deal to change a tire. It’s a simple task, but one that’s exceedingly difficult to accomplish with a six-year-old kid who won’t stop whining.
“It’s hot. I’m bored. Can I play in the field?”
“No!” he shouts, and I flinch at his outburst. “Sorry,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his head. “Sorry, peanut. Daddy is just…a little frustrated. These old lug nuts aren’t wanting to cooperate, and we need to get home before Mommy notices how long we’ve been gone. I don’t need her hollerin’ at me again.”
I blink up at him. “Is Mommy mad at you? Like that time we ran out of diapers for Jonas and he kept poopin’ everywhere and you
tied one of her fancy dish towels around him to catch it?”
He laughs. “No, she’s not mad, but she will be if I don’t finish this.”
“Can I help?”
“You want to help?” I nod. “Well, hell. If it keeps you busy…” he mutters. “Okay, peanut. Here, take this.”
He sets a heavy, weird-looking thingamajig in my hand.
“What is it?” I ask. My lisp from my missing teeth makes me sound like a baby again, and I am not a baby anymore. I haven’t been a baby for a long time now.
“That’s called a tire iron.”
“Tire iron?” I curl my fingers around it, eying it, trying to figure out what exactly I’m holding.
It looks like a big L, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing with it.
“What’s it do?”
“All kinds of things. Want me to show you?”
I nod again, and he motions for me to scoot closer.
As I kneel on the ground next to him, the grass squishing under my knees, my dad takes the tire iron and puts it over some knob-looking thing.
“What’s that? What are you doing?”
“These,” he says, pointing to one of the knobs, “are call lug nuts. They’re tight and I need to loosen them up so I can take them off. You use the tire iron to do it. I’m not having much luck though. I usually have a power tool to help me, so I’m a little out of practice doing this on my own.”
“Are you using your muscles?”
He puffs his chest out. “Of course I am. I ain’t called Super Dad for nothing.”
“Who calls you Super Dad? Does Jonas?”
He grumbles something, but I don’t understand him. “Here, help me give this thing a shove.”
My dad fits the tire iron over the lug nut and pushes hard. Nothing happens.
“Well?” He looks at me, brows raised. “Are you just gonna stare, or are you gonna use your muscles?”
So I did. I got in there, giving the tire iron as big a push as my six-year-old muscles could muster.
And it moved.
I had never felt so powerful before.
After helping my dad take the rest of the lug nuts off and replace the tire, I decided right then that one day I would be the one to change the tire all on my own.
I asked my dad a million questions on the rest of the ride home and he answered every single one with enthusiasm, a prideful glint in his eyes at my interest in something he so obviously loved.
From that day on, I became his little shadow, following him around his shop and learning how to do anything and everything related to vehicle repair.
His passion turned into mine.
It never dawned on me to work anywhere other than Schwartz Auto. It felt like home. It still feels like home.
“Oh my gosh, Jaden. You are so bad!”
I bristle at the name the girl just practically cooed, my eyes shooting straight toward the entrance to Slice.
Jaden, my ex, stands in the doorway with the girlfriend I’ve heard whispers about. The tanned, long-legged beauty grins up at him, and he looks at her like she hung the moon.
He used to look at me like that.
My hands begin to shake, and I wish they wouldn’t.
Logically, I know I shouldn’t be affected by him anymore. We’ve been broken up for some time, and he’s usually off galivanting around the world so I don’t have to see him. Even so, it’s a small town, and everyone is aware I haven’t seriously dated anyone since him—just like they know he’s managed to snag some social media influencer as his latest victim and is just here for the summer to show her off.
I’ve managed to avoid a face-to-face confrontation with him since they started dating, but it appears my luck is about to run out.
My eyes scan the crowded restaurant, hoping to find someone nearby I can use as a dummy date so I don’t look so damn pitiful still sitting by myself.
Like a gift sent from above, a guy sitting two booths down rises. He looks vaguely familiar and I’ve likely seen him around town before, but I can’t place where I’d know him from.
I say a quick prayer that he’ll take pity on a desperate woman and wave my arms like a crazy person, thankful Jaden’s girlfriend has them distracted as she fawns over some girl’s purse.
The guy quirks his brow, looking over his shoulder to check and see if it’s him I’m waving at or not.
When he looks back at me, he points to himself, and I nod vigorously, beckoning him closer.
“Yes?”
“Shh!” I hiss. “Lower your voice!”
“Oh, you’re right. My bad. Silly me.” He smirks, and I want to smack it off his lips. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes.” I point at the bench opposite me. “Sit.”
He glances at the papers spread out across the table, then at the empty seat, and then back to me.
“Uhhh…is this, uh, a game or something?”
“What?” I shake my head, shoving the papers back into my folders haphazardly, clearing them off the table and tossing them onto the seat next to me. “No, it’s not a game. I need your help. I—”
“Are you in trouble?” He cuts me off, leaning closer, his voice now a hushed whisper. “Are you hurt? Is someone following you?”
“What? Oh my god, why are you asking so many questions? Just freakin’ sit before he thinks I’m insane!”
His eyes bounce between the couple at the door and me.
To my surprise—and relief—he sits.
His legs brush against mine as he slides into the spot directly across from me. He stretches his hand out, palm open.
I scowl down at his outstretched hand. “What do you want? Money?”
“Oh my god, why are you asking so many questions? Just freakin’ give me your hand before he thinks you’re insane!”
Holy shit. He’s mocking me.
This stranger is mocking me.
I narrow my eyes at him, and he grins, gesturing for me to follow his instructions.
To my surprise, I do.
I place my hand in his, not missing how rough and calloused his touch feels. He flips my hand over and, with his index finger, starts tracing lines over my palm.
Now my hands are shaking for a whole new reason.
His fingertip glides over me gently, so softly I almost wonder if I’m imagining the contact.
I study him as he studies my hand.
Though his hair is mostly tucked beneath a baseball cap he has spun backward, a few light brown curls peek out around his ears. He’s wearing a distressed, army green shirt I’m sure has seen better days, yet it still molds to his athletic build perfectly. Dark blue eyes that look bright against his sun-kissed skin follow whatever it is he’s doing with his fingers, his thick lips parted as he watches his movements.
“And this line,” the stranger says, his smooth, deep voice drawing me in like a fly to a trap, “means when I grow some balls and finally ask for your hand in marriage, you’ll say yes before I can even get the full sentence out. Fate is that sure of us, baby.”
Hold the phone…marriage? What the—
“Thea.”
My attention snaps to Jaden, who’s now standing at the end of the table with his new girlfriend. His eyes dart between mine and my hand, which the stranger is still caressing.
“This is an…interesting surprise.”
The disdain in his voice is hard to miss.
Funny considering I’m the one who should be pissed off. He’s the one who ruined a four-year-long relationship I was certain was heading for a lifelong commitment with his inability to keep it in his pants.
“Jaden,” I force out through gritted teeth.
The tension is palpable, and not an ounce of it is sexual. There’s bad blood between us, that much is clear.
Jaden clears his throat. “Thea, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Casey.”
“Oh, did things with Liz not work out? Pity.” I paste on a brave smile, turning to his girlfriend, who
doesn’t deserve my wrath. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Casey.”
She gives me a small smile, obviously uncomfortable with this entire exchange. “Likewise.”
“And you are?” Jaden brazenly asks the stranger, without any pretenses.
“Oh, gosh. Where the hell are my manners?”
The stranger slides from the booth, standing to his full height.
I wasn’t paying attention to his stature before, but standing next to Jaden—who is no small fry—this man looks like a giant. He has to be at least six foot three, if not taller.
He sticks his hand out to my ex, towering over him. “I’m Sullivan.”
Sullivan? Huh. Interesting.
“Sullivan.” Jaden tries the name out on his lips, glancing down at the outstretched hand with distaste but doing the right thing and slapping his palm to it.
“Yep. I’m Thea’s boyfriend.” Sullivan grips his hand tightly, using his other one to cover them and shaking Jaden’s firmly enough to knock him off-kilter. Then he turns to me, that same smirk from before making his lips curl with mischief. “But hopefully more soon.”
He tosses me a wink, and I try not to glare at him.
“Jaden. Nice to meet you.” He clears his throat, dropping his eyes to where Sullivan is still clasping his hand tightly. With one last squeeze, Sullivan lets go. My ex scans between me and my supposed new boyfriend, eyes curious and untrusting. “I, uh, wasn’t aware you were dating anyone, Thea.”
“It’s new.” I shrug.
“New but already talking about marriage?”
“What can I say?” Sullivan answers for me, his bright white smile looking so damn genuine it’s almost scary. “When you know, you know, right?”
“Uh, right. Sure.” Only Jaden doesn’t sound sure at all. If anything, he sounds a little jealous, not that he has any business feeling that way.
Cheesy on the Eyes: Fake Dating Romcom (Slice Book 5) Page 1