Dumpster Fire (Life Sucks Book 3)

by Elise Faber

  “You do?”

  Her smile growing. “Do you think the whole town will talk if I kiss you right now?”

  His eyes flicked over her shoulder, saw that Misty and company were blatantly staring, not even trying to pretend they weren’t watching the conversation taking place. “Yes,” he told her.

  Soph tilted her head from one side then to the other.

  Then mischief slid over her face, and she shrugged.

  “Fuck it,” she whispered, throwing herself into his arms. Her body hit his with enough force to knock him back a step, but then her mouth landed on his, her breasts were flush to his chest, her legs around his waist.

  And he was kissing her.

  Or she was kissing him.

  Or—

  To take a page from her book, fuck it.

  He gave the town something to talk about.

  Then they went and got sundaes.

  Sixteen

  Ice Cream Nirvana

  Soph

  “And extra cherries, please,” she said to the cute teenage boy serving them at the diner a few blocks from Tangled.

  She’d just ordered a Jumborama, per Rob’s recommendation, and if she was going to down calories that she would have to work off tomorrow, then she figured she might as well go hog wild.

  “You know,” Rob said as the teenager with curly red hair and narrow, reed-like shoulders hustled off to put in their order, “I read somewhere that those cherries are the worst thing that a human can consume. Full of preservatives and colorings and pure sugar.”

  Her lips twitched. “Which is why you ordered extra cherries, as well?”

  Laughing tiger’s eyes. “Exactly.” A beat. “If we’re going to go down in flames, we might as well plummet together, am I right?”

  “That sounds like the best thing I’ve heard in a long while.”

  And speaking of bests, the way he looked at her with warmth in his eyes, how he touched her, held her, laughed with her . . . yeah, there were a lot of bests in there.

  He reached across the table, laced his fingers with hers. “What did you do today?”

  “Beach. Nap. Read.” A chuckle. “Would have been the perfect trifecta, if not for the script.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  She made a face. “I think this is the third rewrite, and I swear, the characters get less likeable with each version.” Sighing, she leaned back in the booth, curling her legs up beneath her. “Worse is that I’m supposed to leave and film this in a month, but how the hell am I supposed to learn my lines if they keep changing everything?”

  “I can help you,” he offered.

  And her heart went pitter-patter.

  “You’d do that?”

  “Shamelessly.” He grinned . . . and more pitter-pattering.

  “Why shamelessly?” she asked.

  “Well—” The server set down two glasses of water, and Rob waited until he’d gone to finish answering. “Shamelessly because I think I would do pretty much anything to spend time with you.”

  “That’s . . .” She trailed off, not sure what to say.

  “Too much?” he asked, pulling his hand back.

  “No.” She reached for him, snagged it again. “Not too much.” Her lips turned up, and she circled back to his previous statement. “Tell me, though, what would be beyond the pretty much for you?”

  He tapped his chin. “Murder”—a shrug—“no, I suppose under the right circumstances, that would be on the table.” His eyes met hers, the rage at the edges telling her exactly whom he might be willing to murder, given the chance. Maybe that anger should have scared her, but instead, it warmed her.

  She’d always worried that if someone found out the truth, they would look at her differently.

  But Rob . . . he hadn’t changed.

  He knew it all and those swirling eyes, the gentle touch, the smiles and teasing—none of it had changed.

  Heart squeezing, she traced the fingers of her free hand through the condensation on the outside of her water glass as she listened to him talk.

  “Skinny dipping?” A shake of his head, a wicked grin. “No, I’d be happy to skinny dip with you.”

  She snorted. “I bet.”

  “Long walks on the beach, searching the mall for that one perfect handbag to go with your copious amounts of sexy-as-shit heels.” He considered for a moment. “Also not beyond the pretty much. I’d happily do both of those.”

  Giggling now, she asked, “How about a farmer’s market? Would you go to one of those with me? Walk up and down the aisles while I decide on the best variety of local honey?”

  “Meh.” He shrugged. “I’m an old hat at farmer’s markets, and I can even tell you the difference between blackberry and acacia varieties of honey.”

  “Blackberry and . . . what?”

  “Acacia.” He waggled his brows. “Ooh, or maybe you’d prefer an alfalfa.” A chef’s kiss that had her busting a gut. “I bet you’d prefer a delicious alfalfa variety.”

  “That sounds disgusting.”

  He leaned back so the teenager could set down a pair of truly giant sundaes in front of them. “That it does,” he said, handing her a spoon from a caddy near the end of the table before grabbing one for himself. “But it is surprisingly delicious, especially on toast with Lou’s homemade bread.”

  “Who’s Lou?”

  “Baker in town.” He gestured to her sundae. “Eat.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m only eating because I want to, not because you went all caveman and ordered it.”

  He shrugged, dug in. “Whatever gets the ice cream into your sexy mouth sooner.”

  “Because you want to shut me up?”

  A dark brow lifted, and he crossed around the table to sit next to her in the booth. “You think I’m dumb enough to bite on that question?” She started to huff but wasn’t even mid-exhale before he snagged her spoon from her hand. “Yes,” he said. “Apparently, I am dumb enough to answer that question.” His lips dropped to her ear, voice silken, breath hot enough to make her shiver. “I want you to get this . . . cream in your mouth.”

  She inhaled, heat trickling between her thighs. “Didn’t think you’d have dirty in you.”

  “Dirty in you?” That brow lifted again, and she actually blushed. Then he scooped up some ice cream and held the spoon up to her mouth.

  Her lips parted before she could even process that she’d moved.

  But then ice cream was on her tongue, the sweet treat melting on her taste buds and . . . holy hell but that was good. She stole the spoon back, scooped up a giant bite, before shoving it back in her mouth.

  “Good, huh?” he asked, pointlessly, she supposed. “They make the ice cream from scratch in house.”

  She nodded, shoved him on the shoulder, and said, “Get on your side and eat this deliciousness before it melts and goes to waste.” Of which, maybe half her words were decipherable, considering her mouth was plumb full of ice cream. But he got the message, sliding out of the booth and getting down to the business of devouring his own sundae.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed after they were halfway through the “There is one thing I absolutely will not do.”

  Genuinely curious and enough ice cream consumed that she felt like she could pause in her hoovering for a moment, she asked, “What?”

  Not exactly the most articulate of statements, but . . . ice cream.

  She needed it, but she also wanted to know every single thing about this man.

  “Musicals,” he said in between much more reasonable bites than she was taking.

  “Musicals?” she asked, spoon hovering two inches from her mouth.

  He shuddered. “I can’t do it. Carmella made me go see Rent once, and I stuffed my ears full of cotton during intermission.”

  “You didn’t,” she gasped.

  “I did.” He scooped up another bite. “And let me tell you that it was infinitely better that way.”

  “Well,” she said. “Let me tell you th
at my favorite musical is Rent.”

  His lips curved. “So, I’m in for a world of hurt?”

  “No.” She reached across the table and bopped him on the nose. “You’re in for a world of good.”

  He groaned.

  But it turned out that she was right.

  They were in for a world of good.

  For a time.

  Seventeen

  More Unlocked Doors

  Rob

  Fuck, but he was exhausted.

  It was Saturday evening, and he’d worked all day. But the job was done. The floor laid, the baseboards installed, and he had the next day off to spend with Soph.

  Tonight, he needed to catch up on some sleep.

  God, he hadn’t pulled this many late nights since college.

  Going back to Soph’s after ice cream and staying up way too late talking about nothing . . . and making out. Because everything was better when he was able to hold and kiss and touch her.

  Luckily, she seemed to like it when he did.

  And liked to return the favor.

  Which he certainly wasn’t going to complain about.

  But tonight she was busy with Finn and Shannon, and though he’d been invited, he was too fucking tired to summon up the energy to be social.

  Pizza. A beer (one and no more than one considering his birthday adventures).

  Then early to bed.

  Currently, though, he was just summoning the energy to retrieve his cell from his pocket so he could plug it in.

  “Later,” he muttered, letting his head rest back on the couch.

  The front door opened.

  His nose started working right about the time he managed to summon the energy to peel his lids back and see who was invading.

  Probably Misty wanting dirt on him and Soph. He’d already been interrogated from no less than a half dozen people in town about what was going on with him and the brunette beauty who’d utterly captivated him, but he wasn’t one to kiss and talk, and he certainly wasn’t going to give the gossip train in town any more fuel.

  Nope, it was chugging along quite well without him.

  His fault for bringing Soph to The Creamery.

  Though, he would take the gossip any day of the week, especially after getting to witness her simple pleasure of eating that sundae.

  Pleasure.

  That was the most innocuous word for it.

  Fuck. Truthfully, his cock still hadn’t recovered.

  Footsteps drew his attention to the front hall, to the opening where his intruder would appear in . . . three . . . two . . . one.

  His heart stuttered. Squeezed. And he suddenly wasn’t tired.

  Because he was on his feet, moving toward Sophie.

  “Hi,” she murmured shyly.

  He tucked a strand of her hair—unruly as ever—behind her ear. She kept blaming the sea breeze for the tangled strands, but Rob half-figured it was him and his inability to stop touching it.

  Her hair was like his fidget spinner.

  Only infinitely better.

  “Hi,” he said, bending around the pizza box and bag and pressing a light kiss to her mouth. “I thought you were busy tonight.”

  “Change of plans,” she told him, nodding at her arms. “Turned out that I needed to see you.”

  Pleasure down his spine. His cock—well, the state of that particular body part was well-known and insistent on making its presence known as it pressed itself against the seam of his jeans.

  He took the bag and box and carried both into the kitchen. “Well, I am really glad to see you, but I hope that you didn’t mess up your plans for me.”

  “No.” She came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “Turned out I was too tired to build late-night sandcastles with Rylie tonight. I wanted some junk food and . . .” He felt her shifting behind him as her sentence hung in the air for a few seconds. “And I brought this!”

  A DVD appeared in front of his face.

  “I didn’t think people still used DVDs anymore,” he said, once he’d stopped laughing about the appearance of an old school Star Trek disc.

  “A desperate girl calls for desperate measures.”

  He spun, wrapped his arms around her waist. “I do have streaming, you know. We could have bought it.”

  She set the DVD on the counter, rested her head against his chest. “But it won’t have the same quality as something from my personal collection.” She tapped the cover. “This baby has been played on entertainment systems all over the world.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, running his hand up and down her arm. “Where?”

  “Melbourne, Paris, Reykjavík, Tunisia.” She tapped her chin. “Oh! It’s even been to Antarctica.”

  His brows lifted. “You’ve been to Antarctica?”

  Soph nodded. “I went as part of a documentary that was filmed last year. Fucking cold, but one of the best things I’ve ever done.”

  “Wow.” A beat. “And you ruined it with Star Trek.”

  Swatting him lightly on the chest, she pushed out of his arms then plunked her hands on her hips, turning to survey the cabinets. “Where do you keep plates in this joint?”

  He nodded at the one to the left of the sink. “There. Do you want a cup of tea?”

  “Did I pound that sundae like it was my last meal on earth, even as I still am desperate to have another?”

  “I’m taking that as a yes.”

  She laughed, moved to the cabinets and opened the door, retrieving two plates from inside. “Yes, it’s a yes.”

  He put the kettle on, snagged two mugs. “I take it I’ve got to take you for another sundae sometime soon?”

  “If you don’t want a revolt on your hands, that’s also a yes.” Soph opened the lid on the pizza. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got two crowd-pleasers—pepperoni and Hawaiian.”

  He made a face.

  Hers fell. “Oh shit. Are you a vegetarian? Or vegan? Or gluten-free? I—we can order something else—”

  Rob crossed to her, kissed her cheek. “Pepperoni is great. The Hawaiian, I’ll pass on.”

  “So you’re not a vegetarian?”

  He shook his head. “Or any of the other things. I’m just not a fan of pineapple on pizza.” Shuddering, he turned back to the tea.

  “No Hawaiian pizza. No musicals.” Glancing back, he saw her nod, as though making a mental list.

  “And what about you?” he asked. “What food don’t you like?”

  “Oysters. Raw ones, that is. I don’t mind them fried, but good grief, it seems like every single bigwig’s party has to have an oyster bar.” She gagged. “I can’t stand that slimly feeling.”

  “Can’t say I’m much of a fan of them myself,” he agreed. “What else?”

  “Hmm. Cow tongue,” she said. “I tried that with friends once, and it’s . . . well, it’s not as horrible as I expected, but I don’t think I want to eat it again, especially after I had nightmares of tongueless cows for weeks on end.”

  “That’s a little too real for me,” he said, filling the mugs with hot water when the kettle whistled and then putting in the tea bags so they could steep. “I prefer my food firmly processed.”

  Soph laughed. “Oh, how the Hollywood matrons would gasp and cling to their pearls with that statement.”

  “Feel free to use it next time you’re at one of those oyster bar parties.” He grabbed the mugs as she reached for the plates.

  “I’ve already filed it away for future use.”

  Chuckling, he led the way into the family room, setting the mugs down and then taking the DVD from Soph. He loaded it in the player, snagged the remote, and handed it off to her. “Since you brought the torture.”

  She set it on the coffee table. “I’ll torture you after pizza.” A beat. “Tell me about your day? Any sewer pipes need emergency replacing?”

  “No,” he said, sitting next to her. “Thankfully, the job was just to patch some flooring that had gotten damaged
. Although, once I pulled it up, I found mold, so the work became bigger than planned. I had to crawl under the house and replace a joist as well as some sub-floor.”

  “Why does it sound sexy when you say the word joist?”

  He nearly choked on the bite of pizza. “Because . . .” He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  Her laughter was warm and full of life, and he couldn’t believe how much she’d opened up and relaxed since she’d first come to Stoneybrook. But it was as though her confession on that hillside, and the fact that he hadn’t run screaming for said hills, had given her power . . . and taken it away from the memories that had swamped her.

  Fuck, she was strong.

  He couldn’t imagine surviving what she had and somehow managing to become the lovely, kind person she was.

  The world had turned its back on her at a pivotal moment in her life.

  And she’d somehow put that behind her.

  So strong and amazing and incredible and wonderful—even all those words together couldn’t begin to describe the person Soph was.

  “Earth to Rob,” she said, nudging his thigh with her foot.

  A quirk of hers he’d noticed—and something that felt so fucking great to be in the position to do that noticing—was that she was always curling her feet up underneath herself. Sometimes it was only one foot, like during the knitting class. Other times, like now or when they sat on her deck, she brought both up, pretzeling her legs in a way that had his knees screaming for mercy just looking at her.

  “Hello?” she chirped, nudging him again.

  “Sorry,” he said, blinking rapidly, getting himself out of his head.

  Her face closed down.

  “What?”

  She set her plate on the table, snagged his to do the same. Then she reached for his hands and stared deep into his eyes, making his stomach clench. Shit.

  “Are you okay with me being here?”

  He struggled for a moment to process what she was saying—or perhaps more accurately, why she was saying it. But before he could answer, she was on her feet, pacing the carpet in front of the coffee table.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I should have asked, should have made sure you were okay with it—”