Jackson grinned wearily. “Nah, our brother is the universal savior of all things. The eternal martyr. The Great Fixer. He might even be Superman.”
My gaze shot to Thatcher’s at the reference, and I saw the irony tug at his lips. Because that’s where my eyes landed. Damn it.
“Not Superman, little brother,” he said quietly, taking a drink from his glass. “But somebody’s got to keep things anchored so that people like you can feel free to bounce around and not land in the water.”
Jackson grinned. “Like I said.”
Micah glanced around. “Is there a waitress?”
I was with her. It felt like a battleground. On one hand, it was nice to think about something else besides the hot man across from me and how warm his body had felt, and how he’d tasted, or how many boxes I’d bought or if the U-Haul I’d rented was big enough, but—
There. The U-Haul. Instantly, my sexual jitters drifted away and list mode took over. I had boxes and tape. I had a storage unit in the place next to the trailer park. I just needed to separate my packing into what would go to storage and what would go to—the room.
“Crap, I need a robe,” I blurted out.
All eyes landed on me. All of them.
“Come again?” Micah asked.
“Sorry,” I said, fiddling with my napkin. “I was just thinking about the bathroom situation at the apartment. I need a robe to get back and forth.”
“Because a T-shirt and shorts are too complicated?” Micah said.
“No, but I like to air dry,” I said, feeling my cheeks flame as I looked back at Micah but felt Thatcher and remembered his reaction to that knowledge last night. “It’s not normally a problem walking around in the buff in my own house.”
Jackson lifted a hand. “I do the same thing.”
“As we found out the last time we stayed with you,” Micah said. “The things you never want to know about your brother.”
“Yeah, and how about keeping that at home instead of at my house?” Thatcher said. “Try a towel sometime.”
“Speaking of which,” Micah said. “Not the towel,” she clarified. “How long are you in town?”
The playful look on Jackson’s face faded. “Probably heading back tomorrow. I need to talk to my business partner, and someone else about—something else.” A frown gathered above his nose. “I just needed to get away for a minute. Get some perspective.”
“Well, why don’t you follow us back to Charmed after lunch,” Micah said. “I have some things to do, but we can spend the day together before you go back.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and if y’all aren’t doing anything tonight, a bunch of us are going to Rojo’s.”
Oh, shit.
“What’s a Rojo’s?” Jackson asked.
“It’s a Mexican food restaurant in Charmed,” she said. “With a bar and a really hot bartender I know.”
I looked at Thatcher and imagined more of this special fun.
No, no, no, no.
“Ah, that’s where Leo works,” Jackson said.
“Just saying,” Micah said, drumming her fingers on the table. “Something to do.” She thumped Thatcher on the arm. “To get out of the house.”
As his focus landed back on me, I shot every possible version of No through my eyeballs. We could not go out like that. Where there was alcohol and music and dimming inhibitions and—adulting. I was kind of looking forward to letting go one last evening before diving into my home’s undoing, but we could not both go. The mischievous look that was building in his eyes, however, told me he was ignoring my Nos. It was on me.
“Might take you up on that,” he said, at the same exact time I said, “I’m probably gonna pass.”
Micah looked back and forth between us, finally landing on me.
“Why?” she said. “It’ll be fun. Oooh, text Hot Guy and see if he’ll meet you there.”
Or text Please swallow me now to the floor and hope there’s ice down there to douse the flame exploding in my face.
Thatcher cleared his throat and his eyebrows raised a notch. “Hot Guy?”
“That’s her nickname for the guy with no name she met at a—”
“Please stop now,” I said, laying a hand on Micah’s arm.
Laughing, she conceded. “Okay, sorry, guys. Girl code.”
“That you’ve broken a million times already today,” I said under my breath, holding my glass of ice water against my wrist while trying to avoid a certain gaze.
“Oh, it’s my brothers,” she said. “They don’t count.”
“Well then my invisible self will be there tonight,” Jackson said. “Instead of following you back, I’ll just get ready later and come early and hang out at your place.”
“What, you don’t want to ride with me?” Thatcher asked.
“Hell no, old man,” Jackson said. “You’ll be ready for bed by nine, I want my own car.”
I covered a smirk with my hand, thankful that the spotlight of embarrassment had shifted. Thatcher’s amusement grew into a grin, however, transforming his face and making my mouth go dry as always.
“Nine, huh?” he said. “We’ll see who’s old.”
Awesome. He was going to close the place down. Even more reason for me to stay home and stare at everything in misery.
“Gabi, you have to go,” Micah said.
“The packers are coming tomorrow to give me a bid and schedule the move to the storage building,” I said. “I expedited it since it’s on Bart’s nickel.”
“Sweet,” Jackson said.
“I’m bringing my stuff that I need to the apartment myself,” I said. “It’s not much. It’s temporary, till I can get another house, so I’m not bringing much over there.”
“Still no reason not to go out tonight,” Micah said.
“I need to—”
“I’m picking you up myself,” Micah said, squeezing my hand and giving me her this is not up for negotiation look. “Life can get serious tomorrow, but tonight you need to let off some of the stress you’ve got going. Crap, don’t let me forget to bring you by the dealership on the way home.”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly, looking for a feasible lie. “Drew texted me that she can drive me over, so it’s all good.”
“Car dealership?” Jackson asked, leaning forward with interest.
Damn it, not quick enough. No, clever guy, don’t be interested. There’s no coincidence here. Nothing to learn.
Thatcher ran his hands over his face, the humor fading. He let out a breath before settling in on me with a look that said less of I want to kiss you again, and more of Why did I ever even say hello to you.
“Gabi locked herself out of her car last night,” Micah said with a chuckle. “So, she has to get a new electronic—”
“Key remote made,” Jackson finished, nodding with fascination. Shit. No. Shit. He looked at me with a smile and then at his brother. “Must be going around.”
“What?” Micah said around a bite of bread. “What’s going around?”
Damn it, there’s a reason my mother taught me not to lie. It’s too hard to keep all the paths straight! We should have been honest up front, but no, not me. I just had to go and fight this.
“Thatch had to go help out a friend with car trouble early this morning,” Jackson said. “I think there was a key thing involved, too.” He nudged me, a look of supreme mischief lighting up his face. “See? A fixer. You should get him to help you.”
Thatcher looked ready to hang his brother from his ankles, and I felt like I couldn’t catch a full breath.
“I don’t—need fixing,” I managed to say around the rock in my throat. “I’m good.”
“I thought you said you were getting laid,” Micah said to Thatcher. “Come to think of it, what happened to your fluffy mood?”
I needed a d
istraction. A bomb to go off. An exorcism.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and pulled up the text from last night under the table.
I’ll be hard for a week.
God.
That was such a lifetime ago.
Thatcher frowned and then put on a smooth smile again as fake as the flowers in the plastic vase on our table.
“I’m totally fluffed,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I grabbed a roll and stuffed a piece in my mouth, not even bothering with butter. I needed something to occupy my hands, my brain, my mouth. If I could have feasibly occupied my feet and walked out of there, I’d have done it in a heartbeat.
“You’re totally full of shit,” Micah said. “What happened? Did your mystery woman text you that she’s married or from Canada or something?”
Oh man. Or something.
Thatcher gave her another smile that looked painful to conjure. “I don’t believe I ever said anything about any woman, mystery or otherwise.” His gaze flickered to me. “You have that on the brain.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said. “I know what you look like when you like someone.”
“She’s right,” Jackson said, a grin spreading across his face. “You light up like a kid on Christmas morning.”
“And you were all sparkly with it earlier,” Micah said. “Now the clouds of doom are all over you again.”
I suddenly felt as bad for him as I’d felt for me when Micah had thrown out that in love business. It sucked when you were hung out to dry and couldn’t do a thing to change it.
“Y’all give him a break,” I said as Thatcher sat back in his chair like he was ready to bolt or throw me under the bus. “Maybe he doesn’t want to go into his love life with me sitting here. Since we just officially met.”
Totally not a lie, and he raised an eyebrow discreetly.
Nicely done, Poppy.
Thank you.
“Or she wanted more than he did,” Micah said, relentless.
Jackson glanced at me. “Or there were surprise complications.”
My chest started to hurt. This would have been so much easier if we’d have come clean. Technically, we still could. The lie hadn’t gone on too long yet, but it was now or never.
“Or maybe she’s just bad news,” I said, drawing his attention. Those hazel eyes sharpened on me. “Maybe she’s got too much baggage and knows she can only handle a casual hookup. But then realizes that she can’t do casual, either and just has to be the perpetual friend.”
His eyes burned into me so hotly, I felt the exit wounds.
Micah chuckled and patted my hand. “Projecting much, Gabi? Don’t worry, you won’t always have baggage, and you won’t have to be the perpetual friend.”
With the perpetual vibrator, I added in my head.
“Or maybe there’s no woman,” Thatcher said, bringing us all back to him. “Maybe you’re all speculating on something that never was.” He broke eye contact with me and nodded at a nearby waitress. “Maybe I was just in a good mood this morning because no one had pissed me off yet.”
“Or—” Jackson began.
“Yet,” Thatcher reiterated, socking him in the arm. “Key word.”
“Y’all ready to order?” the waitress asked softly from between the two best looking guys in the room.
“Please,” Thatcher said, turning his menu over to the lunch side.
He rubbed at his jaw, and I watched him point out a choice to the waitress, smiling endearingly as he made a substitution and she melted into a pool of syrup at his feet. He had that way, without even knowing it. Had I done that? At the meeting? Had I melted at his feet when he fed me kiwi? I had dropped my keys in the lemonade, so it was sort of the same thing.
When he finished and let his gaze rest back on me, there was a good three-second span where I couldn’t look away. Three seconds again! Interminable! Things were thought, said, judged, and determined in those seconds. I didn’t know what the determination was, but I knew I had to get Thatcher Roman out of my head.
Casual or not, this guy was going to be the downfall of my badass bitchery.
CHAPTER TEN
My car was there.
At home.
Parked all cozy at the curb in front of the house.
There were no words, as I sat staring from Micah’s car. I’d asked her to run me back by the house and then to the shop since I’d lied about Drew taking me. I figured I’d then bribe Drew to do just that. Take me to my car in Denning so that I could try out my new little key remote.
And yet here we were, looking at it.
“How did—”
“I don’t know,” I said.
But I did. And oh God, the feels. This was something last night’s man had done. He’d gotten up, driven to Denning, somehow talked someone into breaking a hundred different laws, obtained a new remote for my car, and then had it towed or driven all the way to my house.
Probably, knowing him, or knowing Hot Guy at least, he had it towed. Because if he remembered my address then he probably also remembered that my wallet was in there and wouldn’t have compromised that.
How bizarre was it that I felt I knew that about him?
And then he’d gone in to the office, and all hell came crashing in.
“So…” Micah said, one eyebrow quirked upward. “That’s weird.”
“Really weird,” I said, hitting the door handle before her questions continued. “I’ll—” I shook my head. “I’ve got nothing. I guess I need to call the dealership and see how this came about.”
“No kidding,” she said. “I want service like that!”
I got out and leaned back in. “Okay, this was fun, so—”
“See you tonight.”
“To—” Shit. “Tonight.” Damn it.
“Yes,” she said emphatically.
I closed my eyes. “Micah, it’s been a bitch of a couple of days. I’ve got a million things to start culling through, and I’m really not in the frame of mind to be social.”
“Exactly why you need to,” she said. “It’s Friday night, Gabi. You are single and not eighty and pissed off as hell and rightly so. You need to relax and blow off a little steam. Wear something sexy, and—”
“I don’t own anything sexy,” I said. It was a lie, but it was all probably dusty and smelled of 2001.
“Bullshit,” she said. “Wear that black and white off the shoulder blouse you have and your black jeans. And lots of silver jewelry. And your ankle boots. You’ll be hot as hell and still be comfortable.”
I blinked at her. “How do you know all my clothes I mostly never wear?”
“It’s my superpower,” she said. “I will pick—actually, Jackson and I will pick you up at eight.”
“I’ll be gnawing my own hand by eight,” I said.
She gave me a look. “You do know this is grown-up night in the bar area, not hitting up the buffet, right?”
“You do know I’ll be grazing on nachos or I’m not coming, right?”
Micah rolled her eyes. “Fine. Seven thirty.”
“Do you think Thatcher’s coming, too?” I asked, putting everything I had into making that question sound casual.
She shrugged. “Sounded like it, but you never know with him. If he gets moody and anti-peopley, he’ll come up with some excuse not to show.”
I scoffed. “Why doesn’t that work for me?”
“Is Drew coming?” she asked. “What do you think about hooking the two of them up?”
My blood stopped dead in my veins. “Yeah, no,” I managed.
She flipped her hand at me. “Bye, see you tonight.”
I watched her pull in and turn around and drive away, waving at me again. I turned to look at my car and pulled Thatcher’s gift from my pocket, hitting
the button.
Everything clicked open for him.
I glared at my car with disdain.
“Slut.”
* * * *
I did nothing. All afternoon. I could have gone to the shop, I could have looked over the spring orders, I could have begun going through cabinets and drawers and downsizing. The friggin’ moving people were coming tomorrow morning, and most likely starting in the afternoon. I had so much shit to do, my shit had shit. And I responded to that knowledge by spending the entire afternoon in sweats watching Hallmark movies and eating chips and cheese dip.
If procrastination was a game sport, I would have won the trophy.
I even ordered pizza.
When my phone buzzed at six thirty, I hit the button to decline Micah’s call, knowing fully well she’d climb all over my ass about it. But I just wasn’t in the mood to be social. It buzzed again, and I declined it again, only to be shortly followed by the sound of my doorbell.
Thinking it was my pizza, I hopped from the couch, wiping melted cheese from my mouth with my sleeve, and threw open the door.
“The next time you send me to voicemail, you’d better be dying or fucking someone’s brains out,” Micah said, strolling past me. “I don’t see anyone ripping those really sexy—cheese-covered sweats off you right now, so I’m sad that you’re on your last breath.”
“You’re hilarious,” I said, closing the door behind her and muting the TV.
“And you aren’t ready,” she said.
“It’s only six thirty,” I said. And I’m not going.
“You need a little prep time,” she said, leaning in to sniff me. “And a shower.”
“Micah, come on, let me drown my misery in pizza my last night of pretending I live here,” I said. “You have Jackson, and—”
“Jackson is coming with Thatcher after all,” Micah said. “They’re meeting us there.”
I completely ignored the warm shiver that went down my back at the mention of his name.
“Okay, well you still have the both of them,” I said. “You don’t need me.”
“Totally need you,” she said. “And what’s more, you need you.”
A Charm Like You Page 11