Frisky Business (Chick Flick Club Book 3)

by Lila Monroe

  I have no idea. The one thing I know for sure is that I care about her enough that she’s a major factor. Enough to complicate everything.

  When I get home, she’s in the kitchen making popcorn. She’s in her pajamas, looking so adorable, wearing the wishbone I bought her around her neck. It’s just a cheap little trinket, but it means something that she wears it.

  “Hey there, pool boy,” she says, smiling as I pull her into my arms. “Ready to watch The Notebook?”

  “In a minute,” I say, leaning down to kiss her.

  A minute turns into a half hour of hot, sweaty sex on the kitchen floor, which then requires us showering to get the melted butter off us, but then we’re settled on the couch, watching the sappiest movie I’ve ever seen.

  Eve’s phone rings. Her eyes widen as she glances at the screen. “It’s Viv!” she hisses. “What should I do?”

  “Um, pick up?” I suggest, amused.

  She pauses the movie. “Hey, Viv!” she answers. I grab her feet and pull them into my lap, rubbing and kneading each of her cute pink-painted toes. “Just checking in? Yes, of course everything’s great.”

  Her eyes half close in pleasure as I continue massaging.

  Then suddenly she sits up straight, yanking her feet from my grasp. “You are? Oh! That’s great. OK. Looking forward to it!”

  She ends the call. Stares at me with wide eyes.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!”

  “What is it?”

  “Viv and Colin,” she cries. “They’re cutting their trip short. They’re coming home! TOMORROW MORNING! And the chicken won’t be here until next week!”

  Fuckity fuck is right.

  21

  EVE

  “WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?” I cry, jumping up off the couch, my heart racing. “They’ll know we broke it! Oh my God, I can’t breathe. Is this what a panic attack feels like?”

  Noah stands and puts his hands on my shoulders, steadying me, even as my insides are quivering in panic. “We’ll figure this out,” he reassures me. “I’ll call the chicken guy right now. You . . . just take a breath. Try to chill.”

  “Yes, sure. Chill!” Hysterical laughter bubbles up. “Good luck with that. I should probably start cleaning up,” I add, looking around. We’ve kept the place pretty neat, but still—my standards are so not Viv’s spotless perfection.

  I leave him to chicken-chasing and hurry upstairs to round up the laundry I’ve been neglecting. I throw a pile in the washer, not bothering to separate. There’s no time!

  A few minutes later, I’m in my en-suite bathroom, at the sink wearing rubber gloves. I’m scrubbing crusty toothpaste off the porcelain when Noah shows up in the doorway. His lips are pursed, forehead wrinkled into a frown.

  My heart sinks. “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

  He sighs. “He hasn’t even shipped it yet.”

  “WHAT?” I shriek. Noah steps back, clearly alarmed. I shake my head. “Sorry. But seriously, what?”

  “The good news is that I can go get it in person.”

  I sag in relief. “Thank God!”

  “The bad news is that it’s in San Diego.”

  I stare at him. “That’s like an eight-hour drive! Each way!”

  Noah nods. “I need to get on the road now if I’m going to make it back in time.”

  “Are you kidding?” I ask, but he’s not smiling at all.

  “Can you hold down the fort here and get everything else ready?” Noah asks.

  “I can, but . . . Are you sure?” I check. “There’s going the extra mile, and then there’s going the extra five hundred miles!”

  “It’s the only way,” he says with a shrug, then he bends to give me a scorching hot kiss as I stand there in yellow rubber gloves. I reach to pull him closer, but Noah reluctantly steps back.

  “Hold that thought,” he says as he gives me a wink. “For about fifteen hours.”

  I SPEND those next fifteen hours running around like a—you guessed it—headless chicken.

  I bathe Leia and Hans, and then, of course, have to clean up after them because baths give them the zoomies, making them run around the house, rubbing all over the carpet. Then I finish the laundry, do two loads of dishes, sweep, mop, cry, dust, and then cry a little more because by the time I finish, it’s 4 a.m. and I am freaking exhausted.

  The last I heard from Noah, he’d just picked up the chicken and was on his way back, so there’s nothing for me to do but get a couple of hours of sleep, then wait for Colin and Viv to arrive—preferably AFTER Noah gets back. But by nine, there’s still no sign of him. My nerves are about to snap. Viv and Colin will be home any minute!

  My phone rings.

  “Noah!” I cry, relieved. “Where are you?”

  “Traffic,” he says, sounding frustrated. A tiny part of me feels so awful for him, but the rest is desperate to get him home with that chicken!

  “Will you make it?” I ask, anxious.

  “I hope so,” he says. “I’m not far. Stall them if you have to.”

  He ends the call just as—holy shit—Viv and Colin’s Range Rover comes rolling up the front circular drive.

  Dammit!

  HURRY, NOAH!

  I run outside to greet Viv and Colin, the two dogs trailing behind, yipping in excitement. Pasting a smile on my face, I wait for the car to stop. Viv jumps out.

  “Welcome home!” I say, hoping I don’t look like a panicked psychopath.

  “Thank you so much!” Viv says, seeming so happy to be home. Especially when she notices the dogs. “Oh! Look at my babies!” she coos, bending down to greet them. They are so excited to see her that Leia is snorting and jumping up and down and Hans sneezes a million times in a row, making us laugh.

  She pulls them both to her, snuffling and hugging each in turn.

  Yes, just keep doing that, I think. Take your time. Take ALL the time in the world.

  Finally, she looks up at me, grinning. “They look so great. They even smell good! I can see you took excellent care of them. Thank you so much, Eve.”

  Colin, who I am reminded I’ve never even met, gets out the driver’s side of the car. I dart a glance toward the side drive that leads to the garage, but no sign of Noah.

  “It’s so great to meet you!” I stick out my hand and shake Colin’s exuberantly.

  “Likewise,” he says, rolling his eyes at his wife. “If only she greeted me like that after an absence.” He says it with an indulgent smile, though.

  But then I nearly swallow my tongue. He’s heading toward the house!

  “Where are you going?!” I blurt.

  He does a double take. “Inside?”

  “Oh,” I say. “What about your luggage?”

  “Right,” he sighs and shakes his head. “It’s been a long day of travel.” He walks to the back of the SUV and starts unloading bags.

  It buys time, but still no sign of Noah.

  Viv straightens up and starts toward the front door, baby-talking to the dogs about how happy she is to be home.

  “WAIT!” I say. “You have to see the trick I taught them!”

  Viv’s eyebrows go up. “Trick?”

  “Yes!” I say even as I’m thinking: What am I doing?

  “Well?” Colin says, eyes focused on the dogs. “What is it?”

  “They do a cute dance. Hans, Leia,” I say to get the pugs’ attention. “Dance! Dance pretty! Come on! Will you dance for me?”

  Nope. Hans stares at me and then sneezes a few more times. Leia sits and proceeds to start licking her . . . wookie.

  “Come on,” I plead in a high voice. I hold my hand up high and wiggle it as though I have a treat between my fingers. “Dance for me!”

  Just then I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I glance up. It’s Noah, holding a box as he jumps over the hedge. He’s heading for the back yard.

  Thank God! But we’re not home free yet. I need to keep stalling.

  “I think they need more practice,�
�� Viv says, apologetic.

  “I’m going inside. I need a nap,” Colin announces, heading toward the door, dragging a giant suitcase. “Eve, would you be able to help with the bags?”

  “Oh, sure!” I say. I know he means the bags still at the back of the car, but I have no choice. I hurry forward to grab Colin’s bag right out of his hand.

  Then I trip, basically throwing myself down onto the front steps in front of him to block his way. The front concrete steps.

  The stumble is fake but the groan that escapes me is real. So real. Because: Oooooowwwww!

  “Eve!” Viv cries as Colin helps me up. “Are you OK?”

  I blink back tears of pain and nod. “Yes . . . I’m fine. Just scraped my elbow is all.”

  “You’re bleeding!” Viv says. “Leave the bag. Come inside. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

  Please be done, please be done, please be done, I chant to Noah inside my head as we finally go inside.

  I move very slowly and even moan to draw all the attention to me. I angle my body to block the living room. Just in time to see Noah hop over the couch, chicken in hand.

  It is a ridiculous picture. Even on the verge of being busted I almost laugh.

  I cough and moan louder. “Ohhhhhhh, who knew an elbow could hurt so much!”

  Noah slides the chicken in place on its display.

  Sweet relief.

  We did it.

  Holy shit. We did it!

  “Oh, thank God!” I blurt. “I mean . . . I don’t think it’s broken, thank God!”

  Viv and Colin look at me, probably wondering what kind of nut they let stay in their house, when Noah waltzes up, trying to hide that he’s breathing hard.

  “Viv! Colin!” he says, kissing the former on the cheek and shaking the latter’s hand. “Welcome home. I hope you had a great time.”

  While he greets them, I use the opportunity to duck into the kitchen to clean off my arm.

  “We did,” Colin says. “But you’ll excuse me; after a whole day of travel, I just want a shower and my bed.”

  Viv pats Noah on the cheek, affectionate. “Me, too,” she says. “Come for dinner on Sunday. Pot roast.”

  Then, as though she just remembered me, Viv turns and smiles at me. “Thanks again, Eve. You really came through. We’ll be in touch.”

  Then they’re gone, up the stairs to their room.

  I sag into Noah’s arms. “Oh my God, that was so close!”

  “I know,” Noah says, laughing. “But we did it.”

  He tips my chin up with his finger and drops a kiss on my lips. But before it gets heated, he pulls back. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We pack up our bags and I assume Noah’s about to order a cab, but instead he takes me into the garage where an old sedan is parked.

  “What’s this?”

  His eyebrows go up. “My car?”

  “Why have you been driving Viv’s convertible Mercedes if . . .” I trail off when I see his grin. “Never mind, asked and answered.”

  “Where to?” he says as he pulls out of the garage.

  “Oh,” I say, remembering in that moment that I live in a sorority house. Ugh, my life!

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just not exactly raring to switch en-suite luxury for my old place again.”

  “Good.” Noah grins. “You can crash at my place tonight.”

  “I thought your place was getting work done?” I ask.

  Noah pauses. “It’s . . . been ready for a week.” He shoots me a sheepish smile. “Are you going to accuse me of being a romantic if I say I wanted to be close to you?”

  “That depends,” I ask. “If I do, can I still stay at your place?”

  “Definitely not,” he says in mock sternness.

  “Then it’s not romantic at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of stuff sociopaths do. Not romance. Nope.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he says with a grin.

  I laugh. “Drive on, pool boy.”

  IT TURNS OUT, Noah lives in a gorgeous big studio, converted from an old factory in an up-and-coming part of town. I step inside and laugh. “I thought you were staying in the pool house to get an upgrade!” I exclaim. “This is pretty freaking sweet.”

  Noah grins. “I did a lot of the work myself,” he admits. “The place was basically a shell when I moved in. I had to convince the landlord I wouldn’t get him dragged to court on code violations.”

  “You’re handy, too?”

  “You know it.” Noah pulls me into a kiss—showing me just how handy he can be.

  Then he pulls back. “Too much coffee,” he says. “Long trip.”

  He heads for the bathroom, while I take a look around. The place is open-plan, with a bed over in one corner and a whole wall given over to a desk, file cabinets, and whiteboards. I drift closer, reading the scribbles, and realize it’s his career plans and goals. There’s stuff on it about short- and long-term plans, client acquisitions, and some diagrams and charts that don’t make sense to me. I knew he’s ambitious, but I like seeing it in such a tangible way. It makes me even more sure of his success. And proud of him for being so focused. He definitely has his shit together.

  Noah returns and opens the fridge. “I hope you’re not expecting any food,” he says, slamming the door closed as he yawns widely, not bothering to cover it up. “Unless you consider ketchup and baking soda the makings of a meal.”

  “We could order something in,” I suggest, catching his yawn.

  He drops onto the couch. “Come here,” he says, opening his arms.

  “What about food?” I sit and nudge him over so I’m not hanging half off the sofa.

  “You’re all I need,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. “Well, you and maybe some bacon and eggs.” Kiss. “And tater tots, I like those, too.” Kiss. “And of course, coffee.”

  Kiss.

  “Coffee’s a given,” I say. “Please tell me you have a coffee machine that I don’t need a PhD to operate.”

  “I’m not a heathen,” he says, his eyes heavy. I give him a final kiss, just a press of lips, as he hums and relaxes completely.

  A moment later, his breathing evens out and I’m well on my way to joining him in sleep, when my phone rings: Diane from the shelter. I yawn, answering sleepily.

  “Hey, Diane! What’s up?”

  “Eve. You need to get here.”

  “OK,” I say. “My shift starts at four.”

  “No,” she says, sounding grim. “Now.”

  Uh-oh.

  I hang up, feeling a tremor of fear. Noah is still out cold, exhausted from the long drive, so I let him sleep. I scribble a note and leave it on the counter. I wish I could stay, but I force myself to go because the sooner I leave, the sooner I can return.

  WHEN I GET to the shelter, Karen is sitting at the front desk. When she sees me, she cringes. “Diane’s looking for you.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and nods back toward Diane’s office.

  Okaaaaaay.

  I brace myself and walk in.

  “Eve,” Diane greets me. There’s an edge to her voice and not even a hint of a smile on her face. “Someone just came in to adopt one of the cockapoos. She said her daughter fell in love with the puppy at her birthday party thanks to our rental program.”

  Oh shit.

  I am so busted.

  22

  EVE

  HOW COULD I have been so complacent? In all the panic about replacing that damn crystal figurine, I forgot that the whole scheme was technically secret. Forbidden. A very, very bad idea.

  I could make some joke about chickens coming home to roost, but I’m in no laughing mood.

  In fact, I’m just about quaking in my sandals right now.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurt, “I know you said it wasn’t a good idea . . . but just look at all the adoptions we’ve had in the past couple of weeks!”

  Diane is clearly furio
us—and I don’t blame her. “I. Told. You. NO!” she grinds out. “And yet you did it anyway. Do you have any idea the position you just put me in? How much trouble we could get into if anyone finds out?”

  “It’s over,” I assure her, even as tears prick my eyes. I hate that I let her down. “I promise. The website is down. The program is finished.”

  “That doesn’t matter!” Diane exclaims, her anger clear. “If anyone finds out about this, we’re done. This entire operation would be finished. What then? Did you give any thought to that while you were cooking up your little scheme?”

  “I . . . I’m so sorry, Diane,” I say, feeling about two feet tall. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re damn right it won’t happen again,” she bites out. “Because you’re done here.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  “I can’t have people here who willfully ignore the rules. I’m going to have to let you go.”

  “But—”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’m sure you thought you were helping,” Diane sighs, “but I’m afraid you went too far. Please hand in your badge and keys at the desk.”

  I gulp.

  “I really am sorry,” I offer, getting to my feet.

  She nods. “I know. But you went too far.”

  I slowly leave the office and go clean out my locker. Then I do a final rounds of the kennels, saying farewell to all my old friends.

  I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.

  I can’t believe I let Diane down.

  I stop at Fred’s kennel, heartbroken that I can’t take him with me. He picks up on my energy and whines as I pet his velvety ears, looking about as forlorn as I feel right now.

  “Oh Fred,” I lament. “What have I done?”

  He desperately nudges at me with his nose. Maybe he understands this is our final goodbye.

  And then I can’t keep from crying.

  AFTER A LONG WALK TO help clear my head (which doesn’t work), I return to Noah’s. He’s awake now and is nursing a pot of coffee.

  “Hey there,” he says with a smile that disappears as soon as he takes one look at my face. “Wait. What’s wrong?”