Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) Read online

  But, of course, it hadn’t.

  His eyes registered a moment of irritation, but he quickly covered it with a wider smile and something he did with his eyebrows that looked slightly naughty and made her woman bits stand up and take notice in a way they had no right to in old sweats being almost-engaged and everything.

  “So. Liz, huh?” he asked.

  Liz hid a smile. You’d never hear Grant saying the word ‘huh.’ If it even was a word.

  “Yes,” she articulated in her most business-like tone. “In my first job, my boss’ wife was also named Beth.” She wasn’t about to admit she’d harbored a three year crush on said boss and had daydreamed of his choosing her over his ‘other favorite Beth’ until a reorganization in the firm had saved her from sure lifelong humiliation. “I decided I preferred Liz.”

  “Fair enough.” He stared at her chest again. Hello! I’m up here! she wanted to yell.

  They stood a few feet apart, Bailey uncharacteristically silent, Liz staring at a point beyond Carter’s left ear, Carter staring at her boobs—the sexist jerk. He was probably wondering if they were real. Would it be such a shock that she’d actually grown into a B-cup in the last decade?

  Okay. Fine. Maybe he was just looking because she could not stop swiping at the damned paint flecks. Liz forced herself to drop her hand and look him in the eye. Chickadees tweeted inappropriately in the trees nearby.

  “So,” he said again looking at her face for a change, “Bates? I thought you went to someplace in California.”

  Liz stared down at her own chest. Oh, good God, he was looking at the logo? She felt her already flushed face creep up the heat scale a notch. “Bates was undergrad. I got my master’s at Stanford.”

  “Right. Hard to get farther from home than that.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  His eyes told her she was lying through her teeth. Which she was, of course. The pervert mind reader. “So. What’s the job you want quoted?”

  Bailey cleared her throat, causing Liz a momentary pang of guilt for having forgotten she was even there. “Well, love to stay and chat with you two, but I’m late picking up my mom. I’ll call you later, Liz. ‘Kay?”

  “Sure.” Liz watched Bailey start her old Toyota and drive away before turning her attention back to Carter.

  He raised that eyebrow again. Curse it.

  Smoothing her hands over her sweats and telling her woman bits to calm the heck down already, Liz motioned for him to follow. Despite going through the charade for appearance’s sake, she had no intention of hiring him—even if he was her great-aunt’s best friend’s grandson.

  After all, when you’ve spent the better part of your youth harboring a one-sided crush on the high school bad boy, you don’t generally want him to see you single, unkempt, and scraping your parents’ trim boards ten years later.

  Unless you were single. Which she most definitely was not.

  “Patio,” she said succinctly as she pointed around the back corner of the house.

  “Patio?”

  “My parents want a patio instead of the deck. It’s old and in disrepair and needs replacing.”

  “So you want a similar footprint?” He leaned against the back split-rail fence, afternoon sunlight accenting the dark highlights in his hair.

  “I guess.” Liz was only half-listening. The other half of her brain was wondering if his hair was as silky as it appeared. Her woman bits perked up at the word silky.

  “Should I include cost of demolition and disposal for the deck?”

  “I suppose. I mean, how much will that run? On second thought—no. I’m here. I’ll take care of it.” She licked suddenly dry lips, her fingers flexing at her side, wondering why they were bothering to discuss a job she had no intention of giving him. Except she hadn’t told him that. Yet. She made a mental note to add ‘deck demolition’ to her to-do list.

  “I’ll quote it just in case. So what are we using? Concrete pavers? Bluestone? Was there a particular look or color you’ve seen that you like?”

  “Ah, no. Just, you know, a patio. Whatever’s cheapest and quickest. My parents didn’t say.”

  He paused, his pencil poised over a grungy notepad he’d finally found in his chest pocket, and Liz fought not to squirm under his gaze. His eyes were a deep green, like an old Coca-Cola bottle. But rather than wholesome familiarity, the color gave an air of reckless changeability to his expression.

  That and his lips. He had firm, beautiful lips. Kissable lips, she thought. How often had she daydreamed about this man’s lips? But who wouldn’t? He could smile broadly, the quintessential class clown; tilt them cockily, the smug rebel; or spin some sort of magic spell that transformed his face such than no woman—young or old—could resist his dazzling charm.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  The lips moved, and it took Liz a moment to realize words had passed over them. Her eyes slid up to his. “Uh, sure,” she said, wishing she could stop thinking about this man’s lips long enough to gracefully send him on his way. Oh Lord, had she just said uh?

  “Are you free for dinner?”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yeah, you know, where they serve food. I’m starved, and I’m thinking if I give you a few minutes you’ll know what you want me to quote out here, and I won’t pass out from hunger.”

  “Oh. I don’t think dinner’s a good idea. I’m not staying. In Sugar Falls, that is. This is just a vacation. Sort of.”

  Plus I have an almost-fiancé, she wanted to add, realizing she was starting to babble for some unknown reason, perhaps because The Lips were now softly curving in a manner that could only be described as sinfully sensual. Although why she was thinking about ‘sin’ and ‘sex’ in the same sentence at that particular moment was something she didn’t intend to think about.

  One dark brow shot to the sky. “You don’t plan on eating while you’re here? You’ll get even skinnier than you are now.”

  Did he just call me skinny? the unhelpful part of her brain squeaked delightedly. “Of course I plan to eat,” she scoffed. “Besides, I’m a mess. I’d need to clean up. Change...”

  “No problem. I can wait.” He flipped his notepad closed and crammed it in his back pocket. Liz couldn’t help but notice how his jeans pulled taut across his hips as he did so.

  “I... fine. All right,” she said. She told herself she was agreeing because Trish had yet to take her shopping. It had nothing to do with the shivers of awareness that tickled her spine every time those mesmerizing green eyes slid her way.

  Carter smiled again, nodded, and strode away before she could reconsider. Moments later her cell phone rang from her pocket. Liz pulled it out with a shaking hand, glanced at the screen then stuffed it back in. She’d call Grant later.

  Just as soon as she figured out why on earth she’d agreed to go on a sort-of dinner date with her high school crush.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ____________________

  LIZ GUZZLED A GLASS OF WATER, stripped like a mad woman and showered in under five minutes. She was downstairs again in fifteen.

  She glanced at her knee-length khaki skirt and pale blue tee, satisfied she’d chosen something no-nonsense and sensible, something that said “this is not a date” without going so far as to imply she had no self-esteem or desire to be acknowledged as a woman. It was a lot to expect from an outfit yanked hastily from one’s suitcase, but Liz wasn’t one to leave these things to chance.

  Her heart beat high in her chest as she stopped briefly at the hallway mirror on the way by, feeling for all the world as if she were sixteen again and ducking into her locker to check her teeth and hastily chew a stick of Juicy Fruit before study hall.

  “This is exactly why I didn’t want to come home,” she muttered, cinching her ponytail tight. Coming home made her feel disoriented. And flushed.

  Like the flu.

  She blew out an impatient breath.

  She hadn’t chewed Juicy Fruit in years, bu
t one look at Carter’s disarmingly crooked grin and lazy, loping stride and she was fat old Beth “the Brain” Beacon again, nervously re-sharpening her pencils as she waited in the back room of the library for their weekly tutoring session.

  God. She could still remember the giant, slab oak tables. The heavy chairs. How, if she leaned close enough over his trig text and inhaled long and slow she could just catch the intoxicating scent of fresh air and leather and something else she didn’t recognize but knew, instinctively, was way, way better than chocolate.

  “Except everyone knows chocolate is bad for you,” she said aloud to her reflection.

  Her reflection did not appear to be buying it.

  Liz rummaged in her purse for her Altoids and popped one into her mouth, the mint sharp on her tongue, then marched out the door.

  Thank goodness she was no longer the ridiculous, naïve girl she’d been in high school.

  A ridiculous, naïve girl, for instance, would get all fluttery at the sight of Carter as he stood at the end of the driveway, leaning against his truck, all swagger and sex appeal in faded, torn jeans, navy tee and tattered Converse sneakers.

  Liz felt nothing. Nothing but minty fresh pragmatism.

  Carter pushed away from his truck as she approached, his cell phone to his ear. “Sorry, I can’t make it tonight,” he said into the phone. “My last job is running late… No. I’ll grab something…. I know you don’t want me to miss it… I’ll do my best… Yeah… All right. See you then.” He hunched away a little. “Love you, too,” he murmured, then he slipped the phone into his pocket and turned to Liz. “Ready?”

  Och! Liz tried not to stare at the pocket of his jeans where she could just make out the outline of his phone. His poor girlfriend! She was probably nice, too. Carter always dated nice girls you wished you could hate except they volunteered at the food pantry or humane society and had alcoholic fathers or siblings with Down Syndrome so you felt sorry for them and envious all at the same time. No doubt his girlfriend du jour thought she could reform the reckless, bad boy in him and would only blame herself when she failed miserably.

  Thank goodness she had solid, dependable Grant waiting for her at home.

  “Ready.” She stepped toward the truck and tugged the door handle.

  She tugged again.

  Carter stepped forward and gripped the handle over her hand, pulling hard, his fingers warm and firm atop hers. The door lurched open. “Sorry,” he said. “Sticks sometimes.” He gestured toward the seat. “Just, ah, shove that out of your way.”

  Liz stared, aghast at the mess on the seat and the floor, but Carter was already halfway around the truck. Lovely. The man clearly lived on caffeine and sugar. Using the side of her purse to shovel loose papers, candy wrappers and what-not toward the center console, she tried not to touch anything with her bare hands. She brushed the seat lightly with a paper napkin she’d found, decided it would be rude to lay it out on the seat as a protective liner, and hoisted herself into the cab. A Mountain Dew can burbled its last dregs onto her shoe.

  Carter threw the dirty note pad from his back pocket onto the seat next to a half dozen others and stuck the key in the ignition. He followed her gaze as she stared down at the empty soda cans, coffee cups and—was that a beer bottle?—on the floor. “Sorry. Keep meaning to clear that out.”

  “Mmm,” she said non-committally, praying her skirt would come clean after sitting on his seats. Lord only knew what was on them. She set her purse on her lap and gripped it primly. His girlfriend must have tiny feet. Or, if she were smart, her own car.

  Liz threaded the strap of her purse through her fingers as they pulled out of the driveway. She swallowed and glanced as his profile. “So. I didn’t realize you were working for your uncle now.”

  “Yeah. Have been for a while.”

  “That must be… nice.” She nudged a coffee cup that kept falling on her foot, the silence stretching out between them. If he couldn’t even keep his own car clean, did she want this guy working on the house? She’d eat first then tell him she wouldn’t be needing his help.

  She should probably pay for her own meal, though. After all, she wasn’t rude.

  Carter slowed at a traffic light. “You in Sugar Falls for long?”

  “Only a week or two. My parents are moving to Florida full time. They asked me to take care of some improvements to get the house here ready to put on the market.”

  “Selling, huh? How much do they want for it?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken with the realtor yet.”

  “Much land?”

  “Six and a half acres.”

  “It’s a nice spot out here.”

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  The conversation petered out and he looked at her, his green eyes dark, like deep, secret pools you could happily dive into and not care if you ever resurfaced for air.

  Not that she was thinking that or anything.

  Liz shifted in her seat. She should ask him to stop at the store. Then she could pick up a few basics. Mixed greens. Boneless chicken. Some brown rice.

  Cat food. She couldn’t forget cat food. The stuff Trish left was mostly fillers. Eddie had a very sensitive tummy. Cat food and then she’d tell him he wasn’t hired.

  “Is that why you’ve never been back?” Carter asked.

  “What? I’ve been back.”

  “Not much. After high school, you pretty much disappeared.”

  “California’s a long way from home, and I interned most summers. Anyway, I’m sure nobody missed me around here.”

  He winked. “Maybe I missed you.”

  “Please,” she scoffed, though his words and the flash of a dimple in his cheek had her heart slamming in her breast and her woman bits perking to attention. She made a pretense of restacking the papers on his center console.

  Broccoli. She should definitely pick up broccoli…

  “I did! I missed those roast beef sandwiches you made that time we studied for trig at your house. Remember that?”

  Remember? She’d made a shrine to that day in her journal. Carter McIntyre ate in my kitchen!!

  “God, they were amazing! Beef, bacon, onion, swiss cheese and that sauce you whipped up...”

  “Horseradish mayo,” she said.

  “It had a kick to it,” he grinned again.

  “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “Yeah, well, food is important to guys. We never forget a good meal.” Liz grabbed the dash as Carter turned a hard left. “You know what? Forget going out. We’ll do one better. We’ll make your famous roast beef sandwiches. Now that I’ve mentioned them, I’ve got a real craving for them.” He turned into the grocery store parking lot and swung into a space. “What do you think?”

  The air in Liz’s lungs seized as she momentarily wondered whether Carter could read minds as well as make women spontaneously ignite with a single eyebrow twitch. The grocery store? Good Lord. And, cooking for him? Cooking would be far more intimate than grabbing a bite at a local sandwich shop. No. Going home was a bad idea. It was dangerous. And spending time with Carter McIntyre had always been dangerous.

  As dangerous as seven minutes, blindfolded, in the darkened pantry at Jenny Whitmeyer’s sixteenth birthday party and only ever knowing the first boy she’d ever kissed had silky hair, tasted like Twizzlers… and smelled like fresh air and sweet rebellion.

  “Sounds like a great idea,” she said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ____________________

  “I’M NOT AN AXE MURDERER.”

  Liz stared at Carter in shock, the memory of that long ago kiss still on her lips. She clutched her purse a little tighter. “What?”

  “Just in case you were worried. I haven’t turned into an axe murderer or anything over the last ten years.”

  “Why would I—?”

  “Because, usually women worry about that sort of thing when a guy invites himself to their house. I just wanted to reassure you. I’m not a murd
erer. I’m just hungry.”

  “I hadn’t…” She flushed, the idea of Carter being violent the last thing on her mind.

  “You just got all quiet there for a minute, and I thought you might be having second thoughts. We can pick up a sub or something if you want.”

  “No. No. It’s fine. It’s good. I actually need a few things. I was just, ah, planning my list in my head.”

  “Great.”

  “Great.”

  Liz hopped out and hurried toward the entrance, visions of Carter doing unscrupulous things dancing through her head.

  The automatic doors whooshed aside, and Liz reached for a basket. She was overreacting. What harm could come from getting a few things at the store and sharing a casual meal with an old friend? That’s all this was. For all the axe murderer talk, she didn’t believe Carter McIntyre had a mean bone in his body. The man was dangerous, sure, but not in that way.

  Besides, it’s not like anyone was going to dare her to sit in a dark pantry tonight waiting for some anonymous boy to give her a kiss. Those days were long behind her.

  She decided who kissed her now. And when.

  “Forget the basket,” Carter said, skidding to a halt beside her with an empty cart. “I’ve been working all day, and I’m starved. I’ll push. You lead.”

  “Oh. All right. Let’s start with produce.” Liz pulled her purse up on her shoulder and shook her head as Carter zipped ahead down the aisle, one foot on the back of the cart like a scooter. So much for leading.

  She set some lettuce into the cart and silently marveled at how surreal life was sometimes. She was grocery shopping with Carter McIntyre. How many times had she dreamed about this very thing? The minivan? The adorable toddlers? The blissfully domestic existence as if they were a modern-day version of the Leave it to Beaver re-runs she used to watch every Saturday with her dad?

  To think she’d actually imagined Carter growing up and becoming half of an adult couple. The man couldn’t even push a simple grocery cart without treating it like a riding toy. If she didn’t get this over with, her inner June would probably start humming liltingly and reaching for imaginary aprons. Liz rolled her eyes and tossed a red onion into the cart.