“Thanks for wearing a bra tonight.”
Yeah, her nipples were covered but good. The girl was quick on the uptake. Either that or she finally remembered his obsession with her breasts.
“You’re welcome,” she said, after a snort. “But you don’t have to worry I’ll attack you in a drunken fit of insanity tonight, or ever again. I made a promise to myself. No more nighttime stress baking until you leave.”
Until he left.
Something that should have happened already.
Handing him a bottle of water, she eyed the bag of take-out, the logo for a local cheeseburger joint printed on the front.
“If we keep feeding each other as an excuse to see one another, we’ll be morbidly obese in no time.”
He brushed off her insinuation, accurate or not. “I’m just being neighborly. And you haven’t fed me a damn thing. I’m the one doing all the sharing.”
Grinning, Chloe held up a finger, her nails painted the same red as her toes, and walked inside the carriage house.
Coming back a few seconds later, she held out both hands, offering him a small pink box with a ribbon wrapped around it.
One from the stack of boxes on the table this morning.
“May I offer you, kind neighbor,” she teased, in a formal voice. “My muffin.”
He eyed it like a venomous snake.
“Oh, just take it,” she ordered, her sweetness replaced with sarcasm. “As my appreciation for the hangover goody bag. I woke up with a humdinger, but you committed two crimes in the process, so don’t take this as encouragement for bad behavior.”
He shrugged indifferently, taking the box. “Lock your door. The next guy might not be so nice.”
She snorted, disagreeing that he was nice. “Yeah, I saw what you did to a locked door.”
There was a bourbon-spiked banana chocolate muffin inside the box, but on the outside, a small piece of paper folded up and stuck under the ribbon.
I’m sorry I molested you in the kitchen. My lonely, needy muffin has no excuse—except that it’s lonely and needy. Please accept this delicious, value-priced muffin as an apology. Our muffin pain is real, but only one of us is available for consumption.
“One small caveat,” she said, pointing to the note after he read it. “I wrote that last night while I was still drunk, so any desperation you take away is the tequila talking.”
He tucked the paper back under the ribbon and set the box aside.
“Thank you. There’s nothing I’d like more than to eat that muffin like a monk coming off a year-long fast. That muffin hasn’t ever been eaten the way I would eat it.”
Shocked silent, she stared at him, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Umm, what?”
Grabbing the greasy bag of lukewarm food, he tilted his head, indicating the open spot on the swing next to him. “Sit and eat. Don’t think.”
Pursing her lips, she contemplated his comment. Then sat.
When she crossed her legs Indian style, oblivious to the ragingly dirty thoughts her open thighs inspired, it made him want to dive in . . . face first.
Pulling out the burgers, he handed her one. Double cheese, no onion, extra mayo.
Taking it, she watched him through hooded eyes. “We should just admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That we like each other’s company. That we’re using traditional mealtimes as an excuse to hang out together.”
“But I don’t like you, Chloe.”
She laughed. “I guess that’s fair. I don’t really like you, Jameson. But it doesn’t change the facts.”
“That I gotta eat?”
“That you continually choose to do so . . . with me.” Proving her point, she held up her foil-wrapped burger, still unopened. “How much do I owe you? I don’t have cash, so you’ll have to take a check. And if this isn’t double meat, double cheese, you better run.”
He had to hide his grin because, goddamn, he couldn’t do anything but smile when Chloe played her charm card.
“That check will be postdated, of course, so hold on to it for a week.” She pouted, the world’s sexiest disgruntled beauty. “Even with the shower today, I just paid the mortgage on this beast. Until my newest bride’s deposit payment clears, I’m running lean.”
There was so much information in that statement, the questions bombarded him. Chloe’s morals might be in short supply, but her money never had been.
“I’m buying dinner,” he said and hit her with question number one. “Why do you think you owe me money?”
“I called you an asshole last night. For every bad name,” she said, her grin cheeky. “One free dinner, remember? Bitch equals a lobster roll, asshole equals a . . . a cheeseburger, I guess.”
“You didn’t call me an asshole last night.”
“Oh, but I did.” She tilted her head in empathy, apparently for his stupidity. “You just didn’t hear it. Probably already in the shower with your hand busy, poor thing.”
He laughed, not surprised she called him a name after he left the kitchen last night. And yeah, his hand had been busy. A terrible substitute for Chloe Morgan, but one he’d used numerous times before.
“Don’t worry about it, cupcake. I’ll spot you this meal. I think we’re neck and neck on the name-calling anyway.”
She smiled her agreement and set about unwrapping her cheeseburger with glee, pausing to lift the bun and inspect the toppings. He saw her stiffen, then turn her head to glare at him.
Hurt filled her big, blue, beautifully lying eyes.
“What?” he snapped, grateful for the reminder.
She’d lied once. She could—no, would—do it again.
“There’s extra mayo on here.” It was as if he doused her burger in cyanide.
“Yeah?” He shook his head, not following.
“Extra mayo, no onions,” she accused.
“I’m gonna need more than that to figure out your problem.” For a guy trained to be a quick thinker under extreme duress, he had a hard time following her rapid change in mood.
A single tear spilled over while she stared at him. Just one. The rest she blinked back without breaking eye contact.
Didn’t matter. That lone tear nearly gutted him.
“Why’d you have to do it?” she whispered. “Leave without me?”
After dropping that dirty bomb, she looked away. Turned her head in the opposite direction, lifting a finger to catch any more tears and pulling herself together.
Before he could respond—shocked she had the gonads to be hurt by an exit she requested—she spoke again, more loudly this time, “Add extra mayo. Why’d you have to add more calories to my already carb-heavy dinner? You want me to get fat, don’t you? Well, too late because I scarfed down four muffins in a drunken binge last night!”
Her spirited comment was so opposite the heavy accusation preceding it he wondered if he heard it correctly.
“Chloe?” He spoke in a slow drawl in case she’d lost her marbles and was now a danger to society. “Have you been drinking alcohol tonight?”
Pausing to take a bite of his own burger, he grinned. “Because it’s not a holiday. Or your birthday. Or Monday.”
She laughed around a mouthful of food then stomped an impatient foot against the wooden porch floor. “Stop doing that.”