Home > Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(17)

Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(17)
Author: Adriana Locke

“Claire, this is Avery. Avery, this is Claire.” Penn motions between us but looks at me. “Wanna sit?”

“Um . . .” I was going to, but for some reason, I’m not sure now. “I should probably go sit with Harper,” I say awkwardly.

Penn drags the chair next to him against the brick pavers. “Sit.” He looks at me with a raised brow. “Claire will be offended if you leave now.”

Claire snorts. “Don’t use me to woo her.”

“He’s not wooing me,” I say.

Her eyes light up. She sits back in her chair and looks at Matt. “Where did you find her? Because I like her already.”

“Right? She’s turned him down a couple of times, and I just met her,” Matt says. “She’s a fucking unicorn.”

“I’d fuck a unicorn.” Penn looks around the table. “What? I would.”

“Color me not surprised,” Claire mumbles. “Anyway, Avery, if you’d like to sit with us, please do. I could use some estrogen to balance the testosterone around here.”

I look around the patio. There are open tables and a chair next to Harper, who looks cozy next to a guy in a leather jacket. But then I consider Claire and what she had to say. She’s not wrong. Two women would make it much easier to defuse this craziness with Penn, and if I’m staying here, I need to make friends. Given she just called Penn an asshole, I might get along with her just fine.

“You sure?” I ask, lowering myself slowly next to Penn.

Penn leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “I’m sure,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. The tone sinks all kinds of ideas into my head. Ideas that don’t belong there.

“Great,” I say as neutrally as I can.

Claire takes a slice of pizza and pops it onto a paper plate. “Want a piece?” She offers it to me.

My shoulders relax as I’m tugged away from Penn’s attention. “I have a burger. But thanks.”

Matt slides the plate my way. “I hope it’s right. Penn ordered you the drink, and we started arguing over whether you said no tomato or no onion and that turned into a conversation that I don’t want to get into, so, short answer—it might be wrong, and if it is, it’s Penn’s fault.”

“Thanks. It’ll be fine, whatever it is,” I say.

“I’m guessing you’re new here?” Claire asks before chomping off the end of her slice of pizza.

I take the Rocket Razzle and let the cool glass bleed into my palms. Penn moves beside me, his thigh nearly brushing mine. I hold my breath until he stills again. Only then do I look back up at Claire. She’s grinning.

“I just moved here from Los Angeles,” I tell her.

“I’ve always wanted to see LA,” she says. “I’m sad to admit it, but I’ve only been out of Tennessee three times. What kind of life is that?”

“California is amazing. You have the desert down south, Lake Tahoe in the north. There’s redwood trees and beaches and everything in between. It’s pretty stunning, really.”

She nods, wiping a drop of grease off her chin. “I saw a travel show about San Francisco last week. It looked amazing.”

“It is,” I gush. “It really has its own vibe.”

“It’s on my bucket list,” Claire says.

I take a sip of the Rocket Razzle. The rum is smooth, and what I’m guessing is pineapple juice is sweet and heavenly. I take another drink for good measure.

“You guys doing all right?” Alexis asks, coming back to the table. “Anyone need another drink?”

“We’re good. Thanks,” Claire says.

Alexis smiles and then looks down at Penn. Her hand rests on the top of his chair. “We still on for Friday night?”

I grip my glass and prepare myself.

The truth of the matter is that I don’t know Penn. As much as he flirts with me, guys like him flirt with everyone. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t have a social calendar before I showed up today, and I bet his calendar is full. This is the second red flag for me to stay away.

“I didn’t know we had something on Friday,” he says to her.

“Well, we don’t,” Alexis says. “I was just hoping . . .”

He leans back in his chair. His arm rests across the rail of my seat, making his biceps inches away from the back of my neck.

My breathing hitches in my throat as the feeling of being surrounded on two sides by Penn overtakes me. His lips part as he looks at me, spreading into a wide, roguish grin.

I take a bite of my burger in the hope that it’ll occupy my mouth and distract me from his.

“I’m taking Avery out on Friday night,” he says with a cool confidence that makes me want to smack him. “I’m sorry, Alexis.”

“That’s okay.” Alexis takes an empty beer bottle off the end of the table. “Maybe next time.” She walks away with a side-eye aimed toward Penn.

I wait until she’s out of earshot before I turn to him.

“You’re what?” I ask. I feel Matt’s and Claire’s eyes on me as I search Penn’s for an answer to this craziness.

“I’m taking you out on Friday.”

The words are so concrete, so matter of fact, that I wonder if I somehow agreed to this and just don’t remember.

As Matt laughs across from me and the corners of Penn’s lips begin to upturn, I shake my head.

“You are not,” I tell him.

“She just told him no,” Claire gasps. “Matt. Did you hear that?”

“Shh . . . ,” Matt says. “Let’s watch and see what it looks like when Penn gets turned down.”

Claire’s giggle pierces the air as she reaches for a napkin.

Penn shifts in his seat. His arm flexes behind me. “Thursday, then?” His voice drops. “Or I can be free on Saturday?”

“How about no,” I say.

He cocks his head to the side. He’s so intently focused on me that I’m not even sure he hears the ribbing from Matt and Claire.

There’s no way for him to know that my life in LA has prepared me for invitations like this and that I’ve heard it all before. It’ll take more than an assumption that I’m like the other girls he sees to break me.

“Don’t you need someone to show you around?” he asks.

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

“I’m sure you are.” His eyes narrow, the tip of his tongue sliding across his lower lip. It’s enough to wake me up.

“You would know if you remembered,” I say before I can think about it. My knuckles turn white as I hold on to the chair with all my might. I swallow hard. My brain tries to come up with something to distract him from that stupid, stupid little statement, but I come up with nothing.

His eyebrows furrow. “What’s that mean?”

“It means . . . ,” I say, swallowing again. “It just means that if you remembered what I said at the salon, you’d know I have a checklist.”

I’m in trouble.

He leans in so close that I feel his breath on my cheek. The anticipation of what he’s about to say has me struggling for oxygen.

When I was cutting his hair, I was in charge. The playing field is much more level here, and the only thing I can use as a barrier is a glass of Rocket Razzle.

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