"You deserved it. Now give it back," she insisted, holding her hand out expectantly.
"Let me get this straight," I said, one finger in the air. "You stoop so low as to use this delicious, piping hot, apple cinnamon filled pocket of sweetness as a potential murder weapon, and now you expect me to just hand it over?"
"I want the pie, Brick."
"I don't think you deserve it."
She wiggled her fingers in a gimme motion. "But it smells really good, and now my mouth is watering. Give it."
"You should have thought of that before you assaulted me with it."
She huffed at my refusal but kept her hand extended, obviously expecting me to give in.
"How much are you willing to pay?" I knew my game would set her off like a bottle rocket, and I was anticipating the pending explosion.
Marni's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're rich and famous, you hardly need the money."
"There's no amount of money that could make me hand over this pie. I want something else."
Marni's hand finally dropped. "What do you want?"
I could tell it killed her to ask; she thought she was going to regret it. I was determined to prove she wouldn't.
"A kiss."
"On the cheek?" she asked, her tone hopeful.
"Hell no. This pie is definitely worth a mouth kiss. With tongue," I stipulated.
Marni's mouth opened, ready to protest, but she closed it again, which surprised the hell out of me, though I couldn't deny the victory dance my heart was doing.
"One kiss," she capitulated.
I pretended to mull over her offer. "I don't know. I mean, I think this pie is worth at least three kisses."
"You're really pushing your luck, Brick."
"How bad do you want this pie, Marni?" I asked, holding the pie up and shaking it slightly, teasing her with it.
Eight
Marni
How badly did I want that pie?
Not that bad.
I mean, they were delicious; he wasn't wrong, but did I really need to fight this hard for something I could walk back inside and pay a dollar for? We hadn't left the parking lot yet, so it wasn't like it would have been a difficult task. Now was not the time to examine my motivations for playing Brick's little game.
While I was mulling over Brick's proposed payment plan, he was distracted by his phone. I watched him read a text before looking out the windshield. I followed his gaze to see Shep standing in front of my truck, glaring at Brick through the glass. Brick tapped out a reply, which Shep then read, shaking his head as he walked away.
"What was that about?"
Brick tucked his phone away as he answered. "Shep wants me back on the bus. Told him I was riding with you the rest of the way." He said this casually, as if what Shepard Kingston, the 'King of Rock,' wanted was inconsequential, and Brick had better things to do. Like torment me.
"I'm sure you'd be more comfortable on the bus," I suggested in a half-hearted effort to preserve my sanity.
"I'm sure you're trying to get out of paying for this pie."
"Maybe I don't really want the pie."
"Are you saying you'd kiss me for free?"
"What? No!" I was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge what had happened in the parking lot less than an hour ago.
"Well, if you really don't want it..." He shrugged and popped open the tab on the flimsy cardboard package, sliding the still warm pie into his hand.
I couldn't tell you what came over me. All I knew was that Brick had issued a challenge I couldn't resist, even though the consequences would be dire with the ultimate price being far more than I could pay. Still, I launched myself from my seat, scaring the literal crap out of Simon. (I was going to owe Brick a new shirt.) Grabbing Brick's stupidly handsome face between my hands, I plastered my lips to his.
I fought against closing my eyes, but it was no use. Brick's heat and spicy chocolate scent dragged me under.
He must not have expected me to pick up the gauntlet because it took him a few seconds to recover from the shock of me throwing myself at him. His arms wrapped me up and his tongue pushed between my lips, sweeping inside at the same time he invaded my mind, pushing all sense out and leaving only feeling.
And, damn, did he feel good.
He shifted under me, pulling me against the hardness in his lap. The knowledge that I did that to him both turned me on and freaked me out.
"Marni," he groaned, lifting his hips and grinding into me.
I whimpered at the sensation but pulled back before we took this someplace we couldn't return from. It was bad enough I already had my hands under his shirt. His skin was like velvet over steel, the ridges of his abs tempted my fingertips with their perfect formation.
"That's one," I breathed.
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and I wondered how I'd never noticed the little flecks of gold in the blue of his eyes before.
"I owe you a new shirt," I pointed out, apologetically, but also in an attempt to change the subject to something less perilous than how close we'd really come to crossing a line that couldn't be uncrossed.
Brick's eyes flicked to the stain on his shoulder and smirked. "You can pay for that, too. I'll add it to your tab."
My breath caught at the devilish look in his eyes. "And how much will it cost me?" I asked, unable to resist dancing just a little too close to the fire.
He drew in a dramatic breath. "I'm not sure. I mean, it is my favorite shirt, and you can't really put a price on sentimentality..."
I leaned back a bit, peering down at the t-shirt he wore. It had a faded image of an American flag across the chest and a hole where the stitching around the collar had split. "It's a five dollar July Fourth shirt from Old Navy. And it's at least seven years old."
He shrugged. "Still. Nostalgia factor and all that."
"There's a mustard stain on the right sleeve," I pointed out, my voice raising an octave.
"This shirt has seen some good times."
"Ugh!" I growled, simultaneously rolling my eyes and disengaging from his hold.
"Hey, wait! What about the pie?" He held up the now squished pie, it's apple cinnamon filling oozing from his hand.
I thinned my lips.
He at least had the decency to look sheepish. "I'll get you another one."
I sighed, shaking my head. "Whatever," I muttered, fastening my seatbelt. "We need to get back on the road."
We only had another two hours before we reached the Los Angeles city limits, and I wasn't prepared to spend it fighting my attraction to the guy riding shotgun.
Not even a little bit.
"So, are you going to tell me about this guy you're meeting up with?"
I had to give him credit. He'd lasted an entire three and a half minutes of silent eating before beginning his interrogation.
I reached into the bag at my feet and pulled out whatever my hand came in contact with. Ooh, double decker bacon cheeseburger. Jackpot.
"My brother, Marshall."
"Your brother is a trucker, too?"