That guy had been kind of sexy. A nice body under those clothes, I could tell. Good-looking too. That clean-shaven boyish face I always gravitate to.
I needed to get laid. I was starting to fantasize over strangers. It had been too long. Tyler hadn’t been home in seven months.
Sloan’s face went soft. “Awwww. That’s so sweet. It’s sad you can’t be with him on Valentine’s Day tomorrow. But just three more weeks and you’ll have him for good.”
“Yup. His deployment will be done and we’ll officially be living together.” A twinge of nerves twisted in my gut, but I kept my face neutral.
Sloan smiled and put a hand to her heart. She didn’t much like Tyler, but she was still a romantic.
My cramps surged and I clutched my stomach with a grimace. I was in the throes of another epic period. This, coupled with hunger, the events from earlier, and the 3:00 a.m. police drama at my house that I wasn’t telling Sloan about, had me in a fine mood. I was so tired I’d just tried to plug my charger into my coffee cup instead of my phone.
Sloan checked her watch and then wordlessly rummaged in her purse and shook two Aleve into her hand. She handed me her glass of water and gave me the pills in a well-rehearsed routine we’d perfected during our five years as roommates.
I swallowed the pills and turned to Brandon. “That book any good?”
“It’s not bad,” he said, looking at the cover. “Want to borrow it when I’m done?” Then he peered past me and his eyes lit up. “Oh, hey, buddy.”
I followed his look to the door and my jaw dropped. The handsome jerk from Vons stood there with bags of groceries.
Our gazes met from across the room, and we stared at each other in surprise. Then his eyes dropped down to my—his—shirt, and the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk.
I stood, putting Stuntman on the chair as the guy set down his groceries and walked toward me. I held my breath, waiting to see how he was going to play this.
Brandon laid his book over the arm of the recliner and got up. “Josh, this is Kristen Peterson, Sloan’s best friend. Kristen, Josh Copeland.”
“Well, hello—it’s so nice to meet you,” he said, gripping my hand just a little too tightly.
I narrowed my eyes. “Nice to meet you too.”
Josh didn’t let go of my hand. “Hey, Brandon, didn’t you get a new truck this weekend?” he asked, talking to his friend but staring at me.
I glared at him, and his brown eyes twinkled.
“Yeah. Want to see it?” Brandon asked.
“After breakfast. I love that new-car smell. Mine just smells like coffee.”
I gave him crazy eyes and his smirk got bigger. Brandon didn’t seem to notice.
“Got any more bags? Want help?” Brandon asked. Sloan had already dived in and was in the kitchen unbagging produce.
“Just one more trip. I got it,” Josh said, his eyes giving me a wordless invitation to come outside.
“I’ll walk out with you,” I announced. “Forgot something in the truck.”
He held the door for me, and as soon as it was closed, I whirled on him. “You’d better not say shit.” I poked a finger at his chest.
At this point it was less about the coffee spill and more about not wanting to reveal my brazen attempt at covering up my crime. I didn’t lie as a rule, and of course the one time I’d made an exception, I was immediately in a position to be blackmailed. Damn.
Josh arched an eyebrow and leaned in. “You stole my shirt, shirt thief.”
I crossed my arms. “If you ever want to see it again, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Remember, you rear-ended me. This won’t go over well for you either.”
His lips curled back into a smile that was annoyingly attractive. He had dimples. Motherfucking dimples.
“Did I rear-end you? Are you sure? Because there’s no evidence of that ever happening. No damage to his truck. No police report. In fact, my version of the event is I saw a hysterical woman in distress in the Vons parking lot and I gave her my shirt to help her out. Then she took off with it.”
“Well, there’s your first mistake,” I said. “Nobody would ever believe I was hysterical. I don’t do hysterics.”
“Good info.” He leaned forward. “I’ll adjust my story accordingly. A calm but rude woman asked for my help and then stole my favorite shirt. Better?” He was smiling so big he was almost laughing.
Jerk.
I pursed my lips and took another step closer to him. He looked amused as I encroached on his personal space. He didn’t back up and I glowered up at him. “You want the shirt. I want your silence. This isn’t a hard situation to work out.”
He grinned at me. “Maybe I’ll let you keep the shirt. It doesn’t look half-bad on you.” Then he turned for his truck, laughing.
Josh
In honor of the new-guy-cooks rule, I made breakfast for the crew on C shift. A Mexican egg skillet, my specialty.
I was on probation—the probie. Even though I was five years into the job, I was only five shifts into this station. That meant I was the last one to sit down to eat and the first one to get up and do dishes. I was practically a servant. They had me cleaning toilets and changing sheets. All the grunt work.
Sloan and Kristen opted to help me, and Brandon took pity on me, so they all stood in the kitchen wiping counters and scraping food off plates while I washed the dishes and Shawn and Javier played cribbage at the table.
Kristen had glared all through the meal, but only when she didn’t think anyone was watching. It was kind of funny, actually. I kept ribbing her. From what I gathered through my prodding, she’d told everyone the shirt was her boyfriend’s.
I wasn’t going to say anything. Brandon didn’t need to have the thunder stolen from his new truck by learning it had already been defiled, but I was drawing untold amounts of enjoyment from giving Kristen shit. And she didn’t take any of it lying down either. She matched me tit for tat.
“So, Josh, you drive the fire truck, huh?” Kristen asked casually, wiping down the stove.
“I do.” I smiled.
“Are you any good at it? No problems stopping that thing when you need to?” She cocked her head.
“Nope. As long as someone doesn’t slam on the brakes in front of me, I’m good.”
Glare. Smirk. Repeat. And Sloan and Brandon were oblivious. It was the most fun I’d had in weeks.
Sloan handed me the cutting board to wash. “You’ll be walking Kristen down the aisle at the wedding.” She smiled at her friend. “She’s my maid of honor.”
“I hope you walk better than you drive,” Kristen mumbled under her breath.
I grinned and changed the subject before Sloan or Brandon asked questions. “What’s your dog’s name, Kristen?”
The little thing had sat on her lap all through breakfast. Occasionally his head popped up over the table to look at her plate, the tip of his tongue out. He looked like a fluffy Ewok.
“His name is Stuntman Mike.”
I raised an eyebrow over my sink of dishes. “Tarantino?”
She raised hers. “You’ve seen Death Proof?”
“Of course. One of my favorite movies. Kurt Russell as Stuntman Mike. And your dog has issues?” I asked. The little Yorkie wore a shirt that read I HAVE ISSUES on it.
“Yes, they’re mostly with Shawn.”
I chuckled.
Sloan swept cilantro stems into her hand and tossed them in the trash, and Brandon pulled out the bag and tied the top. “Kristen has an online business called Doglet Nation,” Brandon said. “She sells merchandise for small dogs.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” I asked, setting a casserole dish into the rack to dry.
Kristen pulled out the coffee grounds and dumped them into the compost bag. “Clothes, bags, gourmet dog treats. Sloan bakes those. Our big-ticket item is our staircases though.”
“Stairs?”
“Yeah. Little dogs usually can’t jump up on a high bed. So we make custom staircases that match your bedroom set. Stain, carpet, style.”
“And people buy that?” I set the last bowl to dry in the rack and peeled off my rubber gloves.
“Uh, yeah they buy that. Why would you drop a couple grand on a nice Pottery Barn or Restoration Hardware bed, only to have some hideous foam staircase next to it from PetSmart?”
I nodded. “I get that, I guess.”
“Which reminds me—I’m out a carpenter,” she said to Sloan.
Sloan’s brow furrowed. “What? Since when?”
“Since Miguel quit on me last week. He got a union job at Universal doing set work. Dropped me like I was radioactive. I have three stairs on order.”
Sloan shook her head. “What are you going to do?”
Kristen shrugged. “Put an ad on Craigslist. Hope the guy doesn’t end up being some kind of pervert out to kill me to sell my organs on the black market.”
I snorted.