“So we’re stopping there after the grocery store?” Elliot asked.
“Yep.”
Elliot laughed. “Wait ’til you see his apartment. For one of the top earners on the motocross circuit, he lives like, well, a college student.”
Tommy frowned. It wasn’t that bad. Was it? Hell, it probably was. But his priorities were always elsewhere. “I actually was thinking about doing some decorating while I’m home this week,” he muttered.
“You’re a motocross racer?” Camila asked. Did she sound interested? Maybe fascinated?
Excellent.
“Sure am. Are you a fan?”
“Nope.”
Okay, maybe not so excellent.
Both Tommy and Elliot’s phones pinged with a text message as he pulled into a space at the grocery store. It was a list from Mom. She’d insisted that since there were two extra people staying at the house, she needed more food. It was probably not true, but their mother was nothing if not overprepared, all the time.
As he climbed out of the truck, Tommy grabbed the worn Detroit Tigers baseball cap he kept in there at all times. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but should be enough to get in and out of the grocery store on a Monday afternoon without being hit up by overzealous fans. Usually, he didn’t mind the attention, but right now, he wanted to wholly focus on Camila. Well, and filling his bare cupboards.
The doors whooshed open, and Elliot grabbed a cart. Tommy wrapped his hand around Camila’s arm and said, “Why don’t you guys grab everything on Mom’s list, we’ll get my stuff, and we’ll meet at the registers?”
Elliot didn’t need to be told twice. He and Madison hurried into the store while Tommy led Camila over to the rows of carts.
“I don’t want to help you shop. I’m going to go hang with my sister.”
“The only reason I suggested splitting up was so they could have some alone time. With my mother hovering over them all the time, it’s going to be in very small quantities for the next week.”
She frowned but didn’t walk away. Whew.
As they headed toward the TP aisle—seriously, he had nothing in his apartment—she asked, “Do you live nearby?”
“Not too far. About twenty minutes away.”
“So how come your mom was so insistent on you staying at her house tonight?”
He knew damn well what Mom was up to, but he wasn’t about to tell Camila and scare her off.
He probably shouldn’t have so readily acquiesced when Mom insisted that he stay at the house, but it was an excellent opportunity to covertly flirt with Camila. He could keep his attraction hidden from his mother.
Tossing a package of Charmin in the cart, he headed toward the coolers for milk and OJ. And maybe a package of rolled cookie dough.
“Knowing my mother, she’ll ply us with food and alcohol then expect us to stay and play cards until the middle of the night, and I shouldn’t be driving after all that.” Even though he knew his limits and had made the trip plenty of times in the past. But Camila didn’t know that.
She harrumphed.
“How about you? Why are you staying at my parents’ house?”
Whoa, was that fear that just skittered across her face? What the hell was that about?
“I, um…” She fiddled with her braid. “One of my customers started stalking me, and it sort of freaked me out.”
“Customers? Are you a stripper?”
Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Seriously? Did you just ask me that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“So you automatically assume I’m a stripper?”
“Well, what the hell other profession involves customers with the potential to turn into stalkers?” Motocross racing, for one, but she’d already made it clear she wasn’t part of that crowd.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She tapped her finger to her lips for a few seconds and then spat, “How about bartending?”
He paused to consider her suggestion. “Yeah, I could see that. Hey, at least I think you’re hot enough to be a stripper.”
She wasn’t getting any less annoyed. He sighed and lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. And I’m sorry you have a stalker.”
Being stalked by some weirdo would get under anybody’s skin. He’d had his fair share of stalkers, but he had plenty of security detail to thwart their intentions. Plus he travelled so much, it was fairly easy to shake them.
But he couldn’t quite let it go. “So who is it? An ex-boyfriend?”
“No, and I’d really rather not talk about it.”
“Okay, fine. Chocolate chip or peanut butter?” Finally taking her hint, he indicated the cookie dough options sitting on the shelf in the refrigerated section.
She arched her brows and crossed her arms. “I haven’t known this family very long, but your mom strikes me as the bake-at-home type.”
“She is. What’s your point?”
She waved at the shelves. “And you eat store-bought cookie dough?”
He scowled and snagged a package of chocolate chip. “These are almost as good as my mom’s cookies.”
“Does she know you believe that?”
“No, and if you tell her, I’ll exact some sort of horrible revenge on you.”
“Like what?”
“I’ll put your hand in warm water while you’re sleeping.”
“Does that even work?”
He snickered. “It did on Elliot.”
She sighed, but he saw her lips twitch. She may be annoyed, but she was also amused. He could work with that.
As they headed down the cereal aisle, she said, “Let me guess: Captain Crunch and Cocoa Puffs.”
He tossed a box of Raisin Bran into the cart. “Both excellent cereal choices; however, no. Did you know
