Slice.
“Goodbye, Mom,” Heidi whispered and hung up, resting her head on the steering wheel, hating that these conversations left her feeling like this—flayed open, vulnerable, like a little kid who couldn’t find her voice.
She wished she could shoot barbs back, stand up for herself better, but every time she thought she had a handle on the conversation, her mom brought mean.
And she . . . sucked at fighting mean.
At least she’d gotten better at hanging up.
That was progress—so long as her mom didn’t call back.
Right on cue, her cell buzzed in her, and she nearly dropped it like it had suddenly caught fire. She would not pick up. She would not even glance at the screen.
Lie.
She looked, and saw,
Can I tempt you with prickly pear margaritas?
Frowning, the conversation with her mom tucking itself back into the box in the back of her heart with the countless others of that same vein, Heidi was trying to puzzle out who had her number and was texting her about margaritas—albeit delicious ones—when her cell vibrated again.
Just realized you’re probably wondering who this is. I’ll give you one guess. It’s your non-friend, who’d like to make up for Cake-Gate, and maybe a few more things.
“Brad,” she breathed.
Then immediately shook her head because she shouldn’t be breathing dreamily about the man.
Another buzz as she was starting her car. Sighing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the screen before she backed out.
I got your number from Kate.
A beat.
So she’ll probably question why you’d refuse to see me when we’re practically family now.
“Brad,” she growled, snatching up her cell from the cradle on her dash, fingers flying over the screen.
So now you’re not only good at slipping out unnoticed, but also blackmail?
Another buzz.
I’m exceptionally good at a lot of things.
“Ugh,” she muttered, shoving her cell into the bottom of her purse in disgust and then tossing her purse in the back seat for good measure.
Or maybe so she wouldn’t be tempted to keep talking to the man.
Unfortunately, that was also true.
Regardless, she ignored the responding buzz and concentrated her attention on navigating her way through Bay Area traffic and home to her townhouse.
Which was the best thing she’d ever spent her money on.
Located in a small two-story building on the edge of town, it backed up to a lightly forested area. But her favorite part—besides the sauna inside the gym that she pretended to use but really it was just an excuse to make it into that sauna, and the fact that she had a quiet corner unit with a balcony looking out on those woods—were the trails crisscrossing through the trees, several of which led to a small creek. She could wander them for a few minutes, pretend that she was being healthy and was totally a nature girl, and when she’d had enough, be back inside her townhouse in fifteen minutes flat.
It was perfect.
But tonight, she wasn’t finding that same satisfaction.
Because of her cell phone burning a hole in her purse.
“Self-respect,” she murmured. “Self. Respect.”
Except, her body didn’t want self-respect. It wanted Brad and his yummy cock and for her to have a repeat of their night together—only this time minus the shitty morning-after feeling.
“That’s it,” she muttered, pulling out some ingredients for dinner and setting them on the counter. She would make pasta and bread and eat ice cream and drink wine. She would consume all the carbs, and then Brad would be gone, flitting from her life again as he traveled to some exotic location.
Heading into her bedroom with that thought, she spent the next few minutes changing from her fancy work clothes—fancy because of the meeting, since she normally wore jeans, T-shirts, and the odd blouse to her lab—into her coziest pajamas. She was tugging an oversized sweatshirt down her torso after hanging up her slacks and button-down, stowing away her sparkly flats, when her doorbell rang.
Smiling, she made her way to the door.
In all likelihood, it would be her neighbor, Mrs. Horowitz. The elderly widow usually came bearing delicious baked goods, and coincidentally, Heidi was out of banana chocolate chip muffins. Maybe she’d get enough of a carb stash to tide her over for a few days.
But when she tugged open the wooden panel, Mrs. Horowitz wasn’t on the other side.
“Can I bribe my way inside?” Brad asked.
“No,” she muttered, starting to slam the door.
“I have tequila,” he coaxed.
“It’s a school night.” This time, she did shut the heavy wood, flicking the lock with a resounding click.
Then she heard the sigh.
A resolved one.
Like he’d known what her reaction was going to be, even before she’d opened and shut the door.
And she hesitated, guilt sliding through her to curl in her stomach. She didn’t enjoy feeling like a bitch, especially when the man was probably lonely with his brother gone. He probably didn’t have a lot of friends in town. She knew he’d only recently moved to California, that he worked from home, and his travels took him away frequently.
He didn’t even have his family to hang out with.
They’d all returned home on Sunday.
So if she didn’t take pity on the man, he would be all alone.
And lonely.
And sad.
Or maybe that was her?
Either way, she’d reopened the door.
But he wasn’t there. The entry was empty, the street beyond quiet. She started to take a step forward, in an attempt to follow him when she couldn’t begin to have a clue to know how to track him down or which way he’d left, and stopped.
Then glanced down and smiled despite herself.
There on her welcome mat was a basket, and inside it, a bottle of tequila, a bag of ice, a squirt bottle of prickly pear simple syrup, a shaker, and two glasses.
The man had charm—and balls—she had to give him that.
Seven
Brad
I’ll cook. You mix. So long as you remember it’s a school night.
He glanced down at his cell and smiled.
Then got back out of his car,
