With an eye roll, he reached out, fisted his hand in the front of my sweatshirt, and pulled me inside.
“Excuse me! Didn’t anyone ever tell you kidnapping women on your doorstep is rude?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you screaming shrewishly about private business in public places is dangerous?”
I stuffed my hands into the pocket of my hoodie. “I’ll give you the shrewish part, but I did not scream.”
“How generous of you.”
“I stand by my statement,” I said, looking around.
The TV in the living room was on to some kind of financial news report. There was an empty bowl and an open laptop on the ottoman. Flames danced cozily in the fireplace. Yet the room still managed to feel somber, lonely even. Gray walls, gray couch, scratchy-looking ivory pillows. It felt soulless. Except for the music.
I frowned. “Is that Shania Twain?”
Swearing under his breath, Lucian hit a button on his phone and the music stopped. “We’re not discussing the FBI, Anthony Hugo, or my personal business. So unless there’s another topic you’d care to yell at me about, you can show yourself out.”
I blew out a breath. “Thank you for the referral to the attorney,” I said. “I had a call with her yesterday and sent her everything I had on Mary Louise.”
“So you came to yell at me and thank me?” he asked, sounding slightly less irritated.
I shrugged. “I’m a complicated woman.”
“Noted. Now, if you’re done shrewing, I’d like to enjoy my house without you in it.”
“I don’t think that’s a word. And I’m not leaving until you hear me out. I’ve been thinking about this a lot—”
He smirked. “You’ve been thinking about me? Shouldn’t you be too busy finding Mr. Right to give me a passing thought?”
I glared at him. “I’ve got a big brain, Lucifer. There’s room for lots of stuff up there.”
“Have you found him?” he asked.
I didn’t quite suppress the shudder that rolled up my spine as my recent dating shenanigans tap-danced onto center stage in my mind.
“Not yet,” I said with forced positivity. “I didn’t come to talk about my dating life.”
“Then why did you come?” he pressed, looking vaguely amused.
“To yell at you about the trash bins. Weren’t you listening?”
“You’ve been on how many dates and still haven’t found a suitable candidate?” he asked.
My eyes narrowed. “Listen, Rollins, this isn’t hiring an employee to fetch you coffee and smoothies made from the blood of puppies. Finding your life partner should be…” Disheartening? Physically painful? Excruciatingly depressing? “Challenging,” I said out loud.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the cased opening to the living room. “Elaborate.”
“I’m not discussing my dating life with you.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m sure them not calling you back is a them thing and not a you thing.”
“It’s not them ghosting me! Well, except for that one guy. But that was more literal ghosting. Do you even know what ghosting is?”
“I work with a twenty-two-year-old who insists on talking all the time about things I don’t care about. Not only do I know what ghosting is, I could name all the Kardashians if pressed.”
“Is she okay? Holly, I mean.”
“She’s fine,” he said curtly.
“I was thinking about it. Have you considered that the men who chased her—”
“Back to the ghosting,” he insisted.
I shook my head. “Nope.”
Those cool gray eyes went shrewd. “I’ll give you an entire Stucky’s soft pretzel if you tell me.”
I scoffed. “You can’t just bribe me with food.”
That was a lie. Stucky’s pretzels were the size of my face and irresistibly flaky.
“It’s cinnamon and sugar…with caramel sauce,” he added.
Dammit. My favorite. I glared at him. He stared back. The staring contest lasted until my stomach growled like a damn traitor. I’d missed lunch during the computer fiasco and hadn’t gotten around to dinner yet.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But I’m only telling you because you’ll hear about it anyway in our weird little incestuous group of big mouths.”
Stef, Naomi, and Lina had already been thoroughly entertained by the story.
“I’m all ears,” Lucian said.
“Uh-uh. First I wanna see the pretzel.”
A hint of amusement played across his lips. I wondered how he kept his beard trimmed so neatly. Did he have a special razor, or did he have a beard guy who came to his house every other day?
“Come on then,” he said, heading in the direction of the kitchen, his socked feet making no noise as he walked.
I had a feeling I was going to regret this, but at least I’d get a pretzel out of it.
Just like the living room, the kitchen and dining area were ruthlessly clean. As if the rooms had just been sanitized or were only staged to make it look as if someone lived there. I wondered what the inside of his refrigerator looked like. Would I find expired jars of mustard like in everyone else’s kitchen, or would there be more ruthless sterility? Did vegetables dare rot in Lucian’s crisper drawer?
He flipped the lid on a pink bakery box and angled it my way.
My mouth watered.
There was only one pretzel.
“Even though you’re you and I’m me, I can’t take your last pretzel. Why do you even have this? Don’t you subsist on a diet of egg whites and unicorn hoof?” The man took discipline to a whole new, annoying level.
“I’m willing to part with it in exchange for the story of the man who ghosted Sloane Walton.”
“You make it sound like a children’s book.”
“You’re stalling,” he said, getting a plate out of the cabinet.
I really wanted that pretzel. “Fine. But let’s split the pretzel. I hope to be getting naked for a stranger soon, and I need to be in decent, non-baked-good shape.”
Wordlessly, he produced a second plate, then cut the doughy goodness into two equal halves.
I salivated as he put both plates in the microwave.
“Talk.”
“Okay, fine.” I planted myself on one of the stools he had parked under the peninsula. “So I match with this guy named Gary. According to his profile, he’s a pediatric nurse who enjoys reading, hiking, and spending time with his nieces and nephews.”
“Clearly he’s an asshole,” Lucian teased.
I ignored the jab and continued. “He sounds normal in his messages, so I agree to dinner. After the last fiasco that you had a front row seat to, Nash and Lina decided to go along as backup. They got a table near us, and small talk commences. He seems nice enough, but when I ask him about his job, he doesn’t seem to know anything about hospitals or nursing or children. He keeps asking me stuff like ‘How much money does a librarian make?’ and what kind of car I have and do I have any retirement savings.”
Lucian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The microwave dinged. He opened it, releasing the smell of cinnamony deliciousness.
“I’m definitely suspicious by this point, so I give Nash and Lina the sign, and they come running up and tell me my uncle Horace just fell off a ladder, and they whisk me away.”
He put one of the plates in front of me and dug two forks out of the utensil drawer.
I wasted no time yanking the lid off the caramel sauce and dipping my first bite in it. “Anyway, we’re on our way home, and Gary calls. I, of course, let it go to voicemail. Oh my God, this is divine,” I moaned as the flavors melted in my mouth.
Lucian took a smaller, more dignified bite of his half. “What did Gary have to say?”
I pulled out my phone. “Listen for yourself.”
I scrolled through my voicemails and pushed Play.
“Hey, Sloane. This is Gary. I just wanted to check in and see how your uncle is—Oh my God! Ahhh!” His voice was replaced with the sound of a revving engine, squealing tires, and finally a spectacular crash. Then the sound of static filled the kitchen.
Lucian shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”
“Go on. I know you’re dying to say it,” I said, gesturing with my fork.
“He’s scamming you.”