Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

My job isn’t to speculate, and a basic restoration that promises to bring me at least five grand in profit isn’t something I can turn down, so I took the job. But first, I’m going to run the VIN to make sure the car isn’t stolen. That’s the last thing I need to get tangled up with.

When the lead on my pencil breaks, I reach back into the top of my toolbox and once again feel the fabric of the panties I’ve sworn every day I’ll throw away. And yet here I am, alone after another twelve-hour day, and they’re not in the bottom of my trash.

Why haven’t I tossed them? A better question is why in the hell I took them to begin with. Something about Banner Regent f*cked me up in a big way.

I’ve tried everything I can think of to stop thinking about her . . . except get rid of the reminder.

The front-door chime rings as I shove the panties under a pair of gloves. I should have locked the door after Lonnie left, but I was too busy checking out the car.

I turn to see Emmy Harris picking her way across the garage, carrying an honest-to-God picnic basket.

“I swear, you’re going to have to leave work one of these days before dark.”

Her curvy body is poured into tight jeans that are tucked into expensive tooled-leather cowboy boots. Not the kind of boots she’d wear to the restaurant either, because they look way too fancy. There’s nothing about her outfit that says I was just in the neighborhood.

It’s not hard to recognize a woman on the hunt in this town. Apparently Emmy’s done waiting for me to come to her.

“Whatcha got there, Ms. Harris?”

She smiles. “Oh, nothing too exciting. Just some chicken and dumplings, and an apple pie. I was trying out a new recipe for the restaurant and thought you could give me your opinion. I know you’ve got a powerful taste for chicken and dumplings.”

I think about the panties in the top of my toolbox, and decide why not. It feels better to have a woman bringing you dinner than it does to have one hiding your existence from her best friend.

“That’s awfully kind of you to think of me.”

Her smile turns even sweeter. “You know I think about you all the time, Logan. How about we eat in the waiting room instead of in the middle of all this.” She waves a hand, gesturing to the shop.

“I’ll follow you.”

And that’s how I ended up eating dinner on paper plates in the waiting room of my shop with Emmy Harris, while all the people driving by the Four Corners could no doubt see us plain as day. At least she wants to be seen with me, even if it is just to stake her claim.

As we finish up the apple pie—which, she reminds me, is a county fair blue-ribbon winner—she sets her paper plate aside and crosses her legs.

“I wouldn’t normally dare be this bold, but I have to ask . . . when are you finally going to ask me out on another date, Logan?”

I can’t help but wonder if Julianne spilled about me texting another woman, and that’s what’s causing Emmy to be more forward than normal. Then again, Julianne and Emmy get along as well as cats and water.

I shove a bite in my mouth to buy myself some time to answer. Why am I putting her off? She’s a nice woman, a great cook, and she doesn’t give off the blatant looking-for-a-man-to-be-a-paycheck vibe.

It’s not like the woman whose panties are in my toolbox is ever going to be a real possibility.

I’m throwing them away.

“How does this weekend sound?”

Emmy’s smile flashes triumphantly, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.





Chapter 18


Banner


Four days. That’s how long it takes before the notice from the association shows up in my mailbox.

I skim over the paper, wondering why Frau Frances would do it. I didn’t think she hated me enough to rat me out and get me evicted. According to the notice, I have five business days to show either proof of gainful employment, some other means of steady income, or a fat bank balance—to be evaluated at the sole discretion of the association—or my lease will be null and void.

After the few crazy weeks Greer’s had, including quitting her corporate lawyer job, the last thing I want to do is bother her with this mess. Then again, she already dragged all the Logan stuff out of me when I delivered the news about getting fired, so I’ve got nothing left to hide. It’s not like I can afford another lawyer at this point, and then there’s the fact that she’d kill me if I didn’t ask her for help.

I snap a picture of the notice and text it to her, along with a note to check her e-mail in five minutes. I forward a copy of the lease to her, then sit down with my trusty bottle of vodka and wait.

My phone rings ten minutes later, and I snatch it up. “This can’t be legal!”

“I really, really hate to tell you this, but you agreed to this ridiculous draconian rule when you signed your lease. Did you actually read these rules?”

I cringe, my tiny ray of hope dimming as my former legal eagle delivers the bad news.

“Nope. Sure didn’t. Just like I didn’t read the no-moonlighting policy in the HR handbook that got me fired.”

“I’m so sorry, B. Do you have another means of income you can show them? Monthly deposits into your account in an amount no less than four times your rent from anywhere? How about your trust fund? Can you have the trustee do monthly payments?”

I lower my head to the counter and smack my forehead against it. “No, I can’t. It’s maxed out this year.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Greer replies. “Okay. Let’s think.”

I love that she doesn’t question how I spent the money, even though I know she must be wondering. I haven’t told her about my new venture because I didn’t want to spill until I knew it wasn’t going to be yet another big idea of mine that crashed and burned. Also, I know she’ll offer to help any way she can, and this time, I feel like I have something to prove. Like I can succeed or fail based on my own merits. Holy shit, I might be growing up.

“Can you get your parents to float you?”

I actually laugh at her suggestion. “No way in hell. You know how they are.”

Greer sighs. “Will you let me help? You know I have the cash.”

“I love you so freaking much, but there’s no way I’m taking your money. Maybe . . . I’ll go talk to my parents. Last-ditch effort for desperate times. Where the hell am I going to live if I lose this apartment and have no income?”

“If you’d just let me help—” Greer starts, but I cut her off.

“Let me try to figure this out myself first.”

“Okay, but you can always crash at my place. You’d do it for me.”

She’s right, but I’m not taking a handout, at least not from anyone who isn’t blood related. “It’s time for me to learn how to handle my shit myself, I think. Don’t worry; I’ll figure it out.”

“Damn right you will. You’re Banner f*cking Regent.”

I smile at my best friend’s confidence, and hope I can prove I deserve it. “I’ll woman up or get the hell out of the city, I guess.”

Greer is quiet for another long moment. “Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do. You know I’ll do it.”

“Talk soon, babe.”

She says good-bye, and we hang up.