“Of course you don’t.”
“I’m going to win on my own because I’m almost positive that it’s a,” he looks up at my face, drawing out his words slowly, “girrrrrrrrrrrrr booooooooo—man! Your face really doesn’t give anything away, does it? That’s impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“Help me.”
“No.”
He puts on the puppy dog eyes. “Please help me?”
“This is getting sad.”
“I’m gonna do it,” he announces proudly, hovering over his phone. “I’m gonna pick one and it will be right, and I’ll do it without you.”
He taps his phone once decisively. A small bell dings in reply.
“Did it,” he tells me, putting the phone away. “Locked it in.”
“What’d you pick?”
He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The door to the pantry swings open, light and cold air spilling in around us. Tim Bailey is there, tall and imposing. And frowning.
“Damnit, Avery, is this where you’ve been? Lexi is down my throat about finding you before the reveal and you’re hiding in the pantry?” He looks at me, his face softening. “Hi, Lilly. How are you?”
I smile professionally. “I’m good, thanks. How are you? How’s the breakfast?”
“Delicious. Everything is going perfectly, except for Colt here. I’m sorry if he’s been harassing you. He’s notorious for that.”
“He’s been helping me, actually.” I gesture to the cupcake tower. “He’s good. Steady hands.”
“I have a fall back career, Coach,” Colt tells him proudly.
“Fantastic.” Tim opens the door wider. “Out. Now.”
Colt nods. “Right behind you.”
Tim grunts unhappily before heading back through the kitchen to the hall.
“I guess that’s my cue,” he tells me, dusting his hands off against each other.
“Thanks for the help.”
“And the breakfast,” he reminds me with a grin.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, and the breakfast. That was… it was actually kinda sweet of you.”
His grin softens, his expression almost sheepish, like a little boy being told he’ll make a good man someday.
“You’re welcome.” He offers me his hand. “It was good to meet you, Hendricks.”
I take it, enjoying the warm, calloused feel of his skin. “You too, Avery.”
The room expands as he leaves it, as air fills the space, pulling him away and replacing him with nothing.
“Hey!” I call out impulsively.
He pauses, looking at me over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
I toss him an Oreo. My throw is crap but he catches it effortlessly. I watch him smile before taking a bite. It snaps the cookie in two, exposing its center. The center I dyed last night before re-stuffing and hand dipping all three hundred of them.
His eyes widen when he sees the color inside.
“Winner or loser?” I ask.
He casts me a full blown smile, one that can probably drop panties from here to Telluride. “Winner.”
“Congratulations.”
He winks at me. The cocky son of a bitch actually winks at me.
Then he’s gone.
And I sincerely hope I never see him again.
He’s trouble from top to bottom, from sweet to sexy. I’ve lived my whole life in L.A. and if there’s one thing I’ve learned above all else, it’s that pretty faces like that will throw you off course like a compass gone wonky in a storm.
And Colt Avery is the Bermuda Triangle.
CHAPTER FIVE
COLT
Beer ‘N Burger
Los Angeles, CA
It’s a girl.
It takes three hours, a three tiered cake, and three years off my life to announce it.
It’s a girl.
Wait, one more time for the cameras. All smiles everyone. Hold up your pink cake slices. Smiles big. BIG! This is for Instagram and In Touch magazine.
It’s a girl.
As soon as we’re allowed to leave, Trey, The Hotness, Tyus, and I head to our favorite bar, Burger ‘N Beer, where they ironically do not serve burgers. Never have. It doesn’t matter, though. You wouldn’t want food out of their kitchen even if they had one. It’s a total dive, a ghost town lit to life with neon signs reflecting off greasy tables. The bathroom stalls don’t have doors. The jukebox by the dartboard with no darts only takes Pesos. It’s a real shit shack, but we love it, especially now. Two in the afternoon on a Monday is the best time to drink here. It’s just us and the surly bartender on duty. The one with the neck tattoo and handlebar mustache who checks out Trey’s ass every time we come in. I don’t think he’s gay. I think he’s got ass envy.
“’Sup, Taylor,” I call to him as we file in.
He holds up a small knife in warning, a half-sliced lemon dripping bitter on the bar in front of him. “No country.”
I shrug out of my coat with a chuckle. “Good to see you too, man.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Tyus agrees. He’s already taking his regular seat in the creaky chair across from our corner booth. “Don’t start that shit. Not today.”
I turn out my pockets. “I don’t have any coins.”
“You always have coins.”