Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) (6 page)

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come home,” she muttered, cinching her ponytail tight. Coming home made her feel disoriented. And flushed.

Like the flu.

She blew out an impatient breath.

She hadn’t chewed Juicy Fruit in years, but one look at Carter’s disarmingly crooked grin and lazy, loping stride and she was fat old Beth “the Brain” Beacon again, nervously re-sharpening her pencils as she waited in the back room of the library for their weekly tutoring session.

God. She could still remember the giant, slab oak tables. The heavy chairs. How, if she leaned close enough over his trig text and inhaled long and slow she could just catch the intoxicating scent of fresh air and leather and something else she didn’t recognize but knew, instinctively, was way, way better than chocolate.

“Except everyone knows chocolate is bad for you,” she said aloud to her reflection.

Her reflection did not appear to be buying it.

Liz rummaged in her purse for her Altoids and popped one into her mouth, the mint sharp on her tongue, then marched out the door.

Thank goodness she was no longer the ridiculous, naïve girl she’d been in high school.

A ridiculous, naïve girl, for instance, would get all fluttery at the sight of Carter as he stood at the end of the driveway, leaning against his truck, all swagger and sex appeal in faded, torn jeans, navy tee and tattered Converse sneakers.

Liz felt nothing. Nothing but minty fresh pragmatism.

Carter pushed away from his truck as she approached, his cell phone to his ear. “Sorry, I can’t make it tonight,” he said into the phone. “My last job is running late… No. I’ll grab something…. I know you don’t want me to miss it… I’ll do my best… Yeah…  All right. See you then.” He hunched away a little. “Love you, too,” he murmured, then he slipped the phone into his pocket and turned to Liz. “Ready?”

Och!
Liz tried not to stare at the pocket of his jeans where she could just make out the outline of his phone. His poor girlfriend! She was probably nice, too. Carter always dated nice girls you wished you could hate except they volunteered at the food pantry or humane society and had alcoholic fathers or siblings with Down Syndrome so you felt sorry for them and envious all at the same time. No doubt his girlfriend du jour thought she could reform the reckless, bad boy in him and would only blame herself when she failed miserably.

Thank goodness
she
had solid, dependable Grant waiting for her at home.

“Ready.” She stepped toward the truck and tugged the door handle.

She tugged again.

Carter stepped forward and gripped the handle over her hand, pulling hard, his fingers warm and firm atop hers. The door lurched open. “Sorry,” he said. “Sticks sometimes.” He gestured toward the seat. “Just, ah, shove that out of your way.”

Liz stared, aghast at the mess on the seat and the floor, but Carter was already halfway around the truck. Lovely. The man clearly lived on caffeine and sugar. Using the side of her purse to shovel loose papers, candy wrappers and what-not toward the center console, she tried not to touch anything with her bare hands. She brushed the seat lightly with a paper napkin she’d found, decided it would be rude to lay it out on the seat as a protective liner, and hoisted herself into the cab. A Mountain Dew can burbled its last dregs onto her shoe.

Carter threw the dirty note pad from his back pocket onto the seat next to a half dozen others and stuck the key in the ignition. He followed her gaze as she stared down at the empty soda cans, coffee cups and—was that a beer bottle?—on the floor. “Sorry. Keep meaning to clear that out.”

“
Mmm
,” she said non-committally, praying her skirt would come clean after sitting on his seats. Lord only knew what was on them. She set her purse on her lap and gripped it primly. His girlfriend must have tiny feet. Or, if she were smart, her own car.

Liz threaded the strap of her purse through her fingers as they pulled out of the driveway.  She swallowed and glanced as his profile. “So. I didn’t realize you were working for your uncle now.”

“Yeah. Have been for a while.”

“That must be… nice.” She nudged a coffee cup that kept falling on her foot, the silence stretching out between them. If he couldn’t even keep his own car clean, did she want this guy working on the house? She’d eat first
then
tell him she wouldn’t be needing his help.

She should probably pay for her own meal, though. After all, she wasn’t rude.

Carter slowed at a traffic light. “You in Sugar Falls for long?”

“Only a week or two. My parents are moving to Florida full time. They asked me to take care of some improvements to get the house here ready to put on the market.”

“Selling, huh? How much do they want for it?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken with the realtor yet.”

“Much land?”

“Six and a half acres.”

“It’s a nice spot out here.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

The conversation petered out and he looked at her, his green eyes dark, like deep, secret pools you could happily dive into and not care if you ever resurfaced for air.

Not that she was thinking that or anything.

Liz shifted in her seat. She should ask him to stop at the store. Then she could pick up a few basics. Mixed greens. Boneless chicken. Some brown rice.

Cat food. She couldn’t forget cat food. The stuff Trish left was mostly fillers. Eddie had a very sensitive tummy. Cat food and
then
she’d tell him he wasn’t hired.

“Is that why you’ve never been back?” Carter asked.

“What? I’ve been back.”

“Not much. After high school, you pretty much disappeared.”

“California’s a long way from home, and I interned most summers. Anyway, I’m sure nobody missed me around here.”

He winked. “Maybe I missed you.”

“Please,” she scoffed, though his words and the flash of a dimple in his cheek had her heart slamming in her breast and her woman bits perking to attention. She made a pretense of restacking the papers on his center console.

Broccoli
.
She should
definitely
pick up broccoli…

“I did! I missed those roast beef sandwiches you made that time we studied for trig at your house. Remember that?”

Remember?
She’d made a shrine to that day in her journal.
Carter McIntyre ate in my kitchen!!

“God, they were amazing! Beef, bacon, onion, swiss cheese and that sauce you whipped up...”

“Horseradish mayo,” she said.

“It had a kick to it,” he grinned again.

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Yeah, well, food is important to guys. We never forget a good meal.” Liz grabbed the dash as Carter turned a hard left. “You know what? Forget going out. We’ll do one better. We’ll make your famous roast beef sandwiches. Now that I’ve mentioned them, I’ve got a real craving for them.” He turned into the grocery store parking lot and swung into a space. “What do you think?”

The air in Liz’s lungs seized as she momentarily wondered whether Carter could read minds as well as make women spontaneously ignite with a single eyebrow twitch. The grocery store? Good Lord. And, cooking for him? Cooking would be far more intimate than grabbing a bite at a local sandwich shop. No. Going home was a bad idea. It was dangerous. And spending time with Carter McIntyre had always been dangerous.

As dangerous as seven minutes, blindfolded, in the darkened pantry at Jenny Whitmeyer’s sixteenth birthday party and only ever knowing the first boy she’d ever kissed had silky hair, tasted like Twizzlers… and smelled like fresh air and sweet rebellion.

“Sounds like a great idea,” she said.

CHAPTER SIX
____________________

“I
’M NOT AN AXE MURDERER.”

Liz stared at Carter in shock, the memory of that long ago kiss still on her lips. She clutched her purse a little tighter. “What?”

“Just in case you were worried. I haven’t turned into an axe murderer or anything over the last ten years.”

“Why would I—?”

“Because, usually women worry about that sort of thing when a guy invites himself to their house. I just wanted to reassure you. I’m not a murderer. I’m just hungry.”

“I hadn’t…” She flushed, the idea of Carter being violent the
last
thing on her mind.

“You just got all quiet there for a minute, and I thought you might be having second thoughts. We can pick up a sub or something if you want.”

“No. No. It’s fine. It’s good. I actually need a few things. I was just, ah, planning my list in my head.”

“Great.”

“Great.”

Liz hopped out and hurried toward the entrance, visions of Carter doing unscrupulous things dancing through her head.

The automatic doors whooshed aside, and Liz reached for a basket. She was overreacting. What harm could come from getting a few things at the store and sharing a casual meal with an old friend? That’s all this was. For all the axe murderer talk, she didn’t believe Carter McIntyre had a mean bone in his body. The man was dangerous, sure, but not in
that
way.

Besides, it’s not like anyone was going to dare her to sit in a dark pantry tonight waiting for some anonymous boy to give her a kiss. Those days were long behind her.

She decided who kissed her now. And when.

“Forget the basket,” Carter said, skidding to a halt beside her with an empty cart. “I’ve been working all day, and I’m starved. I’ll push. You lead.”

“Oh. All right. Let’s start with produce.” Liz pulled her purse up on her shoulder and shook her head as Carter zipped ahead down the aisle, one foot on the back of the cart like a scooter. So much for leading.

She set some lettuce into the cart and silently marveled at how surreal life was sometimes. She was grocery shopping with Carter McIntyre. How many times had she dreamed about this very thing? The minivan? The adorable toddlers? The blissfully domestic existence as if they were a modern-day version of the
Leave it to Beaver
re-runs she used to watch every Saturday with her dad?

To think she’d actually imagined Carter growing up and becoming half of an adult couple. The man couldn’t even push a simple grocery cart without treating it like a riding toy. If she didn’t get this over with, her inner June would probably start humming liltingly and reaching for imaginary aprons. Liz rolled her eyes and tossed a red onion into the cart.

Dum. Dum. De-dum. Dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-DUM…

“Oh, crap,” she said.

Carter turned to look at her. “Is that your cell phone?” Liz nodded. “Unusual ring tone.”

“I prefer to think of it as an early warning system.” Carter’s eyebrow did that wingy thing at her in question. “It’s my mother.”

Her purse strap jingled again.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“I can call her back.” Liz picked up a bulb of garlic and sniffed it. She looked at Carter. “What?”

“Your mother is calling.”

“I—” Oh, crap. That’s right. Carter didn’t
have
a mother. She’d died when he was little. Some terrible accident. Liz fought not to squirm under his gaze. She pulled out her phone. “Hi, Mom!”

She gave Carter a cheery smile and braced herself for the volume. He’d think she were a cad if she held the phone at a safe distance from her ear like she usually did.

“Elizabeth! I’m glad I caught you! How’s the weather? I hear you might be in for some rain this week! You can never trust the Weather Channel, though. They are so often wrong! Elizabeth?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, I thought I’d lost you! You’re so quiet!”

“I’m in the grocery store, Mom.”

“Where?”

“The— nevermind. What do you need?” She glanced guiltily at Carter. “I mean, why are you calling?”

“It’s your dad! He’s worried about the patio. He doesn’t want the pavers to have grass growing out of them. You know how awful that looks! Can you make sure they use that special sand that keeps the grass from growing?”

“Special sand that keeps grass from growing? I’ve never heard—”

“Polymeric,” said Carter as he threw a watermelon into the cart.

A watermelon?

Liz put her hand over the phone. “What?”

“Polymeric sand. It keeps grass from growing between the pavers. Tell her it’s standard now for all our jobs unless the customer wants wider, greenscaped joints.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said to him.

“Here.” He reached out. “Let me talk to her.”

“I don’t think—” But he’d already grabbed the phone.

“Mrs. Beacon? Hey! It’s Carter McIntyre. Yeah… I know, quite the coincidence that we’re both here.” He winked at Liz. “Listen, just so you know, I use polymeric sand all the time now… Yes.  It is a little more, but I know you and Mr. Beacon will be happy with the results… Absolutely... Any time… Sure... You take good care, too.”