“You’re gonna need to tell me where I’m going,” Toby says after a few tense minutes.
“Oh shit, sorry.” I quickly give him directions and he gives me a double take when I tell him the street. “What?”
“Expensive houses around there,” he mutters, opening a bottle of Gatorade and swallowing down a few mouthfuls.
“Says the one in a custom BMW.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t judge.”
“It’s fine. I’ve suffered worse.”
“Teagan’s a bitch.”
“Ah, so it’s common knowledge then. Don’t tell me, her pussy is made of diamonds, which is why the guys put up with her.”
The mouthful of the blue liquid he’d just poured into his mouth sprays out, covering his windshield, wheel, his hand and shorts.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry I—”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all week.”
“It’s only Tuesday,” I mutter, rummaging around in my purse for some tissues.
“I don’t have high hopes for my week,” he deadpans.
He’s still trying to mop up Gatorade when we finally pull into my driveway.
“I’ll pay to get it detailed,” I offer, because the second it dries up, it’s going to be a sticky mess.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”
“Okay, well…” I hesitate, staring at the front of the house when he pulls to a stop. “Would you like to come in?”
“Uh… Y-yeah,” he says, turning his mesmerising eyes and megawatt smile on me. “Sounds good.”
“And I didn’t even have to offer you the cake that I know will be waiting.”
His eyes light up at the mention of Angie’s cake.
“Just wait. Depending on what our housekeeper has made, it’s better than sex.”
“Who the hell have you been screwing?” he asks as we both climb out of his car.
His question tells me a lot—mostly that he has no idea what his so-called brother has been up to recently.
“No one decent, obviously,” I shoot over my shoulder before letting myself inside.
The house is in silence as we step into the hall.
“Whoa, this is… modern,” Toby comments as I lead him through to the kitchen.
“Yep, it’s Dad’s thing,” I mutter, closing in on the slices of millionaire’s shortbread that are sitting on the counter waiting for me.
I put a few slices on a plate before passing Toby a couple of cans of soda and telling him to follow me.
He trails me all the way up to the top floor of the house—my floor—and into my bedroom.
“Often invite boys into your room only minutes after meeting them?” he asks as I toe my sneakers off and lower the plate to the nightstand.