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“No, ma’am. Thank you. Have a good night.” Trixie disconnects, stabbing at the phone before shoving the metal back into her pocket.
“See? I told ya so. You want that beer now?”
CHAPTER 3
TRIXIE
Colton Wild.
Of all the guys in Peach Springs, it had to be Colt.
My brother’s cocky-as-hell, hot-as-sin best friend.
Who, unfortunately, is more gorgeous than ever.
Not awesome. And definitely not part of the plan.
“Give me the beer.” I extend my hand, wiggling my fingers in his direction. Least he can do is share his provisions, seeing as how he’s squatting in my apartment.
Colt pops the top of the beer for me and hands it over, our fingertips brushing. A hot bolt of something I definitely do not need shoots up my arm, rippling through my chest.
No. Nuh-uh. Not today.
Or tomorrow.
Or freaking ever.
“Thanks.” I take a begrudging sip, savoring the coolness of the liquid as it slides down my throat. Maybe this will at least take the edge off because right now I’m low-key freaking out.
“So, Trix—you starting a small business downstairs?” Colt locks his sea green eyes on mine and heat unfurls low in my belly.
Ohmygod, Trix. Not the time.
I press my knees together, ignoring the pulsing between my thighs.
“Yeah, I am. A vintage resale shop. I’m going to restore and repurpose old furniture and then resell it. Like a trash-to-treasure thing.”
“That’s cool.” Colt nods his approval and warmth blooms in my chest.
Why, I have no idea because I couldn’t care less what Colt Wild thinks of my business plan. I haven’t seen the guy in ages. So why should I care what he thinks?
“Putting that SCAD degree to good use, huh?” He takes another bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully.
“Yes, I guess so. I did enjoy the woodworking classes. And I love finding cool pieces at estate sales and flea markets. There’s something really satisfying about fixing something that’s been discarded, polishing it up and making it shine.”
“Huh.”
I shrug, one brow cocked high. “Not that you would understand. Given your love-em-and-leave-em reputation. Figure you’re more of a single-use kinda guy.”
Colt furrows his brow, fine lines marring his forehead. “Maybe I am. But I can still appreciate the sentiment. Even if it’s not really my style.”
He leans back against the counter, arms folded across his still-bare chest, every abdominal muscle flexing.
My fingers tingle, like they’re itching to trail over the ridges of his abs, trace the deep indent of that sexy V-thingy muscular, athletic guys have. I shove my hand in my pocket, signaling my body to chill the hell out.
“Well…” I flip my hair over my shoulder. “Glad you can appreciate it. And it looks like you’re going to be my handyman for the next few weeks. I hope you’re up for it because downstairs is kind of a disaster. That linoleum’s got to go.”
“You’re not fond of mint green flooring? It’s vintage.” His lips tip up to one side, mocking me, and I seriously want to knock that smirk right off his irritatingly good-looking face.
