She’d had high hopes for her date tonight. But he’d turned out to be a dud, and then stupid Easton Ambrose with his stupid muscles and stupid smile came in and made her feel weird. Not just weird—more like hot and buzzing. But what else was new? He’d made her feel that way since she was a teenager.
But between her brother being his best friend, and East never looking at her twice except to flick her forehead or tug her pigtail, she’d determined a long time ago that they were just bound to be enemies. Mostly because the man irritated her like no other. He’d been the senior varsity quarterback of the football team when she’s been a freshman band geek. And not much had changed. Well, other than East had somehow gotten sexier, and she’d given up playing the clarinet. God, going through puberty with the hottest man on the planet under the same roof had been no easy feat.
He was blunt and cocky and so damn good looking it hurt to look at him sometimes. Even if he weren’t basically her second older brother, her mother wouldn’t call him “a suitable gentleman.” But he was more of a member of her own family than she was. Hell, her parents had taken him in and raised him like their own child! Maybe that was why they’d always treated East with class and respect. He was family to them, and family deserved unconditional love.
As if her mother was summoned by her thoughts, her phone buzzed again. And again. Nope. She wasn’t looking at that now. Wasn’t dealing with her mother or her ideas on how Natalie was failing at life and love.
At least here she was far away from East, and that ridiculous look he’d given her in the bar. What had that been about, anyway? It had almost looked like…jealousy. Well, screw him and any hint of jealousy. He had no right.
“Dick,” she mumbled.
“If that’s what you’re after, all you have to do is ask,” East said from the entry of her shop. She spun to face him. He had his forearm casually resting against the doorframe, and the light of the hallway haloed him like he was Christ himself. And damn…he looked good. A Stetson, white T-shirt, and dark jeans had never looked more perfect on a man. She wanted to punch him in the throat. How dare he stand there looking like…that!
“Actually.” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I was just thinking of you, and ‘dick’ was the most suitable word that came to mind.”
He raised a brow. “That right? Well, I’m glad you think of my dick. Gotta admit, I would have taken you more for a good girl whose thoughts were full of rainbows and unicorns.”
That fueled the fire she had been tamping down. One, because she wasn’t thinking of his dick. Okay, maybe she was. Kind of. Whatever! He didn’t need to know that. And second, “I’m not a good girl! Now get out of here.”
“Sorry, can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re okay.”
She rolled her eyes. Was that why he’d followed her? Because he was worried about her? The guy needed to realize he was the reason she was upset in the first place.
“I’m fine. I don’t need your ‘saving’ or your pity. Now leave.”
“Sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left alone in your state of distress,” he said with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
He was doing the same thing he’d done all their lives. Teasing her. Flicking little words and retorts that got under her skin. God, he knew her so well. He got a rise out of her, and that fire made her forget about being awkward and pushed her to simply speak her mind. Not that knowing this made it any easier to resist. He wanted to challenge her? Game on. He was going down.
She set the bottle on the counter, squared her shoulders, and hit him with a hard glare she could feel all the way to her toes. Power. She harnessed whatever kind she had, and she took aim at that big playboy pain in her ass.
“Easton Ambrose…” Her voice came out as a deep rasp that clearly got his attention because he straightened his posture. “Call me a good girl one more time, and I’ll show you just how wrong you are.”
There was a spell of silence, but even in the low light, she could see his perfect smile. “Oh darlin’, you’re all things good.” He took a step inside, and the door closed behind him. Her blood heated another degree. Challenge. He wasn’t backing down. He was coming after her. Again. And she’d rise. She would rise this time.
“And sweet,” he said, adding that extra bit of What are you going to say to that? attitude. He came up to the counter. The only thing separating them was that, a triple tier of her best cupcakes sitting near the register for presentation tomorrow morning, and the bottle of bourbon.
That and the fact that he was all but her brother. If only they didn’t have this history—
Whoa. Where had that thought came from? What did it matter what he was to her? He was off-limits. Period.
“In fact,” he said, “you’re so good and so sweet, I think you’ll go down in history as the Best Friend of Beaufort.” With that, he swiped his finger along one of her pristine gourmet cupcakes on display and licked the frosting from his finger.
Oh, he was really fucking with her now.
“You prick!” she said, and grabbed up the now-ruined mini chocolate cake.