“No, the other Andi.”
I frown at him. “You tipped me in cash. If I come inside, that’s basically prostitution.”
“I wasn’t trying to hook up with you. I just think you’re funny, and otherwise, I’ll be eating alone.”
“Oh.” I stand still, trying to figure out if this is a good development, or a very, very, bad thing. I mean, I want to be a comic, so funny is good, right? But at the same time, it feels a little bit like I’ve been insta-friend-zoned.
I’m still puzzling on what he means when a figure appears in the doorway behind Ryan. It’s a woman, and she’s holding a sheaf of papers in one hand and high-end shopping bags in the other. Her hair is a gorgeous chestnut brown, long and wavy and perky. I wonder if it’s the mystery woman from last week, or maybe a new one?
She looks up and smiles at me. “Hi.”
I give a dumb-looking finger wave as she turns to Ryan, quickly kisses him on the cheek, and then hurtles her lithe frame down the steps. Her yoga pants show off a nice, toned ass, and I remember that I really need to do more squats, stat.
“I won’t be home tonight, flying out of town. Back tomorrow evening,” she calls over her shoulder. “Behave!”
Ryan calls a goodbye after her. He waits for her to flounce out of the gate—yes, she flounces—and then turns to me. “Where did we land on the subject of you coming in for a bite to eat?”
I shake my head. “Listen, Ryan. You seem fun, and I think I like you as a person, which is why I hope you’ll understand when I tell you that…I accidentally ran my car into yours.”
“What?”
“So as for the bite to eat, it’s probably best if we skip it, especially with your girlfriend just leaving.”
I want to hit myself in the face. I’m using the oldest trick in the playbook in an attempt to find out if Ryan’s single, and in the process, I admitted to crashing his car. Thankfully, he blows by the whole car issue and focuses on the brunette.
A complicated expression crosses his face. “That’s Lilia.”
“Lilia,” I mumble. “Of course.”
“My brother’s fiancée,” he says. “This is his house. I’m just staying here for a couple of weeks.”
I gulp for oxygen, feeling like Nemo out of water. Then I step backward and realize I am officially the world’s worst delivery girl. I’m prying into his personal relationships, a topic I have absolutely no business prying into.
“Hey, where are you going?” Before I can fall off the front steps, Ryan reaches out. His fingers loop around my wrist and it feels like I’ve been burned—burned by the most intense, sexy fire imaginable. “You never explained what you meant about the car crash.”
“Car crash?” I feign ignorance. He leans his cozy, sweatpants-clad figure out the door, and I can see his muscles straining under the material. It’s distracting. “Sorry?”
“Are you okay?” His eyes darken with concern.
“Here,” I blurt out, throwing a few twenties at his hands as I turn around. “I’ll leave my insurance information on your windshield.”
Ryan watches me leave. He appears bewildered, and I can’t blame him. I am responsible for bamboozling Ryan Pierce.
I scribble the name of our insurance company as fast as possible and stick it on the windshield of the slightly dented Ferrari. I climb back into my car and roar away from Ryan’s estate as fast as I can. Mexico, here I come.
Before I round the corner, I catch a glimpse of Ryan emerging onto the street. In my rearview mirror, I watch him examine the trophy I left behind—my bumper.
CHAPTER 8
Ryan
That woman is a walking disaster.
If I were smart, I’d call the insurance company and have them sort out the details, figure out what it’ll cost to repair the damages from her shitmobile bowling into my Ferrari, but somehow, I can’t manage to do that. It’s clear she doesn’t have a lot of money, and it’s my fault she was here in the first place.
Anyway, it’s not a huge dent.
Plus, it’s a rental. My idiot brother lined it up, thinking I’d want a Ferrari. I didn’t. I don’t. It deserves the fucking dent.
I haul her bumper off to the side of the road. I debate calling Peretti’s to let them know I have a piece of Andi’s car, but somehow, I expect that might not go over well if it’s a company vehicle. I figure I’ll give the bumper a nice little home on Lawrence’s street until I can order another pizza. I have to give it a few days before I call Peretti’s again, otherwise I’ll be in the stage-five-clinger zone.
Once I put a tarp over the top to keep the thing all warm and fuzzy, I head inside and retrieve the pizza from the front entryway. I throw it straight into the refrigerator without taking so much as a whiff. It’ll be gone the second Lawrence and Lilia get home, but I don’t care—I wasn’t even hungry to start with.
I just ate a massive lunch. What I’d really wanted was to see her again.
Andi.
The name fits her. It’s a normal enough name, but also a little bit feisty, somewhat bouncy—just like her boobs. Now, I know that’s not the classiest thing I could say, but it’s impressive when a girl can fill out a stupid red polo shirt like she can, and they were even more noticeable in the tank top she was wearing today. I’m allowed to comment on her chest—it’s that fantastic.
Also, she’s funny. Half the time I’m not sure whether it’s intentional or not, but the whole thing works for her. I want to get to know her better, and not only her boobs—her face too, and her personality, I’m just not sure how to get there. At the moment, the only thing I can think of is ordering more pizzas.
See, I’m only in town for a few more weeks, just until we get this business sorted out with the Ice Queen, and I’m not looking for anything long term. I’m not even looking for anything short term. I’m looking for one night, maybe—two tops.
Andi seems like the sort of girl who doesn’t have time for bullshit. She probably considers a one-night stand bullshit, and that’s completely fair. I want a no-strings-attached, fantastic night with Andi, and for once, I’m not sure how to get it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d make sure it was fantastic for her, too—I’m not a pig. I just don’t have time for a relationship. I’m also honest and up front, so I’m not going to ask for something she’s not willing to give.
But even so… I’m beginning to wonder whether it’s rude to ask a woman if she’s up for a roll in the hay and a few orgasms? I intend to make it worth her while.
It makes everything more difficult that I didn’t have the balls to ask for her phone number while she was right in front of me—although, I really do think it has less to do with my balls than the fact that she distracted me with the news about my car, and that she glanced at my crotch, blushed, and then sent my mind spiraling toward dirty places.
Plus, it just feels like I’m being a perv if I ask for her number while she’s holding a pizza. She must get hit on all the time as a delivery girl. With a chest like hers and a smile that makes me want to hold her, take her inside, and never let her leave, it’s a no-brainer—she probably has dates lined up every night of the week.
To add proof to my theory, she did already turn me down once. I asked her to come inside for a slice of pizza, and while most girls would’ve dropped the pizza and taken off their clothes right there, she ran away so fast she left her bumper behind.
Now, I’m not trying to be cocky here, but when a young, single hockey player is having a great season and looking to sign the deal of the year, bunnies come running. I can’t help it; it’s a fact of life.
But I don’t want a bunny. I don’t get any satisfaction out of sleeping with a bunny, even if I’ve fallen victim to their charms once or twice. I prefer a girl with her head on her shoulders. Andi’s head might be a little awkward, judging by the things that come out of her mouth, but I can tell she’s a nice girl.
I’m pacing around my kitchen like an angsty teenager. Andi persists in my mind, no matter how hard I try to get her out. It’s not until I glance at my watch that I’m startled into action.