Page 54 of Tell Me Something True

“You can bring your dog inside,” Ian told him. “My mom won’t mind. And you can both have some pancakes.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Aunt Vee’s pancakes are good, but Uncle Toby’s are better.”

“Hey. I’m standing right here, you know.”

He shrugged, yet another male in her life not the least bit concerned about bruising her tender feelings.

“My pancakes are excellent. And, as I may have mentioned before, Reed. Is. Not. Staying.”

Sticking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, Reed nodded toward the driveway as a white car pulled in behind the moving truck that was parked there. “You sure about that?”

She narrowed her eyes. The only thing she was sure of was that she didn’t like that smug, triumphant look on his face. She stepped onto the porch—and Reed practically leapt back so as not to be within touching distance of her.

God. One time, one, single, solitary, spontaneous time, you ask a guy to kiss you—which he did not do—and suddenly he’s terrified you might jump him at any available opportunity.

“Get over yourself, would you?” she muttered, unsure if she was talking to him or herself, but figuring it was a suggestion they both could use.

The blonde got out of the car. She wore sneakers, a pair of gray leggings and a light violet tank top, her golden hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.

She looked familiar.

Very, very familiar.

But it wasn’t until the woman was climbing the porch steps that Verity realized where she’d seen her before.

Reed’s blonde chick and the bombshell Verity had caught sneaking out of Miles’s house a few weeks ago were one and the same.

Chapter 11

Verity was wearing the same cutoffs she’d had on that day a few weeks ago when she’d strolled into DiFonzio’s Auto Garage, her nephew in tow, and asked Reed to get ice cream with them.

She’d had them on later that night, too, when he’d met her at the lake.

They were short, the bottom of the front pockets peeking out from beneath the frayed hem. They were tight, the light-colored denim molding to the curves of her hips and thighs.

Reed dreamed of her in those cutoffs. Jerked off to the memory of her standing in the garage in them and a clinging white tank top, her hair pulled back into a smooth ponytail.

He hated those fucking shorts.

Hated them even more today. She’d paired them with a bright pink crop top that clung to her amazing tits and left two inches of her stomach on display. She was barefoot and makeup free, her dark red hair in a messy bun, several curling pieces loose and framing her face.

She was so pretty it made his chest ache.

He hated that, too. How she stole his breath. How she made him want something he had no right wanting.

Something he could never, ever have.

He hated how much he thought about her and that he was jealous of the guy she’d been talking to when she’d answered the door.

The guy who’d said he loved her.

“You,” Verity snarled when the blonde reached the bottom of the porch steps, her tone vibrating with fury.

The blonde jerked her head up, her face going white. But then, she pulled back her shoulders, lifted her chin and schooled her expression, the previous unease there replaced with a polite smile.

Blondie was good at hiding her emotions.

“Verity, right?” she asked, climbing the steps. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself when we met before.” She held out her hand. “I’m Tabitha.”

Mouth pursed, Verity crossed her arms, leaving the blonde—Tabitha—hanging.

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