Page 136 of Crazy for this Girl

“Always.” I watch her unpack the bags and neatly organize them. Visions and dreams in my head forming immediately in my brain. Her coming over to have a casual dinner, us sitting together in front of the TV with her in my arms and falling asleep. Kissing her awake and thrusting inside her with throw pillows in our way.

I’ve pictured a life with Laynee more times than I can count.

And this, a simple life, was all I wanted with her.

“So, according to the receipt, we have parmesan-crusted walleye, lobster rolls, a tomahawk ribeye, and fried chicken.” She steers her eyes to me. “I don’t even want to look at the desserts you got me, or I’ll cheat and try those first.”

I lift my shoulders. “Cheat, then.”

She shakes her head and raises her chin, exposing the creaminess of her throat. “I’m trying to be good.”

I’m not.

Striding toward her, I open the bag that she hasn’t touched yet. “I got you a peanut butter pavé, a chocolate mousse cake, and a peach cobbler cheesecake for the southern girl.”

She blinks at me. “I’m from the Midwest.”

“You were born in the Midwest.” I turn my body until we’re almost flush together. “You’re a southern girl now.”

“So, you’d pick the fried chicken for me to eat first?” Her gaze falls to my lips, and it takes everything in me not to take hers right the fuck now.

“I’d pick the lobster rolls because you used to love your shelled fish, which is weird because you’d eat that but never any of the fish we caught.” I change the subject, so I don’t tell her what I had in mind for me to eat out first. “How was your running the town with Tanner?”

“Fine.”

“Was he a gentleman?” Laynee’s frown is immediate. “He’s a known fuckboy in the family, Laynee. I don’t want him fraternizing or sexually harassing my assistant when it’s my job to keep that from happening.”

I expect her to get shitty with me, but she only stares blankly. “Oh. Well, he was fine.”

I feel a blood vessel in my temple twitch. “I don’t like fine. I want to hear that he didn’t try to touch you.”

A flush creeps up her cheeks, and I don’t like how it did when we’re having this conversation.

“Laynee,” I growl out, my thinned patience running out by the second. I only spent the first two hours in this room mauling over the possibilities of what he was doing; how he was trying to get into her panties and if she’d let him. “I need an answer today, not tomorrow.”

“He didn’t touch me.”

“Did he say something to you?”

“No.”

“You know he’ll tell me, right?”

“You’d ask after I already told you the answer?” She lifts a brow but keeps her voice surprisingly placid.

Yes.

He knows, implicated at dinner tonight, that my mentioning of Laynee constantly meant she was more than a best friend.

It didn’t take a fucking brain scientist to figure that out.

I sigh, reining in my inner crazy for this girl. “No. If you tell me that he was on his best behavior, I’ll believe you.”

If he brags about something without my asking, then it’s fair game.

“Is the interrogation over, then? Because I’m starving, and I’ll kill you if I don’t eat.”

“Yes.” I gesture for her to take a seat. “Please.”

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