Page 21 of The Billionaire Experience

She ended the call, a smile glued to her face. She was fairly certain this wasn’t a good idea, but going to Brody’s for pizza sounded like more fun than returning to Kelly’s couch for a mindless TV marathon.

Headlights slashed across the living room window. Brody raced to the front door, amused by the flutter of nervousness in his stomach. As Jaylyn had recently reminded him, he was a grown man. Sure, he’d been nervous when he’d dated as a teen, but in his thirties, he rarely experienced the sensation. Save for that time he’d parachuted out of an airplane.

The flutter remained when Reagan left her truck to walk the pathway to the front door. Still dressed in her white tee, jeans, and leather jacket, she looked the same as she had earlier, if slightly tired.

He opened the door wide, leaning half out of it to invite her in. “Noticed you locked up your truck. Is this neighborhood particularly dangerous? I checked the crime rate before I moved in, but I’m wondering if I got bad intel.”

“A touch of over-precaution on my part. There are thousands of dollars’ worth of tools on my truck, the most expensive of which I secure in the cab.”

He had to steady himself when her eyes met his. She was a gorgeous woman, no doubt about it. Her casual dress, confident stride, and painted lips only added to her allure.

“Did you burn the pizza?” she asked sweetly.

“Shit.” He’d forgotten about it. He raced back into the house and arrived at the kitchen. Smoke wasn’t pluming from the oven, so that was good. He flipped on the light and knelt down to peek into the window. She did the same, shoulder to shoulder with him.

“It’s breathing. Perfect timing.” She tapped the glass. Behind the oven door, the cheese was bubbling, lifting, and dropping, and the edges were turning a delicious-looking golden brown. “Good job.”

“Thanks.” He turned his head, once again struck dumb by clear, moss-green eyes. Naked attraction was a pull in his gut—he hadn’t felt that in a while. He’d been go-go-go for so long, he didn’t give much thought to pursuing a woman beyond convenience or proximity. He supposed she fit into both of those categories, but the lingering attraction was new. Damn, he could get used to that.

“I’ll grab the beers. Want one?”

“Yeah. Yes.” He grabbed a dishtowel and pulled the pizza out of the oven, amused by the shake in his arm. Reagan had him feeling sixteen again, home alone and trying to impress a girl from school.

Insane.

The twist of a beer cap sounded behind him. She handed over a Miller Lite and kept one for herself. “This okay?”

“Yes. But you should let me open the beer.”

“Why?”

“I…guess I’m not sure why. Seemed gentlemanly?”

She laughed, and he didn’t care if she was laughing at him. It was worth it to watch her red mouth part into a smile. “Don’t waste your manners on me. I can handle myself.”

He’d bet. She seemed confident and capable. If a little stubborn. Reminded him of himself in a way.

“So, is this your big Friday night? Frozen pizza and stolen ice cream?” she asked before taking a drink.

“And she’s funny,” he said to her pleased-as-punch smile. “Where else would I be?” He searched multiple drawers for a pizza cutter before realizing he hadn’t ordered one. He slipped a knife from the wooden block on the countertop instead.

“I don’t know. Downtown? At some fancy restaurant eating a gourmet dinner.”

“Fancy restaurants lose their allure when you’re there nightly.” He rocked the knife back and forth over the pizza to cut it. “Besides, this is gourmet. Or so the box said.”

She sighed. “I’d love the opportunity to tire of fancy restaurants.”

He couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him or not, but he had the urge to invite her to a fancy restaurant. Over and over again, until she was so sick of French food and multiple courses that she begged him not to take her to another.

He transferred slices of pizza onto paper plates. “No real dishes until I have a sink,” he explained. “Give it a sec. It’s hot.”

“Thanks.” She accepted her plate, peering at him through thick, black lashes for a heart-stuttering beat.

Speaking of hot.

His own plate in hand, he used his other hand to sweep aside a stack of manuals that had come with his furniture, his laptop, and a notebook. Then he transferred a bag of odds and ends from the home improvement store to an empty chair.

“Sorry about the mess.” He took the seat closest to Reagan.

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