Page 37 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

We even share a love of junk food. This marriage might just work.

She’d sent him a laughing emoji back with a winking tongue sticking out to follow. Though they hadn’t seen each other in person, they’d connected. Perhaps more than he realized.

“Thanks, Del.” Charlie gave his chin a light pinch. “And sorry for your head. You okay?”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he smiled down at his sister. “Yeah, all good. It’d take a lot more than a puny shove by you to take me down.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, “I could have you on the floor in ten seconds with one arm tied behind my back.”

She couldn’t, but what Charlie lacked in strength she made up for in sheer womanly terror. His sister could stare down a man like no other. The phrase ‘if looks could kill’ could have been coined from her patented death stare.

“Go make up with Cassie,” he said. “I have to get back to work before the nightly rush shows up.”

Giving him a quick side hug, his sister hurried out of the walk-in. Del grabbed the cranberry juice and headed back to the bar. Kelley was helping some new customers and the blonde trio was happily being entertained by the police officers in the back. Everything ran smoothly just like every other Friday night.

Del rubbed at his chest where a dull ache had settled the moment he realized he cared, a bit more than he first thought, for his fake fiancée.

Everything appeared normal. Then why did he suddenly feel like the whole world had shifted?

CHAPTER 12

Riiiiiiiing!

“Ohmigod!” Cassie sat up, immediately regretting the action when her head split in two. “Ouch!” Grabbing her throbbing cranium, she was happy to discover it still in one piece.

Her cell rang again, and she cried out as the peal of the ringtone caused jackhammers to take up root in her brain. She had no one to blame but herself.

And Charlie.

Her best friend had arrived late last night with a gallon of rocky road ice cream and a bottle of Jackson Family Distillery’s special chocolate-infused vodka. Over a night of apologies, tears, and laughter they’d devoured the ice cream and most of the vodka. It felt great to have her best friend back. The hangover? Not so much.

Her cell refused to shut up, the constant ringing threatening to move the thumping in her head to full-blown explosion. Leaning over to the nightstand, she slapped her hand around, eyes half-open because even the small amount of light peeking through her bedroom curtains stung. Finally, she landed on the cursed device. Hitting accept, she brought the phone to her ear, laying her poor aching head back on her lovely soft pillow.

“Hello?”

“How dare you try and steal what’s mine, you selfish bitch!”

The pounding increased at the familiar angry voice. “Mandy?”

“Don’t you have enough? Are you so greedy you have to take everything from me too?”

Yup, the only person she knew with that much self-righteous ire was her cousin.

“You’ll have to be more specific, it’s very early and I’m not quite awake yet.” Or sober. The room spun slightly as she opened her eyes. Could a person be drunk and hung-over at the same time? Didn’t seem fair.

“It’s ten in the morning,” Mandy said.

Really? Since her cousin lived in Nevada that meant it had to be eleven in Colorado. When was the last time she slept till eleven in the morning? Probably the last time she got wasted, so…six years ago? Thirty-one-year-old her could not hold her liquor like twenty-five-year-old her could.

She was getting old.

“I had a, um, late night.” Knowing this conversation would call for all her energy, she reluctantly rose to make coffee. “Now, tell me again what I supposedly stole from you?”

Her cousin’s huff of annoyance came over the line, but she didn’t have the energy to care. Her head hurt, her mouth tasted like rotten eggs, and she was pretty sure she told Charlie her brother was the best kisser in the world last night. Exactly what a sister likes to hear about her brother.

At least it lent credence to their fib. Thank goodness she stayed coherent enough not to blab out the truth.

Slipping on her robe and fuzzy bunny slippers, she made her way to her kitchen. Normally she ground her coffee beans fresh every morning, but her pounding head would kick her brain out her ears if she even tried. She grabbed her pre-ground camping stash from the pantry. As the coffee dripped, she leaned against the counter, phone pressed to her ear as her cousin explained.

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