Page 57 of My Not So Wicked Stepbrother (My Not So Wicked 1)

I decided to get takeout for dinner from the Brazilian restaurant near my hotel. I would have loved to take advantage of the running trails near my hotel, but holy mother was it freaking hot and humid in Alabama. How people even breathed here I didn’t know. It was like inhaling soup.

I settled onto my bed with a variety of meat, fresh fruit, and a soccer match on the TV. This was the life. Then my life called, I mean Sawyer. Same thing, right? Wrong.

“Hey, what’s up?” I decided to act chipper despite our less than cordial conversation a few days ago. I didn’t think we had gone this long without talking since, well, you know, when the worst thing that had ever happened to me happened, paving the way for all the other crappy things that had followed.

“How are you, Em? I miss you.”

I loved when he said things like that because I used to pretend he meant it in a romantic way, but I had to face reality, like for reals this time. “I’m good. How are you?” You see how I left off how much I seriously missed his face? Baby steps.

“You don’t miss me?”

Dang him.

“Should I?” I teased, trying my best to hold on to my iron will. Make that my paper-thin will, but I was getting credit for trying.

“I know we left things a little weird on Saturday.”

“Did we?”

“Come on, Em. I know I was short with you and I haven’t called, but I have a really good excuse.”

“You know, I haven’t noticed.” I grinned evilly to myself.

“Knife to the heart. I am sorry, for not . . .”

“I know you have a hard time with your dad and Bridget. I get that.”

“Regardless, I shouldn’t let it affect us. But I didn’t call to talk about my,” he cleared his throat, “father.”

“Why did you call?”

“Like I said, I missed you, and I haven’t called because I’ve been under attack, literally.”

“From who?” Please don’t say Shelby.

“It’s not a who—it’s a what.”

I was more than confused. “What are you talking about?”

“My apartment has been infested with bees.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very. There are thousands of them inside the walls. Not only that, but the honeycomb has soaked into the wall causing an ant infestation as well. There are ants everywhere, not to mention I was stung twice while taking a shower.”

I tried to control my laugh. “Should I ask where?”

“Sitting has been a pain. I’ll leave it at that.”

My laugh escaped. “I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”

“I’ve been staying with Kellan while apartment management tries to get in a beekeeper. They are trying to find a specialist because the infestation is that bad.”

“You need to move.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m more than right.”

“They’ve offered to let me move into a different unit, but it’s not available until this weekend.”

“You need to move out of that complex, period.”

“I will when the time is right. For now, I was hoping you might take pity on me and let me crash at your place. Kellan’s place smells like pork rinds and cheap perfume.”

“That’s telling.”

“Yeah, well, his couch isn’t all that comfortable either, and someone I know has a spare bedroom.”

“You want to use me for free room and board now?” I teased.

“Name your price. Please, I’m desperate. Your house smells good and my body is crying for a bed.”

The thought of Sawyer sleeping at my house was making me feel all sorts of things. Like one, why wasn’t I home already? Two, I would be home on Thursday, which meant we would be living together for two or three days. It would be like a dream come true minus we weren’t married and sharing my bed. So basically, it would be like hell because I could look but not touch.

“So,” he interrupted my thoughts, “will you save me?”

Who was going to save my heart from him? “Sure. You have a key—help yourself, but no parties or girls.”

He chuckled.

I wasn’t kidding. He better not bring any women into my house to live out my fantasies with him.

“You drive a tough bargain, but okay. Honestly, thank you. You’re a life saver.”

“You’re welcome. The sheets on the guest bed are clean and there are fresh towels in the linen closet near the upstairs bathroom.”

“You’re the best, Em. How’s your conference going?”

“Good. I attended a really sexy session today about remelt processes and innovations. I know you’re jealous.”

“Very.” He laughed. “I can’t wait to hear all about it when you get home. And,” he paused, “I still want to talk to you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m hoping it will be.”

“You’re worrying me.”

“No need to worry, just promise me you’ll keep Friday night open.”

“Is after soccer practice okay?” We had a game on Saturday and there was no telling what Gwendolyn, the worst assistant coach in the history of any sports team, had been teaching them while I was gone this week. I’d left her instructions, but I knew she wasn’t following them. She was probably stuffing my girls with caviar and Perrier while her boy toy husband rubbed her feet or something.

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