Page 46 of The Love Bandits

She looks a little taken aback, but she’s not a hellcat for nothing. “Are you done?”

An amused sound escapes me before I start making my way down the stairs.

“You can’t leave,” she says as she follows me, her presence a phantom at my back, bringing back flashes of earlier, when she was literally hanging off of me.

“I know. If I try, you’ll pepper spray my junk.” Truthfully, there’s a good chance I could disarm her first, but I’d be left with the question of what comes next. I meant what I said. I’d never hurt her. “Do you have any food?”

“You just had a seven-course dinner.”

I laugh, turning toward her in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. “You think I was going to eat anything after you made your little threat?”

“Rosie didn’t mess with your food,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I press a hand to my chest. “I missed seven courses of junk food for nothing?”

“Guess so.” She nods toward the back of the house. “Kitchen is back there. You’re in luck, because my best friend runs a bakery in town.”

Once we’re in the kitchen, I watch as Elaine reaches on her tiptoes for a Tupperware container stored on top of the refrigerator, her ass pressing against her sweatpants as she lifts up. A better man would probably look away—or get up to help her—but I’ve had a shitty day, and this is the best thing I’veseen. Seconds later, she sets the Tupperware in front of me. I open the top and find myself looking down at half a dozen of individually wrapped cookies. All of them haveFuck you very muchinscribed on them in the kind of cursive that’s usually reserved for rich people’s invitations. The designs differ, and some but not all have an exclamation point at the end.

I give her a sidelong glance. The red lipstick washed off in the shower, but her lips look just as delicious bare, that bottom one begging for someone to suck on it.

“You trying to tell me something, hellcat? Because all you need to do is ask for it. Seemed like you enjoyed what I had to offer the other day. You were hungry for it.”

I’m being an asshole on purpose.

Her scowl is not the turnoff she probably thinks it is. It puts a pretty little crease between her eyebrows that I’d like to lick. “You’re not the only one who knows how to act. My friend Claire makes them for the Love Fixers. It’s one of our services, delivering these to people who deserve them. But she made a few extra because she was experimenting with punctuation. I prefer it with the exclamation point. I think it adds something extra.”

I give her another sidelong glance as I select a cookie and unwrap it. I can’t seem to help it. This woman has drawn me into a world of shit, but I have a strange fascination with her. It’s probably because she turned my game around on me. No one’s ever done that before. No one’s ever seen me so well after knowing me so little. She dislikes me, maybe even hates me, but I strangely appreciate that. Because at least it’s real.

I take a big bite of the cookie and find it delicious. “So who fucked you over so bad you decided to get into the revenge business?”

“It’s better if we don’t share anything personal.”

I shrug, trying not to feel disappointed. “Suit yourself.”

Her gaze lingers on me as she takes out one of the cookies for herself. Hers, I notice, has an exclamation point. Seems fitting. She’s the kind of woman who’d give you the middle finger with a smile on her face. Or trash your apartment after dry-humping you on your couch. “It’s not just about me personally,” she says as I take another bite. “There are a lot of women who get stomped on and used. They need someone to give them back their power, their dignity.”

“And a cookie’s supposed to do that?”

She rolls her eyes. “The cookies are just for fun, but yes, there’s something empowering in telling someone to fuck themselves by cookie. I’m not surprised you don’t understand.”

“I might understand better if you’d tell me about what inspired you to start this whole thing.” I’m fishing, and we both know it, but this isn’t just about gathering information. I’m genuinely interested in her answer.

She studies me for a moment, capturing that lower lip between her teeth, then says, “All right. A piece of information for a piece of information.”

My eyebrows lift. “What doyouwant to know?”

“Who you did feel bad about stealing from.”

“You’re asking for more than you’d be giving.”

She shifts her head, her black hair falling to her shoulder. “I’m a woman who likes a bargain.”

“You won’t be getting one tonight.”

“What about the man who has your brother…how do you know him?”

“How do you figure I know him?” I ask, surprised.

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