Page 13 of Wrong Number, Right Lion

Stephen grunted, but the coffee he made was ten times better than mine.

“Why do you think he’s a conman?” I leaned back in the chair and clicked my fingers. “Come on, where’s the evidence?”

“I told you on the phone. Who answers a wrong number and instead of saying that and ending the call, they do what the person on the other end asks them to? That’s messed up.”

“I left a message. You’d have known that if you listened. And it’s called kindness and compassion for your fellow man, woman, and child.”

Stephen leaned forward. “Cut the crap.” He waved his hand back and forth between us. “Stop the blustering and tell me the truth.”

Damn! “Kalen is a nice guy, a good guy, I can sense it. He’s helping me out and seems to be doing a good job.”

“Seems to be is the important word in that sentence.”

I knew deep down Kalen was one of the good ones. How lucky I’d been to get hold of him and not some ass who charged me ten times the going rate.

“Tell me, Arlo, what are you going to do when he says he can’t pay his rent, or he’s behind on his mortgage?”

“Stop it.” I glanced out the window, not to look for Kalen but to blink away my tears. “Do you want to know how I feel about him?” I pounded a fist against my chest. “In here, I feel a connection.”

“Pfft!” Stephen didn’t believe in love at first sight. Lust? For sure. “I have a connection with the mechanic who fixes my truck. He does the work, and I pay him.”

I’d never experienced the pull between me and Kalen previously. From his hair with a reddish tint, to the matching beard and his cologne that drew me in, I wanted to wrap myself and roll around in everything Kalen.

“You need a checklist like you have on the computer. Pros and cons of falling for a stranger.”

Love, if that was what this was—and it was too early to use the L word—couldn’t be weighed based on checking off points on a list. Emotions didn’t always make sense, you couldn’t categorize them. They just were!

“That’s too clinical, so no!”

Stephen fiddled with his mug. “Have you told him about this so-called connection?”

“No, I already said that.” Did I? I thought so.

“And what indication has he given that he’s into you and you’re not his mark? I guarantee he’s biding his time. You might go on a date and then wham!” Stephen slammed a fist on his palm. “He asks for money.”

“He brings me coffee every morning.”

My cousin’s head fell back. “That’s because what you make is shit. The guy is buttering you up.”

That conjured up an image of Kalen rubbing butter all over my naked body. Oh yes, I’d be up for that. Sweat dotted my upper lip, and Stephen stuck a finger down his throat and gagged.

“Stop that.”

“What?” I placed what I hoped was an innocent expression on my face. “Not doing anything.”

“I tell you what. Ask him.”

If he wanted to cover me with butter and lick it off? Or slip and slide into me? I yanked at my T-shirt ‘cause it was getting hot in here.

“Ask him what his intentions are?”

Stephen sounded like an early-twentieth-century father quizzing his son or daughter about a guy they’d been talking to or flirting with.

“I will not.” Kalen would definitely run if I queried whether he wanted to put his dick in me.

“Not about sex.” My cousin slapped a palm on his brow. “Ask why he’s doing this and why he accepted the job.” His eyes opened wide. “I dare you.”

“No. A thousand times no.”

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