Page 102 of Tempt Thy Neighbor

20

Sutton

“I cannot believeyou’ve conned me into your little scheme.”

“I think conned is a very interesting choice of words in this scenario seeing as you’re the one who came up with this brilliant idea.”

“And you’re welcome for it!”

Alma pulls me through the bingo hall, huffing like I’m the one being ridiculous right now.

I’m not. Her plan is.

Okay, fine. So maybe it’s not completely ridiculous. It’s actually damn genius.

I just hope it works.

“All right.” Alma shoves me down into a chair. “You stay here and don’t dare move. I’m meeting Holland out front, and I’ll make sure to bring her in the other way just to make sure she doesn’t see you.”

“I know, Alma. We’ve been over this a billion times.”

“Thrice, kid. Thrice. And I just want to make sure we’ve got it right because I’d really like to get my couch back already, thank you very much. It’s starting to smell like man farts.”

Man farts?

“Here,” she says, thrusting a card and bingo dauber at me. “Hang on to these. I have the others taken care of already. They’ll start calling spots at exactly seven PM, so don’t be anywhere but here.”

I want to glare at her and tell her to quit fussing, but I’m too thankful for her to do it.

When I approached her about going to bingo with her tonight so I could see Holland and talk with her, her eyes lit up and she concocted this scheme within minutes.

Now that we’re here, my hands are beginning to feel sticky with sweat, and my breaths are growing more and more stuttered by the second.

I’m not a nervous guy by nature.

I’m cool. Calm.Collected.

It’s why I’m able to work so easily in the business world and make deals and get clients other people can’t. I don’t get nervous. I get steady.

But this? This is different.

I’m trying to convince the woman of my dreams that I’m in love with her.

That does funny shit to a person.

Alma checks the time on her Mickey Mouse wristwatch, then claps her hands excitedly.

“Oh! She’s going to be here any minute! I’d better go outside and wait for her.”

“All right.”

“Now”—she turns to me—“remember—”

“Don’t move. Seven PM. I got it. Now go.”

“Don’t sass me, kid,” she warns, but her eyes are playful.

She wraps her arms around me, her sweet cookie scent hitting my nose, then plants a big kiss on my cheek, no doubt leaving her bright purple lipstick behind.

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