Page 30 of Some Like It Hops

What am I even going to say to Charlie if she comes outside and finds me still parked here?

She doesn’t respond to my texts, doesn’t answer my calls or return my voicemails… for all I know, she blocked my number long before I bothered to un-block hers.

Smart girl.

I open the dash, looking for a pen, but of course there isn’t one because who writes things down anymore? Isn’t that what phones are for?

A small red car pulls up beside me and teenager hops out, two large bags in hand. His jacket has a restaurant logo on the front left side. Food delivery. I open the door and call to him.

He pauses, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Hey, man.” I climb out of the McLaren. “Sorry to bother you. Can you do me a favor?”

He tilts his head, watching me suspiciously.

“Do you have a notepad? A pen? Maybe a receipt book or something I could borrow?” I raise my hands in surrender and shake my head. “I need to write a few things down so I don’t forget, and I can’t seem to find anything.”

“Yeah, sure.” He nods, setting the food down on the seat of his car and retrieving a pen and a napkin from the passenger seat. “That work?”

“Yeah, man, thanks. Hang on a second.” I take the pen and the napkin and write a note to Charlie, then hand it back to him.

His brow furrows as he looks back and forth between me and the note.

“Girlfriend drama,” I lie. “Can you give that to the brunette in there?” I nod toward the brewery. “There’s an extra twenty in it for you.” I pull out my money clip and grab a twenty, extending it toward him.

The delivery driver shrugs, takes my money, then grabs the bags of food.

I watch him go inside, then climb back into the car and finally leave the parking lot.

The ball’s in Charlie’s court now. Who am I kidding—the ball’s been in that woman’s court since the day I met her.

Chapter Seventeen

Charlie

Griffin’s napkin note stares back at me from the coffee table. Three little words… so simple, and yet, utterly impossible. Turns out I do have self-control where Griffin lane is concerned.

Unblock my number.

Demanding, as usual, which we both know I don’t respond well to.

It’s been a week since he showed up at the brewery and I haven’t heard from him since. To be fair, that’s probably because I haven’t unblocked his number. But at least he hasn’t shown up at the warehouse again, sexy as sin and twice as dangerous. It’s bad enough that I can’t get him out of my mind as is. Seeing him in person—again—will just weaken my resolve. No, thank you very much.

The doorbell rings and Pops lifts his head off his giant bed, giving one little half-bark in warning.

“Wow. Look at the big scary guard dog.”

He lays his head back down and I look over at the front door suspiciously. Josie always gives a single courtesy knock, then uses her key—except for when she forgets her key, of course; then she just pounds on the door hysterically. Dad always does ‘Shave and a Haircut’. Hell, even my Amazon guy knocks twice to alert me that something else I don’t actually need is wrapped up in a little brown package on my doorstep. Nobody rings the doorbell.

It rings again.

I pause my show as I stand, then toss the remote onto the coffee table and walk to the door. I have to push up on my tiptoes to look through the peephole—

Oh my god. I lower back down to my feet quickly in case he saw me, then close my eyes. That was dumb. Of course he didn’t see me. I swallow hard, then push back up on my tiptoes to look out. Yep. Still him. Still there. Still standing on my porch.

Looking at me.

I mean, I don’tthinkhe can see through the peephole, but I lower myself back down just in case. I scan the living room for help, then look down at my outfit and deflate. Of all the days to be wearing this romper. I thump my head against the door.

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