Page 9 of Stuck With You
I stare at him, needing him to drop it and wondering when in the hell he became so insightful. “Yeah, well. I might not have to. She’s got a date. I wouldn’t put it past her to run off and get married just to piss me off.”
“With whom?” Carson’s hands move to his hips.
I bite back a shit-eating grin. Carson and I have been friends since Cal hired him years ago when he strolled in looking for a job. With Alex gone, he’s my closest friend. I’d trust him with my life, and I know without a doubt he’d look out for Krissy.
“A doctor.”
“Shit.” It comes out as a mumble, but I heard it.
I cross my arms over my chest. “My sentiments exactly, but I have to think one of them won’t be a complete dick and . . .” I shake my head. “If she ends up with a highly educated, successful, not-piece-of-shit, I’d be ok with that. It’s what I want for her. I want her to have all of that and more.”
I spin back to the computer. “I don’t want her living in a crappy apartment when she comes in after working all night. Or with dates.”
He makes some sort of grunting noise as I get back to scrolling. “I’m heading to the gym. You coming?”
“Yeah, but I need to input these part orders so we can get some of these vehicles moving. I’ll meet you there.”
He grabs his keys, and the door slams closed.
I flip through the pages, confirming part numbers and reviewing inventory.
The door opens and bangs closed again.
“Welcome back, asshole. What’d you forget?”
Click, click, click, click.
I lift my gaze from the computer. A woman stands with her hand wrapped around the straps of a large leather purse. Her long, dark hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she is wearing a white, silky-looking button-down shirt tucked into a black, knee-length, fitted skirt and heels.
“Not sure I’ve been called that before.” She surveys the space. “Although I seem to recall a relatively recent low-class bitch reference.”
Her amused gaze spears mine, and even across the space, I force myself not to react—her eyes: one brown and one blue. My gaze flicksbetween them, subconsciously examining the shocking difference and wondering if it’s natural.
She stares at me, her arms folding across her chest.
“Umm, I thought . . . Sorry, we’re closed.”
Her eyes drop to her watch. “You’re closed?”
I think it’s a question. “We wrap up at five.”
Her arm drops to her side, her shoulders rolling back. “It’s two ‘til.”
I rest my hands on my hips. “Not much we do here can be solved in two minutes.”
Her head falls to the side an inch. “Great.” She pushes out a breath as her eyes roam around the space again, and then she turns for the door.
“Did you need something?”
She twists back, the look on her face telling me she’s debating reiterating my statement about being closed, but decides to forgo it. “My car has a whirring sound, like a garbage disposal. Katrina Dunn said you all were the best.”
Stiff posture, confident stare, and a large, expensive bag. Lawyer.
I’ve seen Kat Dunn in action. She’s not someone I’d ever want to oppose in a verbal sparring match. If my instincts can be trusted, I’d venture this woman might be the same.
“A garbage disposal?”
Her shoulders roll back, and her arms cross over her body again. “Yes. I need it looked at to be sure it’s nothing significant.”
