Page 8 of My Three Rivals

A pretty dark-haired hostess rejoined the hostess stand with a warm smile. “Table for two, gentlemen?”

Atticus flashed her his trademark dimpled grin, and she forgot I was there instantly.

“Yes, please,” he told her. “Thank you.”

“Right this way, sir.”

Trailing after them, I realized that the hostess’s hair was exactly the same color as Tegan’s, and the fact twisted my stomach for reasons I didn’t understand.

I didn’t like this feeling at all.

CHAPTER4

Maverick

Isteered the Porsche away from the curb of the commercial plaza, my palms still slightly damp. Peering in my rear-view mirror, I half-expected to find a black Range Rover following me up the winding streets of downtown San Francisco, but I was alone.

It wasn’t until I passed over the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, zipping across the blue waters of the San Francisco Bay, that I started to breathe normally. Every time I met with Lou, my heart rate increased by at least twenty beats per minute.

But Lou was a necessary evil—or so we told ourselves. I was glad the meeting was over.

My hands relaxed around the steering wheel, the whites of my knuckles fading to reveal the normal tone of my skin. Onward to more pressing and urgent matters.

Tegan Pickett.

She had surprised me as much as my partners, with those luscious lips and biting words. But I recognized her fighting stance all too well. She was protecting something.

Herself, most likely.

Unfortunately, Atticus and Wyatt couldn’t see what I intrinsically read in Tegan. Not that my gut hadn’t been wrong before. As if on cue to my thoughts, my phone began to ring, and I caught the name on my dashboard display.

Atticus.

For half a second, I debated ignoring it, but my curiosity got the better of me. Clearing my throat, I accepted the call, running a hand through my hair as I did. Again, my knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, fingers clenching.

“What’s up?” I said through the speakers, the wheels of my Porsche landing off the bridge and onto the 101.

“All done with that?” Atticus asked.

“Yeah. All taken care of,” I replied.

“What kind of mood was Lou in today?”

“The usual. Glad to get his cut,” I said nonchalantly. “Where are you guys?”

“At Bernadette’s on Folsom. We just had lunch, but if you’re coming—”

“I’m not,” I cut in faster than I intended. “I could use a shower.”

Atticus snickered. “Lou has that effect on me, too. Fine, go home and shower, but swing by my place afterward. And pack a bag.”

I frowned, my eyes narrowing slightly. “Why? You taking us on vacation?”

In the background, I heard Wyatt snort, and I realized that I was on speaker.

“Not exactly,” he responded. “But pack for a while. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”

“Where are we going?” I insisted, but Atticus refused to tell me more until I agreed to meet at his place.

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