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“Your truck is your best friend, the love of your life, your firstborn child, and an addition to your package all rolled into one.” Her eyebrow cocked.
Oh, was she trying to egg him on? She was all about throwing down the gauntlet, but the thing she needed to learn was that he had no problem doing it.
“My package doesn’t need an addition. Trust me, midget.” He smiled at her when her eyes flashed at the term. Yeah, this was fun. “Want me to bend down a bit so you can punch me?”
“After dinner,” she promised. Although the smirk she wiped off her face as fast as it had appeared implied she was having fun. “I don’t want to explain to your agent why you have a broken nose.” She turned to the front door. “Come on. Out of my house that once again I didn’t invite you to.”
He took the silver dish out to his truck. She was on his tail, and when she stopped to lock the door behind her, he couldn’t help but ask. “Aren’t you going to change?”
A small line puckered between her eyes as her gaze washed over him. “Why would I change? You’re the one who’s overdressed.”
Corey glanced down at his khaki pants and polo shirt and back to her jean shorts and snarky hoodie, which now had two barbecue stains on it. “Meaning I don’t look like I got my clothes out of a dumpster?”
Taran flashed him one of those smiles that left him staring. “Target; it’s the Saks Fifth Avenue of dumpsters.”
Cheeky.
As she opened the passenger door, he asked. “Do you need a boost, or can you climb in like a big girl, shorty?”
“I think I can manage.”
The tiny waif of a girl hoisted herself into the lifted truck like it was nothing. He refused to be impressed as the door slammed shut behind her. Watching Taran flip her bangs out of her eyes as he walked around the hood made him realize he liked this woman and had no idea why.
Taran was by no means beautiful. She looked like a train wreck. She was rude, and she hassled him. She didn’t like him, and he wondered if she’d give him the time of day if he didn’t know Clayton. He should have been turned off by her occupation, but he kept forgetting she was a reporter because she didn’t act like one.
Taran hadn’t asked him any personal questions since they had met, and she made no effort to get any information out of him. Right now, she seemed annoyed that she had to deal with him, which was strange since she was blackmailing him to hang out with her—right?
And yet, as he started his truck, he decided he was going to find T-cup2009 on Diablo, and he was going to find another reason to see her in person. He laughed at himself. He was such a male—all pheromones and bad decisions.
“Why are you laughing now?” She sent him a sideways glance.
“Why do men do anything?” Corey responded, because the answer was obvious. Her. With men, it was always a her.
“Because they’re asshats? At least that’s what it always seems like to me.”
Corey glanced over, but she was staring out the window. He couldn’t tell if she was making a comment or giving away a piece of herself. “Bad experiences?” he asked since she didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.
“No one left me at the altar, cheated on me with my best friend, or stood me up for prom, but I grew up with a brother, and I’m close to my sister’s husband. Then my two best friends’ husbands; those two—talk about asshats.” She hit that last word hard. “Boy, are they on my list.”
“One of three?” he asked, feeling jealous of another woman with a big family.
“Youngest,” she answered.
He chuckled as he thought of Clayton. “The spoiled baby.”
“Asshat,” she grumbled.
He changed the subject to something he hoped would make her a little less hostile. “How do you know Sean? And don’t tell me through your dealings with Hot Shots because I know that’s a lie before you even say it.”
The way she talked about going to Erin’s dinners told him this wasn’t her first, and Sean didn’t mix business and pleasure. He had a feeling being invited tonight had more to do with the woman in his passenger seat than anything else.
She turned her misty green gaze his way. “You’re going to make such a big deal over this.”
“What?” he asked.
She sighed like he was grating on her last nerve. “Those two best friends I was talking about a second ago? Erin and Sid.”
He paused, sucked in a breath, and then tried not to make a big deal out of it. “The asshats are Sean Taylor, my agent, and Austin Jensen, my financial advisor—the founding partners of Hot Shots?”
