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Chapter Four
I hear the laughter first.
It’s wholesome and lively, and already I’m not a fan of Lyle.
I fling a glance at myself in the hallway mirror, run a hand through my hair, and round into the living room with my thumbs tucked into my pockets. Nonchalant, totally at ease—
“You!” It comes out in a burst, along with the lining of my pockets.
Lyle and Robin whirl around. Robin has a quizzical smile on his face, and Lyle . . . Lyle drops the beer he’s holding.
He catches it against his belly while staring at me with wide hazel eyes through his sandy hair. His fingers whiten on the bottle neck, and his cheeks flush.
“Do you two know each other?” Robin asks, and we both turn to him with a quickly uttered “No.”
“We’ve . . . run into one another. A few times,” Lyle says. “All I know is . . . he doesn’t hold grudges.”
He attempts a smile and I laugh dryly.
He frowns, and I fold my arms. This is the friend Robin always talks about, the one he’s most comfortable with. The one who’s totally glancing at him with softening eyes . . . “Beer would be great.”
“In the fridge, help yourself.”
From the kitchen, I hear them resume their conversation. Lyle is a series of quick-witted retorts and delightful laughs, and everything about it seems like a pose. Like a “pick me, I’m perfect.”
I scowl into my bottle and return to Lyle grinning, an arm thrown over Robin’s shoulders. He spots me and his smile wanes. Something at least.
The arm lingers though.
“Lyle was telling me about a crazy server upgrade at work and how he busted ass to be here.” Robin leans into Lyle with a touched smile tipping his lips, and Lyle drops his head to rest against Robin’s. It’s way too sweet and charming, and the look Lyle flashes me speaks volumes.
He got there first. They have a connection.
I take a long pull of my beer, eyes narrowed on Lyle. Turns out I hold grudges after all.
“Let’s sit out on the deck,” I suggest and finally Robin breaks away to lead us all outside.
I drop myself near him, but make the mistake of leaving a space between us—a space just big enough that Lyle manages to squeeze himself into it. The pleasant tingle of proximity to Robin turns into a hot, annoying itch at my side.
“Do you do small gardening jobs as well as the large estates?” Lyle asks me, with a polite smile that actually seems genuine. Damn him.
I stare out into the darkened yard, thinking of the Douglas fir and wishing Lyle would back off. Because if it comes down to it, what chance do I stand against computer-whiz Lyle?
“We do all kinds of gardens.”
“In that case, maybe I can hire you?”
I choke on my beer and have to dab my sleeve over my mouth. Where is the guy who’d rather duck behind a car than face me?
Is this some posturing right now? Is he going to be the nice guy that Robin can totally fall in love with?
Lyle slaps my back—with a touch too much enthusiasm. I side-eye him. “I’m good.”
He drops his hand. “Mine’s a shambles at the moment. It needs a total makeover.”
Lyle glances at Robin and then at Tool, who’s sitting in front of me, panting. “I’d like to have space for pets to run around in, and somewhere for a really big dog kennel.”
Of course you would.
Robin tips back the rest of his beer. “You don’t have a dog.”
This is . . . painful. I’m sort of enjoying witnessing Lyle’s transparent and embarrassing performance, but at the same time . . . I get it.
“I might get one someday.” Lyle claps his hand on Robin’s shoulder and turns to me. He has a sharp nose and a smile that’s just a bit too big for his face, but it suits him. Dammit. “What do you think? Can you fit me into your schedule?”
“I don’t know,” I hedge, thumb picking at the label on the beer bottle. “We’re pretty busy at the moment.”
Lyle shrugs and quirks his lips. It deepens the grooves etched at the sides of his mouth. Grooves that speak of daily charming, general schmoozing, and lots of academic talk. How many of those smiles have been for Robin? “I can wait a few months.”
Well, what can I say to that? I can hardly say no. What type of bastard would I be if I did?
Robin leans forward around Lyle, half his face glowing with the orange of the back door light. “I’m sure you’d do a great job. Can I get you another beer?”
“I’m good,” Lyle says, grinding the bottom of his bottle on his knee, staining his light corduroys with condensation.
I drain the last mouthful of mine and hand Robin the empty. “Yeah, thanks.” When he disappears inside, I rub Tool’s ears so I have something to do and don’t have to look at my competition. “So. Which is the real you? The flustered one from the street, or . . . this.”
