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“What’s that?”
“Why are you here?” He knocks on the next door. We go through our entire spill and are heading to the next house when he answers.
“I need to learn the community, and I thought this would be a good way to start. I can also guarantee that you stay out of trouble for at least one night.” He smiles at me. Damn. That thing must have taken years of braces to achieve because I refuse to believe he was simply born with perfect teeth. “It’s the same reason you’re taking me to this pancake thing.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re taking me to this fundraiser, sticking by my side while you introduce me around, and then I’m returning you home,” he says. “No witty haikus about anyone’s ass are going up on my watch.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal. You said I just had to deliver flyers,” I argue. I don’t mind showing up at a community event with the man the entire single female (and at least one guy) population wants, but I can’t let him get away with dictating what I do. Or putting a cramp in my fun.
“And you’re paying,” he adds.
“Why don’t I just give you a blow job to top it all off?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he growls back.
We’re in the middle of a stare-down when Mr. Robbins opens his door. We spin to greet him. He listens to what we have to say, shakes Owen’s hand, and winks at me as he closes the door.
I stomp down the porch steps to the next door with Owen close on my heels. I don’t wait for him to knock this time; I just throw open the door and walk inside.
“Wait,” he calls. A strong arm wraps around my waist. I’m pulled against his warm chest as he tries to pull me back outside. “What are you doing?” he whispers.
“What are you doing?” Dad asks, stepping out of his home office.
“Oh, perfect timing,” Austen adds, following Dad out. I feel Owen tense behind me as he tries to put the pieces together. “And you brought a guest.”
“The food is ready,” Mom announces from the other end of the house. “What are y’all waiting for? Oh, I’ll set another place.”
“No, that’s—” Owen stammers. He still has a firm grip on my waist. I’m not complaining. Reed appears from Dad’s office and smacks Owen on the chest.
“You should give in. It’s easier that way,” he says on the way down the hall.
“Come on, it’s family dinner night.” I sadly pull his arm from around my body. Taking his hand, I pull him down the hall behind me.
Rand and Brontë greet us in the dining room. Mom has one of her famous King Ranch casseroles on the table. There are also homemade tortilla chips, ranch-style beans, roasted broccoli, and dilled cucumber salad. My stomach growls just looking at it.
“Is there somewhere I can wash up?” he asks. That’s a good choice. He’s shaken a lot of hands in the last hour and a half. I point him to the bathroom and head back to the dining room.
“What is this about?” Austen asks when I return.
“He’s making me distribute flyers for the pancake dinner door-to-door.”
“Because of the bulletin board?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d get back by ambushing him with family dinner night.” Seems perfectly fitting to me. That whole eye for an eye thing.
“Makes sense.” Reed shrugs. I knew there was a reason we were best friends in high school. Mom smacks him playfully on the arm.
“We’re not punishment,” she admonishes.
“Well, of course, it goes without saying that you’re not, but your daughters…” I would argue, but the sound of the bathroom door distracts me. Owen, sans sexy cowboy hat, slides into the seat next to mine. Since when has our bathroom soap smelled so good? I lean over for another whiff. That can’t be our soap.
“Stop smelling me,” he mutters. “Thank you for letting me crash dinner. Had I been warned, I would have picked up something. I apologize for the intrusion.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom gushes. “You are welcome to dinner anytime. Any friend of Eliot’s is.”
“We’re not friends,” I blurt out right as Owen chimes in with, “Closer to parole officer.”
