The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(24)

“I think I could hate you,” she huffs.

“You can’t. You love me. Besides, you have Kurt, right?”

“Wrong. I kicked him to the curb.”

“What? Why? I thought you two were getting along great?”

“I thought we were, too, and then I discovered he was getting along just as well with a girl in Harvest Corners,” she says, naming a small town two counties over.

“That *.”

“Amen to that.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were gone to Lexington for the weekend. I didn’t want to bother you, and I’ve been so busy with training that I hadn’t been able to check in with you until now. Though, it sounds like I should have. So tell me all about your new boy toy! And leave nothing out.”

“There’s not a lot to tell. I met him in Lexington, and we—”

“You’re kidding me? You are on friendship probation! You should have told me that you met someone!”

“Well, at the time I didn’t think it’d be anything past the weekend…”

“The weekend?”

I feel the blush hit my face before I can stop it, and I shrug. “Yeah, well…”

“How have we lost touch this much?”

“You’ve been busy, Mer. I have, too. It happens.”

“Yeah, well, we need to put the kibosh on that right now.”

“Hey, it’s not completely my fault. Kurt didn’t exactly give you spare time to—”

“You’re right. Let’s not talk about that douchebag anymore. That’s over and done. D. O. N. E.”

“Douche canoe is more like it.”

“Girl, you ain’t lying.”

“So tell me more about Mr. Curl-My-Toes-For-The-Weekend and how it’s still going on! Was it that good?”

“Umm, it was better than good.”

“Better? You’re saying on a scale of one to ten, he’s a…?”

“Off the charts.”

“Holy fluck,” she whispers the fake curse word in awe.

“I know,” I agree, and in my whole life, it’s probably as close as I’ve come to sounding like a giddy teen discussing prom.

“You told him where you lived?” she asks, and again I feel the telltale heat spread on my face. What is up with that? I’m not a blusher! Then again, I’m not the kind of woman who discusses boys at a crowded diner either.

“Well, no. That was by accident?”

“Accident? He’s not a stalker, is he? Did he follow you and find you? Oh my God, C! You have to be careful. This is the kind of shit they make TV movies about!”

“He didn’t follow me home. At least, not on purpose. His car broke down while he was in town for business. He had no idea that I was here.”

“I don’t know, C. That sounds kind of fishy to me.”

“Well, it’s not. He had no idea it was me. In fact, he was kind of a jerk until he figured it out.”

“A jerk?”

“He’s kind of…” I sigh. I don’t really want to talk about this part even though I know that I need to, at least with Mer. Besides, if there’s one thing that worries me the most about Gray—other than the fact that he’s not going to be around for a very long time—it’s that he has money. He has lots of money. He deals with people who have money. He deals with people I can’t stand. He deals with people who would rather see me dead than draw another breath.

Okay. So there’s lots of things that worry me about Gray. They all stem around his money, though.

“Earth to C! Hello, can you hear me?” Mer asks, waving her hand in my face like an idiot.

“Stop that.” I knock her hand out of the way. “He has money, Mer.”

“So? That’s good, honey. Geez, you had me thinking that he had herpes or something.”

“You don’t get it. He’s here on business.”

“C, I hate to break it to you, but not everyone in the world holds down a job that keeps them in one place. This is good. That means he can come visit you when he’s on the road, and…”

“He’s here on business to meet with David Riverton.”

“Flucking hell.”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know what a butt-munch the man is?”

“Probably not, but then again, Gray has money. I imagine good old Dave is much nicer to him than he has ever been to me.”

“That wouldn’t be hard to do. I’m sorry, C.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“Well, this guy works with Riverton, and yet you’re not kicking him to the curb. You get major props, lady. He’s either special to you or he’s got one hell of a…”

Even before she finishes the sentence, I know what she’s going to say. I squirm in my chair because I might have sounded giddy, but I don’t do this female sharing thing easily—even with Mer.

“Oh. My. God,” she says. I’m looking down at my shoes, and even though I know I’m in trouble, I’m still surprised when she continues. “Claudia Cooper! You got a hold of the holy grail.”