The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(91)

Pecs? Present and accounted for! Shoulders? Yes and yes! Abs? Here, here, here, here, here, and here!

Five pairs of eyes laser in on him as he crosses the room. I’d like to gouge them all out with the plastic safety scissors. Pat ignores every single one, moving purposefully to me. I can’t seem to find my tongue or a thought in my brain as he wraps an arm around my waist and places a lingering kiss on my cheek.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmurs, stepping closer to whisper in my ear. “Your backup has arrived.” His lips brush my earlobe in a way that makes my muscles lock up.

“I told you I was fine,” I hiss in a low voice, trying to get my erratic pulse under control.

“Well, then, consider this me being a clingy, new hubby still in the honeymoon phase of our nuptials. Or maybe I just came to watch you take down the mafia.”

I don’t miss the way he skirts around the words the rules said not to use. Hubby instead of husband, nuptials instead of marriage. The man is infuriating.

Infuriatingly wonderful. I love his wordplay and wit almost as much as his abs. Maybe more. Together, they’re a deadly package.

Pat turns his attention to Tabby, whose jaw is still on the floor. The man is and has always been larger than life, from his size to the way his presence fills any room. I’m so used to him that I can forget how overwhelming he can be to normal humans.

“You’re here to help?” Tabby asks, finally managing to get her jaw working.

“I told Lindy I want to be wherever she is.” He sneaks in another kiss, this one to my temple.

Tabby suddenly looks uncomfortable. “We were just finishing up, actually. I think everything is all done for the day.”

“What were you telling Lindy when I walked in? Something about a very important job?” Pat asks. “Lay it on us. We can handle it together.”

Tabby’s face flushes and her hands clutch a cardboard box I hadn’t noticed on the teacher’s desk. “It’s really nothing.”

While I’d rather leave and get to work, I don’t like the way Tabby is suddenly trying to backtrack. I cross the room because now I must know what’s in the box. Scorpions? Moldy cheese? Used needles?

Worse—it’s GLITTER.

I groan. “Really, Tabby?”

She steps back, crossing her arms. “Every star needs to be glittered.” Grabbing her purse, she heads for the door. That must be the signal, because the rest of the mafia follows suit. “There are six hundred stars and a handful of comets and planets. I guess we’ll leave you to it.”

And with that, she leads her merry band of minions away in a sea of brightly colored fabric. It probably wicked away their souls along with their sweat.

“What’s so bad about glitter?” Pat asks.

Everyone with a kid knows glitter is the butthole of crafts. I’ve heard it called worse, actually, but I’ll stick with butthole.

I sigh and start arranging things on the table by the teacher’s desk. “Oh, you poor, innocent man. You’ll see. Grab those stars and we can get started. This is going to take a while.”

Twenty minutes later, Pat and I are sitting side by side at the work table next to the teacher’s desk, a regular assembly line of glitter and glue. He glues; I glitter. Then, repeat. We are both sticky and sparkling like a couple of Twilight vampires on the Summer Solstice.

“The couple that glitters together stays together?” Pat says, handing me another star.

He lets his fingers skate over the back of my hand as he does so, leaving a riot of goose bumps behind. I’m still feeling off-kilter, trying to decide if I should bring up THE KISS or keep up this charade of pretending it never happened at all.

“What’s the saying—sticks and stones will break my bones, but glitter lasts forever?” I ask.

“I thought it was more along the lines of the only certain things in life are death, taxes, and glitter.”

I laugh and finish another star. I now have glitter underneath my nails. Earlier, I think I inhaled some. It’s probably already embedded in my lungs.

“Sorry you got dragged into this with me.” I take another star from him. “I did try to warn you.”

“Glitter isn’t so bad. Plus, I wanted to be here. I want to be anywhere you are.”

Well, that’s certainly sweet. But why hasn’t he mentioned our kiss? Or tried to kiss me again? Usually I’m the one who’s taking ten steps back for every two we take forward. Was the kiss bad? I mean, I know I’m a little rusty, but I didn’t imagine the heat that practically left scorch marks on the stadium.

“Lindy?”

Pat’s voice startles me, and I realize I’ve paused our glitter assembly line and have been staring at his lips for an undetermined amount of time.

“Sorry.” I look away, reaching for the glitter.

Pat’s fingers brush my jaw, a gentle urge for me to turn toward him. I resist, keeping my eyes on the star in my hand, making sure it gets all the glitter it needs. This job is very, very important and clearly needs my full and undivided attention.

“What’s on your mind, Lindybird?”

Pat’s fingers don’t leave my skin. Instead, they skate along my jaw and trail down my neck, practically leaving a glowing trail of electricity in their wake. The little hairs on my arms rise.

“Just trying to do a good job.”