The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(14)

“It’s a red squirrel, and he’s dying.” Zoe finishes her sob with a hiccup.

Why does my child have a dying red squirrel in a shoebox?

Also, why is that not the weirdest question I’ve ever asked myself? I curl my fingers into my palms, then release them before I say something I’ll regret. “Zoe, we can take this upstairs, and—”

Levi steps around me and tilts the lid to peer inside. “I know a great vet. Lives in my brother’s neighborhood, which is awesome, since my nephew’s always finding frogs and gophers.”

I try to push the lid closed again. “We can’t—”

“When he says she’s the best,” his bodyguard interrupts, “he means that in all possible ways.”

Fantastic.

So Levi’s slept with her.

He stiffens next to me too. “Giselle, you might want to re-word that before Dr. Murphy’s husband gets the wrong idea.”

His bodyguard cracks a grin. “Did that come out wrong?”

He ignores her and peeks inside the box again. “You know what he smells like? He smells like this time Tripp and Cash got drunk on apple wine when we were—Aaaah!”

There’s a flash of fur, and he flings himself backwards with a furry creature hanging onto his face. “Drunk squirrel!”

Giselle lunges for him.

Zoe lunges for the squirrel. “Skippy!”

I lunge for all of them. At once.

Levi twists and spins while the squirrel climbs his perfectly-mussed hair, then goes down his back and into his jacket. His face contorts, and he makes a strangled noise, and oh my god.

Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod.

Please tell me my kid’s rescue squirrel didn’t just go down Levi Wilson’s pants.

Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod.

He rips his jacket off and flings it onto the floor, and oh thank god, there’s the squirrel, racing to the top of the bookshelves.

“I got it,” Giselle announces.

Zoe’s crying. “But he was sick.”

“He’s not sick! He’s loose in the store!”

“Drunk,” Levi says, wiping his face. “That squirrel is definitely drunk.”

“He lost his balance!” Zoe shrieks as I try to hug her and calm her down. “He could’ve died! I love him and he doesn’t know how to be a wild squirrel anymore.”

Levi’s eyeballing me, and I don’t know if it’s reverence or repulsion. “You have a pet squirrel?”

“I have chaos and a guilt complex and I didn’t know we have a squirrel!” But apparently we do have a squirrel. Zoe named it. “How did I not know we have a squirrel? We can’t have a squirrel! Do squirrels carry rabies? Zoe. How long have you had a squirrel?”

“He’s been living in my backpack for a month,” she sobs.

“A month?”

“He was so little and he fell on our fire escape and I feed him all the fruit cups the cafeteria throws away!”

My eyeball is twitching and there’s a squirrel racing around my store and Levi’s bodyguard has this look in her eye like she’s about to go Matrix or Avengers on his furry little ass.

“You got a bucket?” Giselle calls. “Also, lock the door.”

“I have canvas bags,” I call back. “Zoe. Please. It’ll be okay. Also, thrown away fruit cups aren’t good for anyone.”

Fermented.

Fermented fruit cups.

The squirrel’s liver is toast.

“I got the door,” Levi says.

He turns as I head for the checkout counter.

Skippy appears, flying from shelf-top to shelf-top.

Zoe leaps for him.

Levi does too. He lunges left.

She lunges right.

The two of them collide with a crunch as Giselle spins around the corner just in time to see my nine-year-old daughter taking down her client with her thick skull.

Pretty sure this is the last time Levi Wilson walks into my bookstore.





Six





Levi



The best thing about a concussion is that—

No, actually, there is no best thing about a concussion.

My head hurts. Not only won’t Giselle let me leave my condo, but the rest of my security team is backing her completely. Tripp won’t bring his kids to see me because they’re too rambunctious. I’m still not talking to Beck and Wyatt because they didn’t tell me Mom was dating someone.

I know, I know. Punch them and move on. It’s the guy way.

Fuck that.

Melodramatic is more my style, and if I get another concussion, my mother will never move out.

Yeah. Move out. She moved into my guest room last night when I got home from urgent care and refuses to talk to me about this rumor that she’s dating someone.

And I’m bored as fuck.

There’s no Animal Crossing on my phone.

Actually, there’s no phone, period. TV either.

It’s just me and my talking smart speaker in a dim room while Mom brings me ice packs if I so much as wince, with the occasional visit from someone on my payroll like security or an assistant.

You’d think I nearly severed my head off for all the fuss they’re making, when I have the mildest concussion you can have and still call it a concussion. But since I’m supposed to fly to New York for studio time on Tuesday, and then to Miami to perform at an awards show on Wednesday, it’s full-scale, hard-ass rules for recovery.