Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(19)

“So, I guess this is goodbye, Gorgeous Rake from Australia,” she said wistfully, tapping her foot. She seemed as reluctant to step out that door as Rake was to watch her do it.

“It’s goodbye, Lovely Lizzie from Dirty Philadelphia.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes but smiled at him, the look softening as her gaze caressed his face.

“God, this is super weird,” she said with a half-hearted laugh, “because I actually kind of like you.”

“This is super weird.” Rake nodded in agreement. “Particularly because you’re super weird.”

Lizzie punched his shoulder with a laugh, and Rake surprised himself by grabbing her arm and pulling her in for one last hug, pressing his smile to the top of her head.

“Okay, okay, okay, longest goodbye ever,” Lizzie said, pulling away and opening the door and stepping out. She paused. “But, uh…” Her leg started bouncing again as she looked at him. “Don’t be afraid to, um, look me up if you’re ever back in Philly. I mean, you totally don’t have to. No pressure or whatever. I just meant—”

“Now who’s being awkward,” Rake said, rocking on his heels and giving her a huge smile. “Of course I’d look you up. It’d be the first thing I do.”

With a poorly controlled grin and a few quick nods, Lizzie turned, heading down the hall. Rake watched her leave, letting out a soft laugh every time she peeped over her shoulder, sending him about six more waves before she finally turned the corner to the elevator banks.

A foreign impulse in Rake almost jolted his body forward to go after her. It was such a bizarre, over-the-top reaction, he firmly shut the door and bumped his forehead against it a few times.

He was being absolutely ridiculous. She was all but a stranger. A fun, out-of-character memory that would get him through another few years of celibacy.

It was nothing, it was nothing, it was nothing, he repeated over and over again as he jumped in a cold shower, not letting his thoughts touch the memory of her body. Nothing at all, he reasoned as he collected any stray items around the hotel room and tucked them neatly into his suitcase.

Absolutely nothing, he yelled in his head as the company shuttle took the team to the airport, as he pulled out his phone and opened his texts, losing control of his fingers as he typed and hit send.

Thanks for a great time. Let me know if you ever find yourself in Sydney

Of course, that didn’t mean anything either.





Chapter 10




TWO weeks later, Lizzie was startled awake, not by the screech of her alarm—that she’d already snoozed about eight times—but to the foreign trill of a phone call coming through. Who the fuck called people anymore? she thought as she wrestled out of her blankets to find her blaring phone. Psychopaths, that’s who.

And her older brother, apparently.

The words GOLDEN CHILD flashed across her screen above an ugly picture of Ryan. Lizzie really, really didn’t want to answer, but she also knew his ungodly level of persistence for their tense and obligatory once-a-month phone calls. With a sigh, she slid her thumb across the screen to answer.

“Lizzie’s Sperm Bank, you spank it, we bank it. How may I help you?” she said by way of greeting.

There was a long silence on the other end before Ryan let out the world’s heaviest breath. “Good morning to you too, Elizabeth.”

The corners of Lizzie’s mouth kicked up as she traced a pattern on her comforter. She and Ryan didn’t have a … stellar relationship, but she got a shot of joy through her system by tormenting him, and she harbored the secret familial fantasy that he enjoyed her teasing too.

“What’s up, Ry?” she asked. “How’s Mary?”

This was all part of their monthly phone call script. Lizzie and Ryan spent their three-to-five-minute call volleying questions back and forth about everything but each other. It was a good way to say words without actually talking.

Mary was Ryan’s wife—petite, gorgeous, put together, and sporting a ridiculously good personality.

“Mary’s good,” Ryan said then cleared his throat. A long pause followed. “She’s actually part of the reason I’m calling.”

Lizzie’s head jolted back and hit the wall behind her. Ryan wasn’t supposed to have a reason to call her. Their talks were supposed to be about checking off a little task box to assuage both of their guilts for not actually being great siblings to each other. These talks weren’t supposed to have substance, let alone an actual purpose.

“Uh-oh,” Lizzie said, sliding down the wall to land on her pillows. “Did she finally perish from your incessant discussions of golf?”

“Do you have to make everything a joke?”

“Yes. It’s called deflection and poor coping skills.”

Ryan sighed. “I’m calling because Mary wants to hire you to bake something. A cake.”

Lizzie perked up at that. “Really? That’d be awesome. What for?”

“Mary thought it would be a good chance for you to build your … portfolio or whatever. Do bakers even have portfolios?”

Bakers did, but Lizzie did not. She had some random pictures scattered through her phone that she’d always meant to organize and never got around to. “No, I mean, for what occasion.”