Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(106)

“Bacon is right, you sexist pig.”

He sighed, enjoyed the feel of her, the fit of her. “I can dream.”

She turned in his arms, beer in hand, and went up on her toes to kiss his chin. “You don’t believe me. About proving my love.”

He smiled into her eyes. “I know you, Bev. You want to look like you’re doing the right thing, but there’s no way you’d give up Fite now. At the end of the day—” he gave her a deep, sweet kiss, “—you’re lookin’ out for Numero Uno.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lip, trying to scowl, but her face split into a wide, adoring grin. “And you don’t have a problem with that?”

“Nope.”

“Because you’re the same way.” Her eyes sparkled. “Admit it.”

He tilted his head and looked at her. “You bet I am,” he said seriously. “At the end of the day, I’m looking out for you too.”

Then he began a kiss that was so sweet, so deep, and lasted so long, Bev didn’t notice his bedroom was painted three different colors until the next morning.





Epilogue

It was almost ten-thirty when Bev walked through Fite’s front door. She wore an outfit from the first Fite Gear delivery, dark purple sweats with a long, stretchy jacket tied around her waist with a Fite logo on her butt—like three other women on the BART train with her that afternoon.

She didn’t walk up right away to Carrie, who was on the phone, turned slightly to the side. Bev needed a minute to compose herself. Catch her breath.

“Bev!” Carrie slammed down the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” She ran around the desk and came over, arms wide.

Bev accepted the warm impact with a smile and tried not to lose it. Lately all she did was cry. “You looked busy.”

“I am. Liam is promoting me to Trim Buyer.”

“That’s perfect for you.”

Carrie drew back and dropped her arms. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks. Is that a new design?” She pointed at the green pendant around Carrie’s neck.

She nodded brightly. “My best-seller.” She lowered her voice. “Liam doesn’t mind me selling on Etsy as long as I don’t mention Fite.”

“Good for you,” Bev said. “So, where is he?”

“Office. He’s been holed up all day, throwing that ball against the wall, driving everyone crazy.”

Annoyed, Bev looked at her watch. “He promised to be waiting for me out here.” She did not want to go into any enclosed, private spaces with him. No matter how many times he promised to keep his hands to himself, next time he saw an opening he’d be on her like spit on lipstick. “Will you please tell him I’m here?”

“Hey there, Ms. Bev. Long time no see.” George came up behind her dragging a dolly into the lobby. He was trying to frown and grin at the same time.

“How’s your wife doing?” she asked him. “Any luck with the chiropractor?”

“Those quacks got her wrapped around their greedy little fingers. All in her head. And my wallet.” He dumped his package in front of Carrie, waved, and went back the way he came, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Carrie shook her head at Bev, the phone at her ear. “It went straight to voicemail. He must be on the line.”

She refused to wait for him. Being at Fite again was harder than she’d expected. “I’ll go find him.” She pushed the door open and went down the hall to his office, surprised to see new carpeting, bright lighting, fresh paint. Guess the money was flowing in. He was doing fine. Without her.

His door was closed, which was more of the ‘too much,’ so she walked in without knocking and tried to keep her pulse steady when she took in the sight of him leaning back on his chair with his stocking-feet up on the desk.

“You look busy,” she said, closing the door behind her.

He frowned at her between the gap in his feet, his handsome face framed by wiggling toes. “What are you doing here?” He dropped his feet to the floor, muttered something into the receiver and hung up the phone. “You promised to let me take care of things on my own.”

“It’s Tuesday afternoon.” She walked in and sank into a chair. Her feet were killing her. Really, Fite needed to work on their walking shoes. “We had a deal.”

“Not—” He tilted his head and stared at her. “Still?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said I had to set a good example.”

He came around the desk. Smiled slowly. “Too late.” He dropped to his knees and slid his hand over her rounded belly. As always, his touch set her nerves on fire. “Letting the staff knock you up is hardly setting a good example.” His mouth found the hollow between her breasts and trailed kisses down her shirt.

She pushed her knee into his ribs. “This is why we meet in the lobby, remember?”

“I thought you’d love the excuse to stay on the couch.” He drew back and frowned, his brown eyes intense. “Which is where you should be. Or in bed.”

“Dr. Jane said I could still walk with you once a week, as long as I didn’t feel contractions.”

“She doesn’t know you hiked through SOMA to get to that walk.”