Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(14)
“Polymeric,” said Carter as he threw a watermelon into the cart.
A watermelon?
Liz put her hand over the phone. “What?”
“Polymeric sand. It keeps grass from growing between the pavers. Tell her it’s standard now for all our jobs unless the customer wants wider, greenscaped joints.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said to him.
“Here.” He reached out. “Let me talk to her.”
“I don’t think—” But he’d already grabbed the phone.
“Mrs. Beacon? Hey! It’s Carter McIntyre. Yeah… I know, quite the coincidence that we’re both here.” He winked at Liz. “Listen, just so you know, I use polymeric sand all the time now… Yes. It is a little more, but I know you and Mr. Beacon will be happy with the results… Absolutely... Any time… Sure... You take good care, too.”
Carter handed back her phone, and Liz stared at him, shocked he’d managed to have a meaningful exchange of information with her mother in less than twenty seconds.
“Mom?”
“She hung up. She had to go. By the way, she says you need to eat more red meat. You’re looking pale.”
“She did not.”
“Okay. She didn’t, but I think we’ve spent enough time in the produce section. I need protein.”
“Protein?”
“Something other than bunny food.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Right.”
She continued on, trying to focus on selecting whole grain bread and carrot sticks and 100-calorie, low-sodium pretzel packs, but Carter kept throwing in things like chips and sour cream dip. Bricks of cheese.
Before long, Liz found herself reaching for manly things without even thinking. Big red slabs of meat. Potatoes. Bacon. Which didn’t even make sense, because hadn’t she and Grant sworn off nitrates? But there it was, lying in the cart with everything else. And, truly, the roast beef sandwiches weren’t anything without the bacon.
Forty minutes later, they stood in line at the check-out, Carter throwing in Twizzlers from the candy rack and Liz pretending not to notice how ruggedly sexy he was as she casually flicked the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. More than once.
She caught herself mid-flick and made herself reach for the jug of milk without any more flirtatious body movements.
“Carter McIntyre? Is that you? I swear, you are the hardest person to get ahold of!”
Liz stilled, the milk jug sweating in her palm. She’d know that sicky-sweet, never set a pinky-toe below the Mason Dixon Line, fake Southern Belle voice anywhere. Valerie Stinson. Bleh. Liz could almost feel her ankles swell and her breasts deflate with every saccharine syllable gushing from Valerie’s annoyingly bow-shaped lips. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Val tucked a wisp of blonde hair behind one ear and smiled dazzlingly—at Carter, of course.
“Wait. Is that… Brainy Beacon?”
Liz squinted at the label on the milk jug—as if deeply in need of determining its nutritional value before placing it on the conveyor belt.
She didn’t think it was a stretch, acting as if she didn’t recognize Valerie, seeing as Valerie hadn’t been this particular shade of blonde in high school nor this buxom-y, either, to Liz’s memory. The cashier was waiting for the milk, though, so Liz handed it over.
“What? Valerie? Valerie Stinson? Wow. It’s been… ages, hasn’t it? Actually, Carter and I—”
“—were just heading home for dinner. Liz, you forgot the wine.”
“Wine?” Liz fumbled the bacon, and it shot out of her hand at the cashier. The cashier gave her an annoyed look.
“Yeah. Get whatever you like.”
“But, we shouldn’t hold up the line—”
Valerie batted her baby blues at Carter before her smile faltered. “Wait. Are you two... together?”
Now why would that be such a shocker? Liz wondered. She slapped a chuck roast onto the conveyer with slightly more force than necessary.
Valerie had never liked her. Liz had no idea why. Val had always been skinny and popular and super tanned. But, ever since that birthday party at Jenny Whitmeyer’s, Val hadn’t just ignored Liz like she once had, she’d taken every opportunity to give her the evil eye. Aside from the fact that Liz had thrown off the grading curve in World History class, she couldn’t fathom what she’d ever done to earn Valerie’s ill will.
“They’re still bagging. You’ve got time.” Carter said, giving her a pleading look.
Liz mumbled an excuse and scurried off to the wine aisle.
She stared blindly at the display—red or white?—grabbed one of each color and hurried back toward the check-out. On impulse, she picked up a six-pack of ale as well.
When she arrived, Valerie was still hovering, and, not unexpectedly, giving her the evil eye.
“I thought this might go better with the sandwiches,” Liz explained, passing over the ale.
Carter beamed and set it on the belt. “Perfect. Have I told you today how much I love you?”
Liz might have stuttered if she’d had the breath to reply. Running to the wine and beer sections reminded her she’d skimped on her morning workouts two days straight. Loved her? She pinched her lips together. Was that the same way he loved his poor girlfriend? Val could have this guy.