Arrested.

I growl at the poor girl without meaning to as the cops try to hustle her toward the exit. Honestly, when she walked through the door, for the first time in a good long while I felt something—a prickle, a tickle, hell a fucking hard-on. Whatever it was, I felt it. I hadn’t felt anything in so long it was almost foreign to me, like a beautiful invasion on a cellular level. And she’s pretty, too. Hell, she’s hot.

Ever since we opened The Sloppy Pelican a few months back, girls have been hitting on me by the droves, but not one of them invoked that spear of surprise, of lust in me the way she did. Or maybe I was just intoxicated with the idea of getting a good review that it wouldn’t have mattered what she looked like. Maybe I would have had the same response anyway.

But The Sloppy Pelican isn’t getting a good review tonight by one of the most sought-after food critics in the area because the girl turned out to be a fraud. Only someone with my fucked-up luck could have a fraudulent food critic show up on the most important night of the year.

If this place doesn’t pick up soon, I’ll be forced to borrow over and above what I’ve already borrowed, and God knows there’s not a bank on the planet that will offer me that much leverage.

“You can’t arrest me!” she howls, digging her feet into the wood floor, leaving two thick tracks in the wake of her heels. Great. Not only did she essentially steal two hundred dollars’ worth of food, but she’s marking up the floors to forever remind me of this horrible night and her gorgeous body. I couldn’t help but notice those perfect tits. I’m a pig. I was salivating before she ever said hello.

Brody slaps me over the arm and nods to the bar where just about everyone is standing at attention with their phones held out documenting the debacle. Perfect. I wanted publicity, and I sure as hell got it.

Shit.

The girl struggles with the officer until her hands slip free and she makes every effort to run back in this direction. Her dirty blonde hair is tousled as if she just rolled out of my bed, and the makeup around her eyes is smudged just enough. And that body. A girl with that body in that dress with those sky-high killer heels probably does deserve to get arrested tonight.

“Levi!” she screams, and I straighten at the mention of my name. Our eyes lock momentarily, and instantly I not only regret introducing myself, I regret showing up at all. That face, those eyes. Whoever she is, she’ll be haunting my dreams for years to come. “You can’t let them do this!” They hustle her to the door once again, and a part of me is relieved.

A couple of patrons shout at her to get lost, and she chokes with anger in their direction. “Screw you! I bet the food you’re eating was once a lump of plastic! Microwaved to perfection by the haughty, uptight Gestapo who runs this place. All BPA dinnerware is included for your dining pleasure! Would you like an extra serving of xenoestrogens with your food? Because that’s what you’re getting! You’ll all be girls by midnight.”

At least three different men let the fork slip from their fingers.

“Shit,” I hiss in disbelief.

Brody shakes his head as he makes his way over. “She may as well have put a curse on this place. The sooner this loon is out of our lives, the better for everyone—most likely her as well. She’s probably some college kid who’s been scamming the local restaurants for a free burger for months. I bet kids pull this crap all the time at the Black Bear.”

“Levi!” she screams once again as they get her on the other side of the door, and the atmosphere in the restaurant decompresses to subnormal levels. It’s unnaturally quiet, and then spontaneously an applause breaks out at the bar.

Brody lifts a finger to say something, but the door blows open once again and it’s her again, struggling to get that cop’s arm off from around her waist.

Her eyes meet with mine, wild with rage. “Raven is going to kill you for this!”

The cop nods over to me with a nonchalant look that suggests this isn’t his first coed rodeo as he whisks her out the door with a marked finality.

“What did she say?” I look to Brody just as Axel, the third partner in the Sloppy Pelican disaster, comes over.

“I talked to the cops.” Ax lands a hand on my shoulders. “I knew she wasn’t the right girl the moment I laid eyes on her. I dated Lex a while back.” He shrugs as if it were no big deal, but something about the way his eyes cut to the bar suggests it is. “Anyway, glad we got her.”

Brody tips his head my way. “Ditto, but that was sort of odd the way she seemed to know Raven. You think it was a lucky guess?”

“Raven.” I tick my head back a notch. “Yes. I thought that’s what she said.” My heart thumps wild. “I’ve got a very bad feeling about this. I’d better see what that’s about.” I take off, and by the time I get outside, the squad car has already disappeared out of sight.

I pluck my phone out of my pocket and put in a quick call to my little sister. I know she’s in New York for business, but it’s after hours, and I need a few answers to the bizarre puzzle this night is quickly becoming.

“Hello, handsome!” she answers on the first ring. Raven has been treating me with kid gloves for the last few months—nine months to be exact. But being extra cheery and calling me all the right things has always been a part of her charm. She’s my little sister, my only sister, and I love her more than anyone on this planet—my mom is just about neck-in-neck. “So, how’d you like her?” I can hear the faint hint of a giggle on her end.

“Like who?” The night air cuts through me, but I’m numb with shock and don’t feel the chill the way I should. “Did you have something to do with what just went on in here?” My voice hikes a notch. I have never raised my voice with Raven, but on a night like tonight, when I had so much riding on this, it makes me want to roar into the receiver.

“Hell yes, I did. Now behave yourself. This isn’t a setup. In fact, I forbid you to even look at her without the chastest intentions. Why don’t you think of her like more of a little sister? Ha! That’s perfect! Congrats! You’ve got a new sibling! And it’s a girl!” She trills with glee, and I’m far more baffled than I was when I picked up the phone.

“Wait. Are we talking about the same person? I just had some chick come into The Pelican pretending to be a food critic and—”

“Hold on—Low just sent me a text.” She goes silent a moment. “Holy shit!” she barks so loud I’m forced to pull the phone from my ear. “You had her ARRESTED? What the hell is wrong with you? If I were in North Carolina, I’d drive right over to Hollow Brook and kick your ass! Right after I bailed her out. And since I’m not there to do so, get in your truck and get your wallet ready, because nobody puts my bestie in a corner—or in a prison cell!” she riots into my ear until I do as I’m told, and before I know it, I’m attempting to drop all charges, begging the booking deputy to reverse this nightmare, but he sets bail instead and I quickly pony up two grand.

“Shit,” I mutter as I wait for him to usher her through those iron gates.

Live with me? I try to recall the word salad Raven tossed my way. She claims she meant to call me earlier. This girl is homeless? Jobless? And the best solution out of about a million others is to have this chick hole up in my spare bedroom? Crap. I shake my head at the thought. If anyone would have told me a year ago that Meredith and I wouldn’t be together, wouldn’t be speaking, that I would leave the firm—absolve myself of everything I learned in law school, and open up a glorified bar with my childhood friends—and let’s not forget Harlow—Low Hartley, Raven’s best friend in the whole wide world—her words not mine, no, I wouldn’t believe any of it.

A set of heels click their way over, obnoxiously angry, and the gate magically glides back as she stalks my way. There she is, the scowl on her face, beautiful as it might be, assures me she’s pissed.

The deputy shakes his head my way. “Good luck,” he mumbles before heading back, and the gate seals us on the right side of the law.

“Good luck,” she huffs as she struts on past me. The faint scent of her sugary perfume has my dick back on heightened alert. “Don’t just stand there.” She glances over her shoulder, and those red, hot as fuck lips call to me. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make a speedy getaway!”

I follow her out and lead her to the truck. I help her in and we take off, leaving the Hollow Brook Police Department in our wake.

“I talked to Raven,” I say it low, mostly to myself, because quite frankly, I’m still in a bit of shock at the turn of events this night has taken.

The girl next to me balks, gesticulating wildly with her hand as if she were inebriated, but I know she’s still worked up. Getting arrested can make even the demurest person a bit unhinged. Not that I would know, but deductive logic has always been my strong suit.

“How about if we start over?” I offer as we head onto the main thoroughfare. “I’m Levi Masterson. I hear you’re my sister’s very best friend in the whole wide world.” I didn’t mean for it to come out stinging with sarcasm, but in truth I can still hear Raven’s voice in my ear, and I was simply mimicking her inflection.

“Wow,” she huffs incredulously, letting me know I’ve gone too far and, since deductive logic is my strong suit, yes, I’ve surmised that much myself. “You really are something. It’s no wonder she’s said nothing about you for the last eight years I’ve known her.”

“You’ve known Raven for eight years?” I chew on that for a minute as I try to tally all the friends of hers I’ve met over time, and I can’t think of any since before our father died over a million years ago.

“That’s right. She was my roommate at Briggs. She and I were inseparable up until she blew up in the advertising world. Now that she’s globe-trotting—shooting underwear ads all over the planet, I’m more of a texting BFF than anything tangible.”

“Did you say underwear ads?” A brief vision of meeting up with her on location flits through my mind. I’ve seen those underwear catalogs lying around, and the chicks are smoking hot. I bet Raven is in charge of an entire calendar’s worth. And just as the thought enters my mind, I blink it away. I don’t need a girl in my life right now. I’m still too steeped in survival mode to sustain anything with anybody else.

“Down, boy.” She sneers at me. “It’s male underwear models.”

“Shit.” I hit the brakes a little too hard as I come upon a red light. “Why did you have to tell me that?” I close my eyes for a second, trying to deflect any visuals of my sweet baby sis surrounded by oiled up men with their hoses front and center.

“Oh, did I hurt you?” Her voice grows tiny and weak, fueled with enough sarcasm to let me know I’m in for it. “That’s right! Sweet little baby Raven is surrounded by long, hot, and, oh heck, they’re probably hard—penises all the livelong day! And if that’s not bad enough for you, she volunteered to oil those boys up herself before each and every shoot. She’s touching those bad boys—smearing her hands over those rock-hard chests! And just before they get in front of the camera—she pulls open that waistband and makes sure their junk is in prime position for their close-up, baby!”

A groan evicts itself from my throat. She couldn’t have sucker punched me better if she aimed straight for my balls. I drive us to The Sloppy Pelican, and she points to a beat-up Honda sitting near the dumpsters.

“You can follow me the rest of the way.” It comes out depleted because, let’s face it, she’s won this round.

“Perfect,” she snaps back as if it were anything but.

She jumps out before I come to a stop and slams the door shut like a gunshot.

She never did introduce herself.

Raven is going to owe me for this.

Big time.

* * *

The drive to Hollow Brook Hills is a dark and silent one. The Hills are known for their enclave of overgrown homes with far too many square feet and far too few occupants. Meredith lives in the house we once shared just two miles to my left, but my home, the one we had bought as a rental property is of a humble size with a humble yard, sitting in the middle of a not so humble neighborhood. I’ll admit, it’s been quiet these last few months. I have never lived alone up until this point in my life. First, there was my rambunctious family, sharing a room with my brother—a despicable excuse for a human whom I once deeply loved. And then I lived with Brody, my college roommate whom I would never even dream of saddling Harlow with if he happened to be down on his luck. And, of course, then with Mer. And here we are. I pull into the driveway and frown at the Honda sputtering to a stop in front of the house. And now I’ll live with a lunatic for an unspecified spate of time. I think it’s only fair I dock Raven a gift at Christmas next year for this crime against my sanity. Wasn’t she the one begging me to take things slow? Lay low and avoid the estrogen-laden radar?

Lay Low. I huff at the irony. And just like that, my sister’s caustic instructions come back to me. Under no circumstances am I to lay Low.

I hop out and meet the girl on the porch. The tension streaming from her is palpable, but she’s beautiful. Damn beautiful, and for a second my mind plays tricks on me, and I want to believe she’s a barfly I picked up for a one-night stand. Now that would be a happy ending to this nightmare of an evening.

She scoots her tiny little body in close, and the faint scent of her sweet perfume lights up my senses. It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone of the female persuasion this close, smelling this good—this irate at me to boot.

“I bet you want to carry me over the threshold, don’t you?” she snips, those eyes of hers wild with rage once again.

“No, sweetheart, I don’t.” A brief smile comes to my lips as I examine her under the soft glow of the porch light. Her lips are pleasantly round and protruding, and something about the way she’s pouting makes me want to lean in and press my mouth over hers. I’ve never been the caveman type, but there’s a part of me that wants to toss her onto the couch and teach her a lesson with every inch of my body.

I give a hard blink before snapping to. I blame my caveman mentality on the fact the only time I’ve had a hot chick back at my place was to do just that.

I open the door and extend my hand, and she jumps inside, her heels clacking over the hardwood floors as if she were evading a serial killer.

“Oh my God!” she marvels as the lights blink on throughout the place. “It’s so homey and cute!”

“If homey is code for small, then you guessed it.”

“I thought for sure you were going to pull into one of those huge mansions. I’ve never been to The Hills. I’m a Friar’s Corner girl myself.” She wrinkles her nose at the impoverished locale, and oddly it makes me like her just a little. I would have bet good money on the fact she was a Hills’ girl. Most of the kids at Whitney Briggs come from serious money, and judging by how impeccable she looks, her obstinate behavior, I would never have pegged her for a Friar’s Corner girl.

“No mansion here. Sorry to disappoint. You can take the room on the right. I’m at the far end. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours,” I growl out the words a little harsher than I meant to. Tonight has been a mindfuck. This entire last year has been a mindfuck. It’s impossible for me to wrap my head around any of it, and it’s turned me into a beast.

“Stay out of your way?” She shakes her head, her voice tinged with that sarcastic inflection she doles out so generously. “My, aren’t you charming? You get many panties dropping with that tone? Or is this beast routine something special you’re pulling from the Disney drawer just for me?” Her tiny fists embed themselves into her hips, and that scowl makes her ten times cuter than she was to begin with, but my blood is boiling once again because she’s crawling right back under my skin.

“I’m only this charming to you, sweetheart. To everyone else, I’m simply an asshole.” I should know. I’ve had both Meredith and my brother tell me that to my face over a dozen times in the last few months.

“Wow.” Her eyes round out like golf balls as she takes a step in. “First, I’m not your sweetheart. And secondly, here I thought you’d be just as sweet and fun-loving as your baby sis, but you’re about as welcoming as an orangutan with his dick on fire!”

My chest rumbles with a dry laugh as I step in close until we’re nearly nose-to-nose. “Honey, if I were an orangutan with my dick on fire, you would be the last person I’d expect help from. You’d probably douse me with gasoline and we’d both incinerate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She hops back with surprise. “Are you calling me a jinx?” Those long lashes of hers engage in a series of rapid blinks, and I swear I feel the breeze.

“I didn’t have to.” My arms fold across my chest as if putting up a barrier. “You did it for me.”

“AARGH!” she screams in my face before bolting down the hall and into my bedroom with a slam of the door.

“Your other right, sweetheart!” I shout after her, and she bounces out of my room and hightails it across the hall before slamming yet another door and sending its echo throughout the tiny little house. It’s the bathroom, but this time she doesn’t bother coming out.

I’m suddenly wishing this were any one of those mega mansions that line the street in this neighborhood.

God knows this house is far too small for the two of us.

* * *

Two weeks plod by with Harlow, Low, and me doing the avoidance dance. She bakes up a storm, same warm, sweet chocolate brownies day after delicious day. I’m all too familiar with those brownies because she always leaves me a plate with tiny signs that read Try me!, Eat me, I’m delicious!, and Chocolate is proven to add years to a lifespan regardless of the fact you’re a sourpuss! I had to chuckle at that last one. But, overall, it’s been a sweet, albeit unspoken gesture. I’ve come home to see her in action a few times and couldn’t help but note she’s got the same song playing on a loop—“Key Largo”. Something about its sweet backbeat is charming, just like her. She reminds me so much of Raven—all the best parts combined—and yet I’m not feeling brotherly toward her at all. But other than the brownies, we can’t seem to find any common ground. We’re still essentially strangers, just like we were the first day we met, or should I say since the day I had her arrested. If I see her coming, I’m going—and vice versa.

But on this groggy, gray Sunday morning, we both happen to bump into one another at the coffee maker, me in my sweats and her in a pair of hot pink silk pj’s that swish like magic with each step she takes and bare feet with bright pink painted toenails that look like candy. Her hair is piled on her head in a messy bun, and her mascara is slightly smudged, giving her that sexy as all hell morning after look. Her nipples pierce through that silky top like pencil erasers, and I try my damnedest to keep my eyes above her neck. But she’s beautiful and she’s glowing with that I’ve just been fucked look in her eyes, and dear God help me because it feels as if I’m falling back down that rabbit hole I swore I’d never get near again for the rest of my life. Low is pulling me in, whether or not she knows it, by the balls, by the heart, and every last part of me is trying to convince itself I’m unwilling.

“Did you have a guest last night?” I regret the words the second they leave my lips. I move quickly to get a mug from the cabinet before she decks me and pull out two instead.

“Excuse me?” Her voice pitches in a way that assures me I’ve all but set the house on fire.

I hand her a mug, and she plucks it rather aggressively while mouthing a brisk thank you through a scowl.

“I just thought, you know. You look like you might have had a guest. You’ve got nice pj’s on, and you’ve got that look.” Crap. It’s like I’m fishing for trouble. And hell, I might be. Trouble would be more action in this house than I’ve had for weeks.

She sucks in a hard breath, assuring me I’ve gone too far. I take it it’s too late to backtrack the hell out of this conversation.

She steps into me, and I back up a notch. Her eyes squint into mine with an accusation before she ever opens her mouth. “Are you saying I look like I got fucked last night?”

Crap. I try to make a break for the coffee maker, but she steps in front of me, blocking me off at the pass.

Our eyes lock for a moment. Her features pinch to a genuine look of rage, her skin piques as pink as her nightshirt, and her entire face radiates with a sharp beauty that takes my breath away.

“No, no.” I wince as I try to deny my way out of it, but we both know it’s too late for that. “I just—you know, you’re glowing. It’s a good look on you. Don’t get me wrong.”

“Wow.” She lets out an incredulous huff. “I don’t know who made you the panty police, but no, I did not have a guest in my bedroom—or my vagina last night.”

Panty police? Vagina?

“Not that I would mind.” I hold out the coffeepot, and she hesitantly allows me to fill her mug. “You can do as you please. It’s kind of nice having someone else around. Please feel free to help yourself to whatever I have in the fridge or the pantry.”

“Oh my God!” she barks so loud I nearly burn the shit out of myself as the coffee licks my hand. “It’s because I ate that moldy oldie yogurt you had collecting fuzz in the back of the refrigerator, isn’t it? Well, I’m sorry, but I happened to have a hankering for spoiled dairy last night. I’ll be sure to restock your supply once it curdles in my closet for a couple of weeks!” The veins in her neck distend, and she’s leaning forward, hand on hip, neck swaying from side-to-side, and I can’t help but think she’s sexy as hell when she’s feisty—and she happens to be feisty all the damn time.

“I promise you, I didn’t notice the yogurt.” I lift my hands in surrender. “And I’m sorry about the mold. Please only eat the food that hasn’t reached its expiration date. I’ll try to clean out the fridge when I get a chance.” I offer a peaceable smile, and her face explodes from a rosy pink to beet red, bordering on pomegranate. It’s amazing how being nice to someone can set an ammunition factory shooting through their skull. I see it just about every day at the restaurant with its angry customers. Trying to defuse it is tantamount to dousing it in gasoline and then breathing fire, but something in me demands to light that fire.

“Then this is about the rent!” Her hand flies in the air, and her coffee does a little dance along the rim of her mug. “I’ll have you know I’m this close to nailing down a paying job.” Her lips pull down to the side as if contesting the idea, and my mouth begs to cover them with mine. “And I promise you, each and every paycheck will be yours. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to vacate the premises asap.” She snarls my way with nostrils flaring, those marble green eyes red with rage. “And I’ll be sure to take all of my imaginary guests right along with me.” She leans in and sneers. “A girl is allowed to glow all on her own—and believe you me, buddy, I can make myself glow like a firefly.”

On her own? As in she took care of business on her own? A smile twitches on my lips, but I don’t dare give it. Just the thought of her having all that fun just across the hall from me is enough to make my budding boner tick to life.

“Gah!” She smacks her forehead with her palm. “That’s not what I meant! And don’t think for a minute I can’t see that perverted grin begging to take over!”

“Look, why don’t you come by the restaurant tomorrow?” My shoulders slump, my chest decompresses as if throwing in the towel. Yes, she’s cantankerous, but she’s Raven’s friend—best friend apparently, and she has a need. “I’m hiring.”

I wasn’t up until this moment, but I don’t mention it in the event it sets her off again. And judging by her track record—something as benign as good morning can send her off the rails.

Her mouth flies open, her eyes widen as if I’ve just insulted her and I might have. She has a degree from WB. She’s probably not in the market for a waitressing gig down at the local—

“I’ll be there.” She swallows hard as if trying to digest her pride. She glances down at my coffee a moment. “Would you like some creamer with that?”

Our eyes latch onto one another. Her nipples dart out from the flimsy fabric of her nightshirt once again, and I can’t help but give a lazy smile. She’s hot and funny and conveniently trapped in my home. I’m still not sure if I should dock Raven a Christmas present or pen her a thank you. God knows I needed the distraction.

“Is that a genuine question or an audition?”

Her perky little lips twist in a bow. “Both.”

A laugh rattles my chest, first one in weeks, and it feels damn good. Just as I’m about to tell her she’s got the job, my phone buzzes over the counter.

There are some moments in life where you are certain you know what’s coming, and this is that moment for me. I let it ring over and over, my gaze falling upon it catatonic.

“You want to get that?” Low’s voice comes out sweet, not laced with vinegar, the way I’ve known it to be.

“I think I’ll let this one pass.” A moment later my phone pings, alerting me to the fact I’ve got a text. I head over and pick it up, roll it over in my hands, heavy as lead, and my body goes numb as I read the words.

“Everything okay?” Low steps over softly as if not wanting to wake me from a dream. It’s more of a nightmare really.

“Everything’s great.” I twitch my phone at her. “It was my mother. It seems my wife had her baby.”

“Oh my God!” She struggles to land both her coffee and mine onto the counter. “You’re a dad! We’ve got to call Raven! What am I saying? I bet your mom called her, too. Oh, wow.” Her face brightens again. This time it’s all for me. “Congratulations! We got to get you to the hospital!” Her enthusiasm comes to an abrupt halt as she staggers back a bit. The pieces are falling into place, and none of them make sense. And I happen to agree with her on that point, too. “Wait a minute. You look like you’ve just had your entrails shoved down your throat. Is there a reason you’re not thrilled about the news? I mean, your wife just had a baby. I get that she’s not here. It doesn’t take a Mensa member to figure out there’s trouble in paradise—but a baby. I mean, you’re a dad now.”

“No.” A dry smile pushes from me briefly. “I’m not the father. My brother is.”