Page 6 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)

Chris is coming to get you. He insisted.

Be nice to him! He appears grouchy and tough, but his feelings are easily hurt if you find the right words.

You should be landing soon. I hope your flight was good.

My flight tracker app says you’re taxying. Welcome! Hurry to me. I miss the hell out of you.

Don’t forget the thing I said about Chris. He’s a sweetheart, and I’m kinda protective. So don’t pick at him.

Franky says hey and to hurry! Also, Tommy says hey and to not be mean to his brother. We know you, Fox! I know you. So don’t be a jerk .

“Coulda sent those texts before I went into airplane mode.” Grumbling under my breath, I tap out a fast reply.

I’m here, I’m in the truck, and Tommy owes me a giant apology for sending his identical proxy without adequate warning. I would’ve preferred hitching a ride with the suitcase flingerer. Seems safer.

“Unfortunately, Alana wants us to get along.” Sending the message, I lower my phone and peer over at the guy who won’t say a word unless it’s pried out of his mouth with a crowbar… or spite. “She said we have to.”

“We are getting along.” He drops his legs open and turns the radio up just enough to catch the tune, but not the words. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t make a habit of arguing with perfect strangers.”

“But you’d send me twenty-three?—”

“Five.”

“Five emails in seven days?—”

“Sixteen days.”

Argh ! “Fine! Five emails in sixteen days gently suggesting I stay the hell out of your state and leave your family alone. That’s not nice, Christian. It doesn’t take an emotionally healthy adult to recognize that you’re highly strung and a little controlling.”

“I’m not controlling?—”

“Maybe you feel a certain possessiveness, since you knew Alana when you were younger. But she’s my friend, too.

She’s practically my sister. We went through hell and back together, raising a little boy and winging every damn aspect of it because we were clueless and doing our best. And all along, you and your brother actively hated her.

So while you’re out here in Bumfuck Idaho, thinking you get to round them up and keep them all to yourself, I’m here to tell you that’s not gonna happen.

I’m not going away. You won’t keep me out of their lives, and you can’t stop me from coming when they need me, no matter how many emails you send. ”

“I didn’t say any of that.”

He’s entirely too relaxed, tapping the steering wheel with the tips of his fingers and rocking, barely perceptibly, to the music on the radio.

Which is all good and dandy for him. Meanwhile, there’s a part of me that wants to deck the smug prick, and most of me that wants to curl up in the corner and cry a little bit.

Fuck him, and fuck his emails, too.

“I said Caroline offered to help at the shop,” he continues, “Tommy would be with Alana, and I could be with Franky. My emails were a professional courtesy, informing you that flying all this way was not necessary.”

“Yeah? Well, your professional courtesy was received. And dismissed. I replied to your first email with the same polite detachment and informative tone yours had, which should have been the end of this discussion. Yet, here we are. Still bickering about a topic I consider moot.”

“We’re not bickering.” So fucking calm .

He sets his elbow on the door frame and chills.

“You’re here now. Not only that, but I was courteous enough to pick you up and bring you to the woman you’re nagging me about.

Which implies the subject is closed.” But then he glances over, quietly optimistic.

“Unless you’d like me to turn around? If you catch the next flight out, you could be back in your apartment by midnight. ”

Snarling, I ball my fist and consider striking out at the two-hundred-something-pound wall of muscle.

Hating a guy doesn’t exclude me from noticing the body he created inside a fight gym.

The proud lines of his jaw and the broad swelling of his chest. His literal job is to work out seven days a week, which means he wears his muscles the way I wear a skirt suit.

But before I can smack the jerk, my phone vibrates with an incoming text and the rage bubbling in my blood turns to something else entirely.

Because Alana’s name pops onto my screen.

Saved by the bell… ish.

I’m counting down the minutes till you arrive. The baby’s kicking up a storm, so I think she knows something’s happening. Tommy said he’ll make Chris wear a name tag if it helps… but I think he was joking. So probably don’t expect that to happen.

You have a 45 minute drive, and I’m not entirely sure I know which of you will fare better. So just… ya know. Think of me, and be nice. Chris is apt to pull over and put you on the highway if you annoy him too much. He can only handle so much noise before he’s done. So don’t push him too hard.

44 minutes. I’m honestly freaking the hell out and dying to see you. Please hurry .

I draw a long sigh, filling my chest and washing away the anger that brews in my veins. Then I exhale again and study my driver.

A faceless, nameless, personality-less service provider. That’s all he is.

“What?” He peeks my way. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Because she’s begging me to hurry.” I turn my phone and show him the screen, though I doubt he can read fast enough to capture more than a word or two.

“She’s freaking out and needs me there.” I quickly type, ‘ love you, see you soon ’ and hit send, then I lock the screen and accept my new reality.

Be quiet. Don’t fight. Forty-three more minutes.

“She wants me in Plainview. So it would be best for all involved if you stopped asking me to leave.”

Okay, so one more barb. That’s it. No more.

“Does she send you texts like that?”

Oy. The next six weeks are gonna be rough.