Page 50 of Good Girls Don't Kiss and Tell (Rock Canyon, Idaho 7)

Still nothing.

He reached for the metal knob and gave it a twist, surprised to find it unlocked. He opened it and stepped inside, heading down the hallway that soon spilled into the kitchen area.

Gracie was shaking her butt and dancing around the room, singing an off-key version of a Miranda Lambert song. He grinned as he watched her slide two cakes into the oven, closing it with a bump of her hip.

Her iPod must have switched over to Limp Bizkit’s “Faith,” because she started singing it at the top of her lungs.

Eric’s smile dimmed a bit and his mouth dried up as she rolled her hips slowly in a circle, slapping her hands on her thighs.

When she caught sight of him, she jumped straight up in the air. She had one hand on her chest, while the other pulled her earbuds out.

“Are you out of your freaking mind?”

“Sorry I scared you. I saw your car out front and was surprised you were here. Wanted to check on you.”

“How did you get in?” she asked.

He pointed behind him. “You forgot to lock the back door. Dangerous thing to do, apparently. People could come inside, although I don’t know why they would with all your caterwauling. I thought there might be a dying cat in here and came to investigate.”

“I do not sound like a dying cat! And I do not appreciate you standing around watching me like a creeper.”

Eric laughed. “I knocked a bunch of times, but you didn’t answer. Wasn’t trying to creep around. I really was concerned.”

“I’m fine.”

“Where are your folks?” he asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She turned on the mixer and stuck it into a bowl. She was probably hoping he’d take the hint.

Didn’t she know him at all?

He reached out and grabbed the mixer from her, switching it off.

“Watch it! That mixer is expensive.”

“You don’t say? I guess you better start talking, or the mixer gets it.”

She snorted and tried to take the mixer back from him, but he held it above his head, unconcerned with the droplets of batter dr

ipping over his shoulders.

“Okay, Tony Soprano, stop holding my mixer hostage. I’ve got one more cake to finish, and then I’m going to grab dinner and head back to spend the evening with my parents. That’s all. Nothing else going on.”

Eric wasn’t buying it though. “Tanya could have made the cakes for you. So, why did you need to get away from your parents after only a few hours?”

“You’re annoying.”

“And persistent.”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s stupid,” she said.

He set the mixer on the counter, then grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to him. “It matters a lot to me.”

She tried to extract her hand and scoffed sarcastically. “Why? Because we’re supposed to care?”

Eric growled in frustration. “You are such a pain in the ass! With or without our arrangement, I’d still care. We might not always see eye to eye, but I thought we might just be turning into friends.”

He watched her expression crumble, and she groaned as she scrubbed her free hand over her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought this could work. My mother is completely impossible.”