Page 12 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

EXCUSE ME, HAVE YOU SEEN MY brEATH? I SEEM TO HAVE LOST IT.

Simon

Despite my reservations over being used as a puppet for some plan against Bea’s ex that I’m not privy to, I do believe this date was an excellent idea for inspiration.

Bea’s brothers haven’t stopped peppering me with questions in the three minutes since they let me inside the apartment, and I’m making mental notes of every inquiry to analyze later.

Overprotective brothers are something I’ve not experienced regularly in my own life.

I’m an only child. Lana’s an only child. Our boys watch out for each other, but it isn’t the same as this overprotective-guard routine that Bea’s brothers seem to have perfected.

“Aren’t there three of you?” I ask after answering how much I can bench press—unknown, as I prefer running and push-ups to the gym routine, if you’re wondering.

“Yes,” Hudson says as Ryker replies, “What’s it to you?”

“Your other brother doesn’t live here too?”

Hudson coughs.

Ryker narrows his eyes. “Until we see how you treat Bea, you don’t get to know anything about where our other brother is.”

“Or isn’t,” Hudson chimes in.

Sincerely, it’s fascinating.

So much energy put into protecting family.

I hope my boys stay this close as they age.

“What does it matter where he is?” Ryker asks as movement behind him catches my eye.

The short hallway is lit only by the natural light streaming in through the open doors on either side of it, which isn’t enough to see clearly, especially without my glasses.

My low-light vision took a turn for the worse when I had my vision laser corrected, which is something that I didn’t know could be a side effect of the surgery and which I’m lamenting at the moment.

My pulse is acutely aware of who’s coming down the hall.

The click of stilettos on the wood floor, the shapely curves, hips swinging with every step, hair pulled up save for a few curls framing her face, and?—

Dear god, she’s stunning.

Beatrice Best in a form-fitting, sparkly red dress and sparklier red heels, with plump, bright red lips to match, her green eyes larger and softer—I have made a terrible miscalculation in thinking that I would be the main attraction for this date.

My lungs have ceased to exist, much less work.

My mouth has gone so dry that my teeth may have turned to dust.

And my heart—that useless little organ that beats for two people and two people only in this world, ever—shudders out a protest that the rock guarding it from the world seems to have cracked.

I don’t remember how to blink.

Or how to close my mouth.

Not when the cheeky burger bus lady with the twin dimples has unveiled her goddess side.

She makes eye contact with me, and her eyes flare wider, her pupils darkening before she blinks.

The slight smile curving her luscious lips dips away, taking her dimples with it, and she looks behind her.

“ Now he quits smiling?” she mutters.

“It’s because you’re pretty and he doesn’t know how to cope with that,” Daphne replies, much louder.

And that does it.

That almost snaps me out of my trance, as I’m certain Daphne had something to do with this master plan to use me.

But only almost.

Perhaps this was a terrible idea.

Perhaps this was the worst of terrible ideas.

I’d planned to stay on my guard and be ready for whatever twists and turns she throws at me tonight, but instead?—

Instead, I’m rather enamored, and not nearly as unhappy about it as I should be.

Both of Bea’s brothers cross their arms and shift so that they’re a wall between me and their sister.

“Best. Behavior,” Ryker growls.

“If you don’t think she’s pretty when she’s sweating in her burger bus, you don’t get to think she’s pretty when she slaps on a dress and some lipstick and mascara,” Hudson says.

“Better. Than. Best. Behavior,” Ryker says.

“Oh, stop, both of you.” Bea pushes between them. “This is just an apology date. Can we please get on with it?”

Daphne claps her hands, clearly thrilled with how this evening is going thus far. “Tonight is going to go down in the history books.”

It certainly is.

Have I ever had a date that made my pulse uneven and sweat gather at my neckline? One which rendered my lungs still unable to function properly?

I don’t believe I have.

Isn’t that the cherry on top of the injustice pie?

“You better not be thinking that you bought that dress so you get to take it off her because we will get our other brother and no one will ever find your body,” Hudson says.

I shake my head. “Providing a dress is the least that I could do for a woman who deserves the night of her life.” The words leave my mouth, and my cheeks get nearly as hot as my neck.

Were I unaware of her secondary reasons for wanting me to take her on this date, I do believe I’d mean every word I just said.

Even knowing her intentions, I might mean every word I just said.

Even knowing that the last thing I need is to develop a schoolboy crush on anyone merely because, as her brother said, she donned a dress and swiped on makeup.

Possibly it’s been a mistake to forego companionship while I’ve been adjusting to my newfound fame. I’m rather out of practice at accompanying a beautiful woman for an evening, it seems.

And that puts me at one more disadvantage.

I clear my throat, blink twice, and then find my smile again. “You look lovely. Shall we?”

I offer Bea my hand.

She glances at Daphne, who’s slipping her phone back into the pocket of her cotton shorts.

Daphne’s smile doesn’t contain dimples, but it does hold as much mischief as the smiles of the fairies tattooed on her arms.

Pictures.

She likely took pictures.

I should not have insisted my security detail wait for me downstairs.

Tank will likely gloat.

As he should.

“I’m coming with you,” Ryker announces.

“ No , you’re not.” Bea stands straighter. In her stilettos, the top of her head almost reaches his nose. “I’m going to go have a…nice…meal…while drawing attention for the benefit of…my burger bus.”

This is when my instincts should kick in and remind me that she’s a terrible human being who deserves to have a horrible time tonight, but my god, she’s lovely.

Have I ever had a woman this lovely on my arm?

Are my lungs working again yet?

Ryker scowls at her. “I’ll be across the street.”

Hudson grins. “I’ll babysit him.”

“Tank and Pinky will also be there,” I remind them.

The two brothers share a look. Hudson grabs a pair of trainers from near the door. Ryker shoves him and grabs a pair of work boots.

Daphne smirks at me. “I’m staying home and managing the online bets about if you two have another date after this. Might watch TV too. Catch up on my favorites.”

“ Stay here ,” Bea orders her brothers.

They ignore her.

She makes a face I’ve seen Lana make at our boys when they ignore her as well.

Her frustration shouldn’t make me smile, but I relate to how she’s feeling, which should annoy me since I don’t want to relate to her feelings.

But I can’t deny that it’s also attractive that she understands raising teenagers. She did , in fact, raise teenagers, so of course she would understand.

“If we can’t stop them, we may still be able to arrive before them,” I tell her.

She eyes my hand, still out, then lifts her gaze back to mine.

Wariness.

She’s nervous.

As she should be.

I daresay this evening won’t be quite the evening she’s hoping it will be, which I won’t be letting on until it’s time for my plans to fully fall into place.

“Or we could stay here and critique Daphne’s telly choices,” I offer.

Say yes , a soft voice whispers in my brain.

Give yourself an out so that I can enjoy how lovely you look without the pain of knowing what you’re about tonight.

The boys tromp out of the apartment.

Bea looks to the ceiling with an exasperated half smile tilting her lips once more. “Going out in public with a serial killer is preferable to watching Daphne’s favorite shows.”

Daphne winks at me and mouths you’re welcome .

“I only played a serial killer hired to suss out a man’s son’s true intentions,” I say. “Despite the number of deaths at Peter Jones’s fictional feet, I have not, in fact, ever murdered anyone, though I do pride myself on reading between the lines.”

“That’ll serve you well tonight, mate,” Daphne says.

Bea shoots her a look.

But I can’t quite contain another smile.

Because of inspiration.

Yes.

Inspiration and inspiration alone.

“One question before you go,” Daphne says. “Who stocked Bea’s handbag?”

“I did.”

Both women goggle at me.

“How did you pick what went in it?” Daphne presses.

“That’s more than your one question. But if you answer one for me, I’ll tell you my secret.”

More suspicion rolls off Bea. “What do you want to know?”

“Were you truly on the line with your bus last weekend? At the Secret Alley entrance?”

They share a look, then a smile.

“I was three inches over,” Bea whispers.

“Bloody brilliant. I thought so.”

“How’d you decide what to put in Bea’s bag?” Daphne repeats.

“The internet. Ta-da! My greatest magic trick. Now. For the last time before I’m convinced that you’re playing games with me, shall we be on our way? Wouldn’t want to miss our reservations.”

Bea gives her shoulders a slight shake, straightens, and looks me dead in the eye. “Absolutely. Let’s do it.”

She finally takes my hand, and an electric current jolts my skin from my fingers to my palm, across my wrist and up my forearm.

Rather glad I’m in a long-sleeve shirt so that she can’t see the gooseflesh rising on my arm.

But I get the pleasure of seeing it erupt on her arm.

Or rather the torture.

Why must the woman I’m most attracted to in years have secret intentions that will likely be disastrous for both of us?

And why must I insist on subjecting myself to the torture?

Ah, yes.

Art.

Art will always be torture, and also worth the torture, even if the attraction will not.

So we’d best get on with it.