Muffin Top (Page 8)

“Bullshit.” Fallon sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “It’s that you take some folks off the list before you even give them a chance.”

“You want me to bang Lucy Kavanagh?” Where in the hell was this conversation going?

“No,” Fallon exclaimed. “I like her.”

He tossed his cards onto the table in frustration. “And you can’t like people I fuck?”

“If that was the case,” Fallon said, her voice rising, “then I’d have to not like almost the entire female population of Waterbury.”

And if Frankie needed any confirmation that he needed to take a time-out from women—all women—then this was it. Even his sister thought he was a man-whore and nothing more. He looked at his brothers, who had transformed their faces into carefully neutral masks, which told him everything he needed to know.

“How about everyone steps back and takes a deep breath,” said Finn, ever the peacemaker. “You two are getting pretty fucking worked up when you’re both right.”

Frankie and Fallon stopped shooting death glares at each other to turn their combined ire onto Finn. “What?” they asked at the same time.

“Sexual attraction is what it is. We don’t control it,” Finn said, talking slowly because he was obviously trying to pick his words carefully. “But we, as humans, do tend to separate the world into them and us, which can alter our perspective about who we should even consider as possible sexual partners. The research on physical attraction is actually pretty fascinating.” He looked from Frankie to Fallon to Ford, and they must have each had the same shocked expression, because Finn flipped them off. “What? I can read.”

There was a beat of silence, and then they each started laughing, the tension seeping out of Frankie’s shoulders as he relaxed back against his chair. His gaze caught Fallon’s. They were too much alike in a lot of ways, quick tempers, impulsive, embracers of chaos, and—yeah—adrenaline junkies. But they were both the kind of people who stuck up for the kid getting picked on. For him, it was probably because he was the oldest of the Hartigan siblings and that had been his role as long as he could remember.

For Fallon? Well, the world wasn’t always easy for a woman who didn’t conform to what was expected. She’d gotten so much shit growing up about her brash personality and tomboy ways that defensiveness was pretty much her starting point in any discussion. And that attitude showed up when she was going mama bear for her friends. He could understand that.

“Look, I know Lucy’s your friend,” he said. “I like her but not that way. I’m going because it will give me a break from my usual routine in Waterbury, and I could use that to get my head clear. And she deserves to rub her awesome life into the faces of those assholes from high school. It’s a win-win for both of us.”

She pursed her lips but didn’t call him an asshole again, so that was progress. “You’re sure everything else is all right?”

“Yes.” He grinned at her. “And my dick still works.”

“No, I mean this is a big change from your standard operating procedure,” she said, not even cracking a smile at his joke. “You’re a pain in the butt but you’re our pain in the butt, so we’re here for you if you need us.”

Like he’d ever doubted it. They might fight. They might call each other out. They might be loud and obnoxious and way too involved in one another’s lives, but they were family and that’s how they rolled—all in it together.

“I’m thirty-three,” he said, gathering up everyone’s discarded cards on the table and shuffling them. “I’m just ready for a change.”

Finn chuckled and took a sip from his beer. “Frankie’s going to Missouri to find himself.”

They all laughed, the equanimity of the Hartigan poker table back to normal. And that was about as much touchy-feely chatting as he could take, so he told Ford it was his turn to get fresh beers from the fridge and deal out the cards, figuring he could use the winnings he was about to make to pay for tolls on the drive to Missouri.

And that was what put the smile on his face, not the idea of spending a day and a half on the road with Lucy Kavanagh. Not at all.

Chapter Four

Lucy pulled into the driveway of the bungalow Frankie shared with his brother at six a.m. It was too early to be up. Thank God for Mountain Dew, lots and lots of Mountain Dew. She put her Prius into park, took a drink from her second soda of the day, and then got out of the car so she could move her suitcase over in the trunk to fit Frankie’s bags. She didn’t even get her driver’s side door shut before Frankie’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“There is no way in hell that I’m going to fit in that toy-sized car.”

She whipped around. Frankie stood on his front porch in jeans he filled out way too well, a Waterbury Fire Department T-shirt that only seemed to make his already broad shoulders seem more so, and an Ice Knights hockey baseball cap that drew her attention to the look of utter disbelief on his face.

“It’s bigger on the inside.” Okay, not a whole lot, but she wasn’t going to admit that.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked with a shake of his head as he strutted down from the porch and toward the driveway. “That is not a Tardis.”

Not the comparison she’d expected from him, and she couldn’t help giving him mental points for the Doctor Who reference.

“I fit comfortably and I’m sure you will, too.” Honesty time. She’d never driven her compact car any farther than her daily commute, but she’d already mapped out the charging stations along their route to Antioch.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but I’m not pint-sized.” He stopped next to her, his shadow practically throwing her entire car into the shade.

She put a hand on one of her hips. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but I’m not, either.”

His gaze pivoted from her car to her face. The disbelief in his eyes at the size of her car turned curious as he looked at her and moved on to what looked like—but probably wasn’t—heated appreciation as his focus moved down her body to the spot where her hand was on her hip. Of course it wasn’t that kind of look, though. Even if it was, it was just because Frankie couldn’t help himself. The man flirted the way other people breathed.

Normally, that kind of guy—the player—always left her feeling icky. Really, who wants to be with someone who had more notches on his bedpost than Santa had names on his naughty list? There was just something gross about it.

Still, she couldn’t help but shift under the attention from Frankie and pray like hell that she didn’t match her red V-neck T-shirt right now.

Hypocrite much, Lucy?

“I’ll cover all of the cost of gas if we go in my car,” he said, his gaze back up to her face.

Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. “I invited you. I’ll pay.”

“So glad you agreed to take my car.” How he managed to make the gotcha grin on his face look sexy, she had no clue. “You can park your golf cart in the garage while we’re gone so the neighborhood preschoolers don’t boost it.”

Wait. What? Had she? Damn it. He was already hitting the code on his garage door, revealing a bright scarlet Chevrolet Impala that was waxed to a high shine until it gleamed even in the garage. Oh hell. It just had to be red. She was such a sucker for anything but eyeshadow in that color.