Page 17 of The Other Guy

“Kind of?”

“Well, he helps run the place so yeah.”

“Wow. You sure know how to brag him up.”

Rolling my eyes, I lean my head out of the door. “Neil. You here for the day?”

“Yup.”

“Good deal. I’m going to deal with a pest control problem I have.”

“Hey!” Sierra shouts but laughs.

“Sounds good. Have fun!”

“Thanks,” I mumble and roll my eyes. “Come on, you pain in the ass. Let’s go find something that will burn off your energy so you can sleep good tonight.”

“Yay!”

I deserve a medal for this. Somehow I feel like this is Toolbag’s fault. If he hadn’t been using my number, she never would have been so interested in my life and I wouldn’t have to spend my day babysitting.

Though if I was being entirely honest, I’m not that upset about the change of plans. She’s entertaining, if nothing else. And lately, I haven’t had a lot of entertainment in my life.

“Let’s go eat some ice cream.”

I stop walking. “Ice cream? Now?”

She shrugs but keeps walking. “Why not?”

“It’s nine a.m., for one thing. And for another…”

Sierra emits a little growl. “If you say something about working out and ice cream, I’ll cut you.”

“From the sounds of it you need ice cream. Testy much?”

She shrugs and skips away then stops when we get outside and spins around to look at me. “Who’s driving? Me? I’ll drive.”

“No.” No way am I risking my life to have her drive us around.

“Really? I don’t mind.”

I have to press my lips together to stop from laughing at her response.

“I’m sure. Thanks, though.” I press the button and unlock the doors. Before I can get around to do it for her, she’s already opening the passenger door and climbing inside. “Where to?”

“Ice cream. Duh.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we eat ice cream when it’s barely thirty degrees outside and, again, nine in the morning?”

“Exactly.”

“That was sarcasm.”

“I know that. I just chose to ignore it. I’m special like that.”

I drive in the direction of one of my favorite ice cream shops and look over at Sierra. She looks comfortable. Dark hair flowing over her shoulders from underneath the black beanie she put back on her head. She had shed her hoodie as we were “boxing” — a term I use very lightly — but put it back on now. The monochromatic look does nothing to diminish her cuteness. Or the memory of what she looked like without the bulky sweatshirt covering her torso.

The thin black shirt fit her perfectly. Not too loose but tight enough that nothing was hidden. Her insanely sexy curves on display for my eyes to feast on. I had a hard time concentrating when she tore her shirt off over her head, hair flying all around her. Breasts full, hips that flare out slightly with a trim waist. Her stomach isn’t completely flat and it made me have to bite back a moan for some reason. Probably because everyone who I’ve been seeing in the pictures from Toolbag are perfect by media’s standards. Just not my own. She’s a woman — a sexy woman who I told was annoying and like a little sister. One who’s taken.

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