Page 67 of Lemon Crush

I’d have crashed and burned without Morgan. She’d beenthere through Bernie’s rebellious years, her unexpected pregnancy and Yvonne’s decision to sign over the house to her before signing divorce papers and moving out. She’d been there for me through my misstep of a marriage.

She was my closest friend and part of our family. And I was keeping secrets from her, psychoanalyzing her relationship with her little sister…and seducing August.

Is that what you’ve been doing with her sister? Feels more like masochism with a side of blue balls.

Don’t think I hadn’t been kicking myself about it all week. A week, instead of a few days, because I was still waiting for my gut to tell me August was ready for the next step. Meanwhile, my dick had been ready five days ago, and neither it, nor August, were happy with the delay.

If this was a game of chicken, I was about to lose. I could make it through dinner, but once that was over, I was going to give her what she’d been begging me for last night. I was through waiting when I wasn’t even sure exactly what I was waiting for. A code word? A proposal? A legally binding contract promising she’d never leave the state, no matter how unhappy it made her?

Seriously, what the hell was my problem?

“Did those sweet potatoes do something to piss you off?”

Morgan stepped through the sliding glass door and my shoulders tensed instinctively. “No more than usual. How goes the recovery?”

She ambled closer, looking casually comfortable in her at-home lounge pants and an oversized shirt. It was only the look in her eyes that meant business.

“Better now. How’s the apartment?”

“It keeps out the rain,” I said without a moment’s hesitation.

Thank you, August, for taking that secret out of play.

“Kingston mentioned he offered you a room at his place.”

Kingston needed to shut the hell up. “If you had the option ofhaving your own space or sharing the bachelor pad of Hound Dog Haywood, tell me you wouldn’t make the same decision.”

Her lips quirked. “I can’t argue with that. He really is still a hound dog.” She sat down on her cranberry-red patio sectional and sighed. “Thank you, by the way, for getting August’s car working again. How’s she been doing?”

Was there a right way to answer that question?

“The car or my landlady?” I started warily. “Myrtle’s doing fine. August’s been busy.”

“I heard. Rick and Lucy told Gene about the VW and the race as soon as we touched down. August left a message on my phone an hour after that.”

Of course, they did. And August had managed to sneak in her confession under the wire, the way she’d planned. Clever little minx.

Where the hell was she anyway?

“She texted a few hours ago that she was coming to dinner.” Morgan glanced at the time on her phone. “Do you know if she’s going to be late?”

“I’m staying in the apartment by the pool, not keeping tabs on her every move.”

When I’d knocked on her door on my way here to offer her a ride, she was still in her pajamas, with a Post-it note stuck to her shirt and a glazed look in her eyes. She’d told me to go without her, that she would be over after she finished the chapter she’d been working on all morning.

Knowing how she got when she was writing, I’d kissed her, given her a little slap on the ass and pushed her toward the shower, telling her the book would have to wait unless she wanted to miss family night and Gene’s decision about Jiminy.

She hadn’t argued, but she wasn’t here yet either.

“Gene wants to take the car,” Morgan said, as if reading my mind, “even after what happened to her Honda at the airport.”

“Like I said, Myrtle is fine. Hondas last forever.”

She huffed impatiently. “You don’t think it’s strange that August suddenly decided to sell Mom’s car so she could join the team?”

I set down my grill tongs. “The bug is in her name and in good condition. It can race.”

She got to her feet. “It’s in good condition because of all the work you did on it. But August shouldn’t?—”

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