Page 40 of Mr. July

She handed me a neat stack of papers. I barely glanced at them, already knowing what they said. It was a summary of the case she filed in small claims. I knew it by heart. Line by line. That’s what a good lawyer does. Memorizes his opponent’s advance so they can counterattack. “I’ll take a look over the weekend.”

She smiled her thanks. Guilt made my cheeks flush with red. “Any weekend plans?”

“Just my bridge game tonight.”

I smiled. “What did you make?”

“It’s a Polynesian theme. I have ribs in the slow cooker. An upside-down pineapple cake and I’m going to pair it with Spanish rum coladas.”

“What time?”

It was a running joke between us that I always invited myself but never showed.

I left the office right at five. Took a fast shower, shaved, put on my favorite pair of dark jeans, pairing it with a skintight white Henley. My expensive watch at my wrist, I looked like a model. But not one of those woke, pussy ones afraid to be a man. I was jacked, dressed, and looked every inch a boardroom billionaire. I picked up my keys, wallet, and cell then made the short drive to Hunter’s penthouse. If I was a trust fund baby—he was times three. I pulled over to the curb, texting him to come down. I didn’t feel like going up.

He opened the passenger door ten minutes later. I lifted a brow. “Primp much?” He wore dark jeans like me, but instead of a thin T-Shirt, he wore a baby pink Vineyard Vines shirt with the sleeves rolled and his neck open.

“The ladies love pink. Especially on a muscular bad ass like myself.” Instead of turning left at the intersection toward the strip of bars and restaurants, I pressed the gas then changed lanes, entering the merge for the expressway.

“Dude? You kidnapping me? The bars and ladies are back that way.”

“We’re making a pit stop first.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“My P.A.’s house.”

“The hot one who sexted you?” He grinned.

“She’s a firecracker all right. You’ll like her.”

“Ah, how sweet of you to try to set me up like this. But I already found the woman of my dreams, but she has a real pain in the ass brother. It’s a deal breaker for me.”

“Good.” I took the next exit, shortly after pulling down the drive of a fifty-five plus community built around a man-made lake and golf course. I told the security guard my name.

“You’re not on the list.”

“I’m Bunny’s new bridge partner. She’ll kill me if I’m late. You know how she is…” I flashed a smile.

“That shit doesn’t work on me. I’m a senior. I know a stunt when I see one.”

Grinning, I called Bun-Bun by pressing a button on my steering wheel, turning up the volume so the guard could hear her through my car speakers.

“Bun-bun. I’m here. But the security guard won’t let me in. I’m hurt. You did invite me…?”

“Don’t mess with an old lady, Carmichael. You always go out Tomcatting with that friend of yours on Friday nights. I read all about Mr. July sightings in the local gossip rags the next day.”

Hunter cleared his throat. “Tomcatting? Well, I beg your pardon.” He laid on his southern accent extra thick.

Bunny gasped. “Let them in!”

The car’s engine purred as we rolled through the gates, rounded the curve, and pulled up to a neat two-story home. Five cars were already parked out front. I reached for the bottle of wine, leis, and grass skirts I had put in the back seat.

“It’s Polynesian night. It wouldn’t be polite to crash empty handed,” I informed Hunter as he looked at my offerings.

Bunny met us at the door, the color in her cheeks not from makeup. “Good Lord, the two of you are going to trip Betty’s pacemaker.”

I grinned. “Hunter here knows CPR.” She ushered us in, Hunter took the lead, laying on his charm, complimenting her home. He even tucked her hand into his arm, escorting her to her own party.

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