Page 42 of Don't Bet On It
Tallulah hadn’t been raised in opulence. She didn’t look at the vegetables on a tray and call themcrudités. My father referred to macaroni and cheese asmacaroni au gratin. He called the cardboard ring on his takeout coffee azarf. He’d never met a situation he didn’t want to somehow elevate.
Tallulah had none of that in her. She didn’t put on airs. She was perfectly happy with a burger for lunch. Her shoes weren’t designer. Her smile was contagious, however, and she was perfectly happy being herself. I liked that, even if her tongue was razor-sharp at times.
Tallulah grinned at me before catching herself. She’d been doing that more and more often, which is how I knew she enjoyed the game as much as I did.
“I’m pretty sure they’re cottage-cheese-and-peaches ladies,” Tallulah replied. “I’m thinking prunes are part of their daily diet too.”
“You seem to be having a good time with them.”
She shrugged. “They have a lot of money, but they don’t act like it. They’re tipping really well too. They say I’m their lucky charm.”
“Ah, you do have a lot in common with a leprechaun.”
Her smile disappeared. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass.”
Kind of? I was going for the gold medal in the Pain in the Ass Olympics. Apparently, I needed to step up my game. “Like your hemorrhoids?”
“Like that stick you’ve constantly got lodged up your behind.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when I felt a presence move in at my left. For a moment—one terrifying second that seemed to stretch for a year—I was convinced Kyla had come to check on us.
When a giggle escaped—an adorable one—I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Hello, Olivia.” I greeted her with my smooth-and-creamy voice, the one I kept under wraps unless I was dealing with flirty women. I knew that it would irritate Tallulah, so I had no trouble using it on the boss’s wife.
“Ronan,” Olivia said on another giggle. Her stomach had finally popped to the point where she was obviously pregnant. With some women, it was hard to tell even late into the pregnancy. Olivia, however, had such a small frame that mistaking the reason for her growing tummy was impossible.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Oh, you know.” She ran her hands over her belly. “My back hurts a little bit. I’m retaining water in my feet.” She paused a beat. “The hemorrhoids are a bitch.”
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t laugh. Obviously she’d overheard Tallulah and me. “Well, hopefully that’s a temporary thing” was all I could come up with.
“Hopefully,” she agreed. Her gaze moved to Tallulah. “How come you didn’t tell me about your hemorrhoids? We could’ve bonded.”
Tallulah scowled at her. “Don’t give this idiot a reason for his head to swell more.”
Olivia cast me a sidelong look. “Is your head swollen?”
“Not as much as Tallulah’s hemorrhoids.”
Olivia giggled, a nice sound. Tallulah growled, and that sound was somehow nicer. It did something to my insides, something I couldn’t quite identify. What was that feeling? Theonly word I could use to describe it was a fluttering. It felt as if there were cicadas hatching in my stomach.
“You guys are so funny,” Olivia said. “You should have your own sitcom.”
“Yes, it will be just likeFull House.You know, without a single laugh,” Tallulah said dryly.
“Is that what you watch when you’re putting on the Preparation H at night?” I asked because I couldn’t stop myself. “You know, when you’re all by your lonesome.”
Tallulah flicked my ear before heading over to the bar. I wouldn’t call it a flirty touch, and yet, there was that feeling again. What the hell was wrong with me?
“You guys are adorable,” Olivia noted once her best friend was gone. “When are you going to start acting on all of this sexual tension?”
I laughed because I was convinced she was messing with me. Then I frowned when I realized she was serious. “Oh, there’s no sexual tension.” Even saying it felt like a lie. I was committed to that lie, however. As amusing as I found Tallulah—and she was downright hysterical sometimes—there was no path forward for us. I wasn’t in the market for … that.
“Are you seriously looking me in the eye and saying you two aren’t spending your days flirting?” she challenged.
“We’re working,” I replied. “There’s no flirting involved. We’re just bored.”
