Page 26 of Merry Mayhem
She sits back and crosses her arms, studying me. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m going to use the entire time to get to know you well enough that I will know every phobia, allergy, and weak spot you have so that if you do anything to hurt my sister, I will be able to make you regret it very,verymuch.”
I grin. “I look forward to it.”
CHAPTER 7
THEA
I never liked Sam.
My family would never believe that. He was a nice guy. Solid. Decent. Seemed to make Violet happy. And he and I always got along when he was around.
But I knew she could do better.
As evidenced by the guy who is sitting at the table making my grandfathers laugh, my parents beam, and my daughter chatter excitedly about Merry Mayhem.
Sure, Ruth is always excited about our town’s crazy annual Christmas competition, but her animation for the event has tripled now.
Because Josh is not Sam.
He’s better.
So much better.
I rinse another plate and load it into the dishwasher. Starting the dishes was the perfect excuse to get out of the dining room and away from Josh.
Sitting across from him for dinner had been…stupidly distracting.
I don’t get distracted by men. That’s ridiculous. I’m thirty-one. I own a business. I have a pre-teen daughter—God, Ruthwill be thirteen in two months, how did that happen? I’m a grown woman who interacts with all kinds of men in all kinds of settings all the damned time. I never getdistractedby any of them. Amused? Sure, sometimes. Pissed off? Definitely. Annoyed? All the time. Charmed? Okay, on occasion. But distracted? What. Is. That?
How can sitting across my grandfather’s dinner table from a younger guy—he can’t be more than twenty-five—who isdating my sistermake it so I don’t remember what we even had for the meal I just finished?
Fuck. Josh, the guy I’ve been thinking about on and off forsix months, isdating my sister.
It’s a very weird coincidence. He didn’t even know Violet and Harley were connected.
But dammit. Why did he and Violet have to meet and hit it off?
I have to getoverthis crush that I’m definitely too old to have.
But as I brace my hands on the edge of the sink and squeeze my eyes shut, I can picture the shape of his mouth, the color of his eyes, the way his hair falls over his forehead, the way his hand and fingers look wrapped around a glass.
I run the back of my hand over my forehead. Do I have a fever or something?
Am I just horny?
Maybe I should get my hormone levels checked. It’s early for perimenopause, but anything is possible, I suppose. That makes more sense than me being smitten by some guy.
I hear a deep, warm laugh from the dining room and squeeze the scrub brush a little tighter as I scrape rice and sausage into the garbage disposal.
I really like his laugh. Andthatis ridiculous, too. But it’s deep and rich and real.
Josh is still in the dining room with my family, and I can hear everyone talking and laughing. He’s enjoying his time with my family. He seems completely at ease, and they’re all happy to have him here.
I run water into the cooking pot and add soap. I need to scrub something. Hard.
Because I like him. And I barely know him.
He was there during one of the scariest days of my life. I would feel this way about any guy who had been there when my grandfather had been having a stroke. This is just a strange hero-worshipping thing I have going on. It’s not real. I just remember him as competent and gallant because of the situation.
