One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,15

into my arms.

Though to be fair, she was nearly run over.

Yes, I am an idealist, but I’m also a realist. That’s the part of me that knows better than to entertain any dangerous thoughts about Lola.

When we arrive at the button shop a few minutes later, a memory clambers up inside me—the image of my brother dressed as Anakin Skywalker. But it wasn’t a button Rowan needed for his costume. He was hunting for an Anakin Skywalker comic book. I shake my head adamantly when I scan the shelves from the window. “This is wrong. This isn’t where they met. They met at a comic book shop. I’m sure of it.”

She rolls her eyes as she reaches for the handle, jerking her head toward the inside of the store. “No, they didn’t. They met here. Luna told me all about it. How their eyes locked over a jar of plaid buttons. How he asked what it was for and listened intently as she detailed her beliefs in good-luck outfits. Something he wholeheartedly agreed with.”

I shake my head, digging in my heels. “Nope, it was a comic book store. The one three blocks away. He was doing research for his costume. The Skywalker costume.”

“He researches his costumes?”

That’s my brother and his passions. “He’s extremely committed to costume accuracy and always has been. Halloween isn’t just a holiday for him. It’s a reason to wake up each morning, because every day is one day closer to the next Halloween.”

“And I thought I was a Halloween fangirl because I like those Costco mini peanut butter cups you only see in October,” she says offhand.

I scoff. “Great. Tempt me with peanut butter cups.”

She lifts a brow. “I didn’t realize that was your temptation.”

“You said it yourself, woman. They’re the best peanut butter cups under the sun, and now I’m starving. So, thanks for that.”

She pouts sympathetically. “Aww, poor Lucas. Want me to get you some for your craving?”

“Yes. It can be my reward for being right. Because I’m positive they met at the comic shop.”

Her eyes are fiery as she stares at me—a hard, you’re-so-wrong stare. “And I’m positive they met here. So, I say winner gets treated to dinner and peanut butter cups, because this girl is ready for food.” With that, she jerks open the door and advances into the store like she’s leading an army.

“I ate already,” I call out. It’s a lie though. I’m famished.

But she doesn’t care about my appetite, because she’s a woman on a mission.

So am I—on a mission, that is.

A quest to avoid the temptation of her again.

Trouble is, she looks insanely hot as she strides over to the counter, acoustic guitar acquisition in her crosshairs.

Damn. There is just something about her confidence that turns me on when it shouldn’t.

It shouldn’t at all.

Except it always fucking did. Her boldness was my Achilles’ heel when I first met her, and it’s doing a number on me now too.

6

Lola

The pink-haired woman with the pierced lip raises one finger. “I’ll be right with you, sweetie. Let me just finish with Sabrina.” She scurries to the corner of the shop, joining a customer who’s surveying brass buttons.

“Thanks,” I say, a little strained because I want to get this show on the road.

But I have to wait till she’s free.

Maybe this will be a chance to scope out the competition for the award. Dig into his approach for his presentation. Except how the hell do I butter him up to tell me a damn thing?

By chatting more.

A simple conversation.

Yes, that’d be the best way.

As the two women talk, I wander past the pink pastel shelves, checking out jars of buttons. “So, here we are,” I say, with an impatient sigh. “Exactly where I thought I’d be spending my Friday night.”

“Where did you think you’d spend it? Did you have a hot date you had to cancel?” Lucas ends the question with a saucy little sound, like he’s toying with me.

Time for me to toy with him.

I tap my chin, staring at the ceiling. “Not tonight. Pretty sure the hot date was slated for tomorrow. I wonder what I should wear . . .”

He scoffs. “Is he taking you to the mall? Or a fast-food restaurant?”

I shoot him a withering look. “No. A club. Dancing. I think I’ll wear something sexy. Maybe that shows a little midriff,” I say, teasing him too, because I know his weakness. His eyes always went a bit glossy when I wore short shirts. I don’t even