Lots of Naughty & A Little Nice - Leigh Lennon Page 0,12

than I had been at her age.

“Whit, really?”

Her laser focus is on me, her hands making it to her waist, and she swallows the pizza down hard. “You took my car away. Jessica’s driving.”

“Yes, but you’re not traipsing off after coming home an hour and a half late last night. Case settled. I won’t discuss this again.” I won’t fight many battles when it comes to Whit, but I expect her to follow my curfew rules.

“Thanks for nothing, sis.” She doesn’t move, and it’s now that she notices both men sitting on either side of me. She grabs another piece of pizza, then stomps out of the room and slams her bedroom door.

Rowan’s mouth gapes, and Knox’s laugh lofts through the kitchen, echoing in the still rather empty house. “She’s hell on wheels, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s certainly challenging and has been since she came into my life at the age of thirteen, but we have an understanding.” The understanding is she can follow my rules or go back to her father’s. I have no intention of sending her back to him, but she doesn’t know that. I think she’s just thankful enough to be out from under her dad’s thumb that she’ll follow any of my rules—eventually. I won't divulge this information to virtual strangers because it will lead to a conversation I’m not ready to have about my mother’s death and Whitney’s poor excuse for a father.

Out of nowhere, breaking the awkward silence, Rowan bellows in the quietness. “So, tell me, Avery. What do you do for a living?”

I’ve let them share a lot about themselves. Knox owns the prestigious art gallery downtown, hosting both local artists and world-renowned ones. I’m dying to check out more of his pieces. Rowan is a professor at the university and holds a PhD in a specific category of science.

“You’ll laugh. Honestly, no one believes me when I tell them what I do,” I explain.

Knox pours more wine into each of our elegant Solo cups. “Okay, now you have me intrigued.”

Rowan is as serious as he’s been and doesn’t show any emotion, but he’s the one who’s opened this can of worms.

“I design doll clothes.”

Knox slaps his mouth. “I’m not laughing. This isn’t a laugh.”

No one ever believes me. “You aren’t the first,” I begin, and both men’s bright eyes are hanging on every word I say. “When I attended design school, I was hell-bent on working in top fashion houses in Los Angeles. I was ready for a fast-paced life. But I’d been approached out of college by one of the largest doll manufacturers in the country. I could work closer to home. My mom and sister were all I had in this world. And the company offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse. And it wasn’t long before I grew to love it. Anyway, dolls aren’t critics like people are.”

The last part makes them both chuckle, and where Rowan’s radiates deep from within him, Knox’s laugh is more of a cackle.

“I guess it makes sense. I never gave much thought to how dolls got their clothes.” Knox is spot-on, but in the glimmer of his bluish-gray orbs, it’s clear this idea amuses him. “So you’re a toy maker, right? Like Santa?” There’s a giggle in his declaration, and I give him a bob of my head.

“You love it?” Rowan asks. With a nod from me, he continues, “There aren’t a lot of people, if you really think about it, who can make a living from what they love, yet the three people in this room do exactly that.”

“And Rowan Peterson, philosopher extraordinaire…” Because as quiet as he is, when he speaks, it’s profound. “What is it you do?” Knox mentioned he’s a professor, but that’s all I know.

“I’m a paleontologist. Basically, I’m allowed to play with my toys.” He doesn’t understand the undertones of his words, and I break into hysterics, all the while Knox snickers at him.

“Not those toys, idiots.” He playfully slugs Knox, and it’s nice to see him and this softness when he’s always so serious.

“Yeah, hon, we save those toys for late at night.” I squirm in my chair, unable to decide if I’m turned on by the idea of these two getting it on or uncomfortable because it’s a private thing. I choose to be a little of both as wetness dampens my panties, and I have to cross my legs as the visual of them causes my stomach to clench in the most delicious ways.

“Okay,