The Lucky in Love Collection - Lauren Blakely Page 0,90

time, since we both need to drive—and toasting.

He emails me the agreement, and I give my digital John Hancock, initiating a transfer for the first month’s rent. Nothing too fancy in the lease. Just a standard rental arrangement. The best part? Well, the second-best part, after the bed? It’s month by month, and that suits me fine.

I raise a glass to Shaw. “This helps so fucking much.”

All he had to say was “king-size bed above the garage,” and I was sold.

Shaw shakes his head. “Nope. It’s the least I can do.”

When we finish, we head out of the Barking Pug, and he follows me as I ride to my sister’s. I park the bike there, figuring I’ll pick it up tomorrow, then I toss a duffel into the back of Shaw’s truck, and we drive the mile to his home.

It’s . . . well, much prettier than I’d pictured.

A porch swing hangs in the front. The deck is lined with potted plants. Flowers bloom in the front yard. I lift a brow as I spot a mailbox decorated with drawings of envelopes and stationery in every shade of pastel.

Shaw’s taste is . . . unexpected.

We walk along a well-kept stone path to the front porch where a doormat shaped like a watermelon greets our feet.

“This is, um, cute.”

He nods. “Yeah, my sister has good taste.”

He presses the doorbell, and I tilt my head to the side, asking, “Sister?”

Gesturing to the lawn, he answers, “Yeah. It’s her place. I help her rent the room above the garage. But don’t worry. There’s plenty of privacy, and she’s cool. Well, as long as you don’t break the law.”

I tense, wondering what he means.

But the answer is crystal clear when the door opens, and standing there is the law-enforcing someone I had my lips all over yesterday.

11

Perri

I answer the door at eight at night in my orange-and-black witch-patterned pajama bottoms, a spaghetti strap tank, and a messy bun. I haven’t done laundry in a week, and the Halloween jammies are the only ones clean. But the washing machine is running right now, so there’s that Pyrrhic victory.

Also for the record, I’m sporting zero makeup and zero support for the girls.

Braless for the . . . not win?

Exactly what I don’t want to be wearing when I see Derek McHotPants again.

I furrow my brow, staring at the sight on my doorstep—a satisfied Shaw, a confused Derek, and a duffel bag. I’m thoroughly perplexed too. But hey, I’ve walked into meth houses a few towns over, run down thieves who’ve nicked five-hundred-dollar vintages of wine, and I’ve busted vagrants for harassing citizens.

My poker face is epic, from practice and from necessity. I can absolutely handle the guy I want to bang six ways to Sunday showing up on my front porch next to my brother, of all people.

I lean against the doorway, doing my best annoyed homeowner not wanting to deal with door-to-door salesmen. “Are you selling magazines? Because my subscription to Good Housekeeping just ran out. But I’d love to re-up if you can give me a great deal.”

There. That’s the perfect counterpoint to my pajama couture.

Derek’s lips quirk up. “Funny thing, I do in fact have magazine subscriptions, as well as Encyclopedia Britannica if you need them. But they come with a catch. You would need to order a couple dozen boxes of turtle clusters.”

A smile threatens to break through my tough girl facade. “I guess it’ll be a hard pass, then. I have never been a fan of turtle clusters.”

Derek whispers, conspirator-style, “Me neither. I never understood how anyone could peddle those things.”

Shaw spreads his arms wide, pleased as a dog lounging on laundry fresh and warm from the dryer. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. This is going to be perfect.”

What is he talking about? Because I’m still at a loss as to why either of them is here, unannounced. “What’s going to be perfect?”

He smirks. It’s the smirkiest smirk ever. Then he smacks his forehead. “My bad. Wherever are my manners? Perri, I did as you asked. I rented the room above the garage. To Derek.”

I freeze. No. Just hell-to-the-no. He did not say that.

This has to be Shaw’s idea of a joke.

This is my wisecracking, full-of-it brother. This is payback for . . . kicking his shin under the table? Though this hardly seems tit for tat.

“What did you just say?” I ask through my confusion.

Shaw is undeterred, gesturing grandly to the man next to him. “Derek, meet Perri. If