No Good Mitchell - Riley Hart Page 0,46

we can get our shit from California,” he added, then made his way upstairs without another word.

I didn’t take his advice. I kept working as Isaac showered and then left. I considered what I’d mentioned about the O’Ralleys, about finding a way to help, but I knew that wouldn’t work. Big Daddy aside, Brody would see it as a handout. Right now, we were helping each other. If I tried to hand over money, that would be a whole different ball game.

With a sigh, I unlocked the desk drawer and pulled Harris’s journal out. It was something I did often when I was alone, reading over his notes about Mitchell Creek, his confessions, his letter to me. While I’d told Isaac what the letter said, I hadn’t let him read it—any of it. Not even the stuff about the distillery. It all felt too…personal, like this secret I had with a man I didn’t know I cared about, one who I grew up thinking hadn’t cared about me, and now had conflicting emotions about.

I flipped through it, read the letter again, then tucked it away in the drawer. The house was too quiet, and I was starting to feel edgy. Hell, the only time I left the property was for grocery shopping or on business-related errands. It still felt weird to be in town. Everyone always had their eyes on me, and it was fucking crazy how many different stories about my past, my family, and my mom there could be. I was fed a different one every time.

Shoving to my feet, I went to the kitchen, looked through the cabinets and the fridge. Of course there was nothing to eat. Well, there were things to eat, but nothing I wanted.

Grumbling at myself, I tugged my phone out of my pocket and sent a text.

I’m hungry. Feed me.

Brody texted back right away: My cock?

Well, that too, but food. You busy? Isaac ditched me.

I can get away. What do you want?

Your cock, I replied. But also, pizza.

LOL. I’ll be there soon.

I found myself smiling as I put my phone back into my pocket. Something about him just…got to me, this country boy with the bashful smile and sharp, sinful tongue.

It was only after five, Isaac having left pretty early. Less than an hour later, I heard a knock. I felt a stupid, annoying jump in my pulse that I didn’t want to acknowledge or dissect at all.

When I pulled the door open, Brody was there with a pizza box and a smile. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately. Christ, was I that easy to read? I was still thinking about my reaction to his knock on the door.

“Nothing. I’m starving, is all.”

“Well, then I guess we better get some sausage in you.”

I cocked a brow. “You think so, huh? What if I wanted to feed my sausage to you?”

“I meant on the pizza. Someone always has dick on the brain.” He swept inside, obviously completely comfortable there, and went to the kitchen.

“I mean, why not? Cock is great.” I waggled my eyebrows.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“It’s my trademark,” I said playfully. “Whiskey, beer, water, or sweet tea—I got lemon for you. I know how you like that shit in your tea. I don’t get it.”

Brody paused as if I’d said something wrong.

“What?”

“You got lemon for my tea? You and Isaac don’t use it?”

Oh, well, when he said it like that, it did sound like it meant something. “I needed it for a recipe,” I lied.

“Hey, did you know your pants are on fire?” he teased in this almost childish way that made me laugh.

“Whatever.”

Brody came up to me, backing me against the counter. “Liar, liar, pants on fire. You like me, and you don’t want to admit you got lemon specifically for me.”

“You O’Ralleys are cocky motherfuckers.” But I did like him, the bastard.

“And you Mitchells aren’t?” he countered, then moved away, and damned if I wasn’t disappointed.

We chatted about random shit as we drank and ate—Brody with the damn lemon in his tea. I told him about the folder of information Isaac had put together for him. When we finished, he asked, “So what’s up with Isaac?”

“I don’t know. He’s being shady. I have no idea where he disappeared to today. Fucking sucks, though. We need to get his car. I’m going a little stir-crazy being cooped up in the house.”

Brody frowned. “You’re not trapped most of the time. You don’t go out?”

Damned if I didn’t feel a wave of, well, what almost felt