Nope. Only one guy had managed that. Not that she would admit that to Abby.
“Uh-huh.” Abby sat back and mimicked Lexi’s body language, only her friend actually pulled off laid-back and unaffected. “And if I were to warn you that Marc is a commitmentphobe playboy with the attention span and life goals of a horny teen.”
“Why would you say that?” Lexi sat forward, unaffected going right out the tent. “Marc may have been wild in high school, but people change, Abs. I mean, only a person with some serious focus and talent could single-handedly restore the Napa Grand like he did, not to mention that he is the one responsible for bringing the Showdown back to its original glory after two decades.”
That was exactly why, blood oath or not, Lexi would never say anything to Abby. Marc had a hard enough time proving to his siblings that he had his life together. Nope, she wasn’t going to let them use their arrangement against Marc.
“I think it sucks that your family is constantly—”
Abby’s lips turned up a little at the right corner, and Lexi snapped her mouth shut. This was a bad sign. Her friend made that face when she was scheming. And whenever Abby schemed, Lexi somehow ended up with an egg-white facial.
“Go on, I’m fascinated.” Abby kicked back in the chair, her shoulders completely at ease, and gave an encouraging—and totally patronizing—wave of the hand. “My family is constantly what?”
“Nothing.” Lexi stood and, afraid she would say something to rat herself out, walked back to the table, where she arranged and rearranged the danishes—three times.
“Oh, that sounded like a whole lot more than nothing.” Abby slid up to the table and helped herself to a danish. The raspberry-and-peach-filled one, right in the center, which forced Lexi to rearrange—again.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Instead of taking a bite, Abby licked the icing off of the top. “Then I won’t tell you that you have a huge chunk of melted chocolate on your cheek and that Marco is headed this way.”
“What?” Lexi whispered, her hand automatically going to her right cheek as she craned her head and…
Sure enough, walking down Main Street, dressed in black slacks and a blue button-up and looking like the poster boy for Bad Boys of Wall Street, the hubba-hubba edition, was her man. Well, her fake man. His strides were smooth and laid-back, and although he stopped to talk with Mr. Craver, the Meat in Picker’s Produce, Meats, and More, she could feel his attention zeroed in on her. Her eyes were fixed on Marc when both men looked up and over at her. They both wore knowing smiles, but nothing about Marc’s expression felt fake. Neither did the way her breath caught or that silly little flip her stomach seemed to have become so fond of recently.
Lexi pulled back her hand back. Clean.
She glared at Abby, who merely shrugged with an I-told-you-so grin. “I will give you one week, and then you have to spill.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lexi said, smoothing down her light-blue summer dress and suddenly wishing she had gone for the green one with the halter top. It matched her eyes and made her boobs look more D than full C.
“The sad thing is, I believe you. And for your sake, I hope that you figure it out before you sleep with him.”
“I have not, nor will I ever be sleeping with Marc,” Lexi snapped in the quietest possible way.
“Never took you for a fibber, cream puff,” Marc drawled. Not only was all of his six foot three of pure, testosterone-loaded charm smirking down at her, he had his arm slung around her waist and his hand resting on her ass.
“What are you doing here?” She batted at his hand, which he didn’t move, except to gently cup her left butt cheek.
“Making sure your pants aren’t on fire,” he whispered, his lips purposefully grazing her ear. Then, louder, he added, “And bringing you this.” He held out a coffee cup in his free hand and smiled at Abby. “Hey, sis.”
When Lexi didn’t make a grab for the coffee, he shoved it in her hand. “Figured after a late night in the kitchen and an early morning in the bakery, you’d need a little sugar and caffeine to stay awake.” He looked back to Abby. “She hates mornings. It’s why she became a chef instead of a baker. Right, sugar?”