Mowed Over (Sonoma Book 2) Page 3

  "Lilah? Are you ok?" I ask quietly, trying not to startle her. She lets out a terrified scream before wheeling around to face me and clamping her hands over her mouth. Mr. Miller's dog barks his head off three houses down.

  "Sorry," she whispers guiltily, her eyes wide.

  She's wearing a short red dress, all hips and curves and long stretches of leg. She's so beautiful and looks so soft and touchable. I've never wanted a woman like I want her. It's like a physical ache to be this close and not touch her. I'd do almost anything to touch her, taste her, and feel her writhe underneath me.

  Great. And now I have half a chub just thinking about it. I'd feel guilty, but she looks me up and down, taking her time as she licks her lips. I nearly groan out loud. How can such a tiny gesture be so fucking sexy?

  "Sorry," she repeats as she shakes her head a little, seeming to get a hold of herself. "It's so late. I didn't mean to wake you up."

  There's a slight slur to her words and even in this light I can tell her makeup is a little smudged. She's definitely drunk and it’s so damn adorable, but now I’m going to spend every night worried out of my damn mind about whether or not she’s getting home safe.

  "I was up... but are you ok? You seem a little drunk." I grin at her as I lean against the door frame, crossing my legs and hiding Mr. Happy before he makes an unwelcome debut.

  "I'm not drunk! You're drunk!" she says indignantly before hiccupping. "Ok, I'm a little tipsy. But I'm not drunk!" The black lace bra peeking out of her dress and the mussed makeup are telling another story. I’m torn between wanting to see more of that bra and worrying about her. Something about her sets off every protective instinct I have... but I’m still me, and I can’t help pushing her buttons.

  "Why are you drunk—excuse me, tipsy—and pacing my porch at 3 am?" I ask her with a chuckle.

  "My sister got engaged, and we were celebrating downtown."

  I nod at her like this explains everything.

  "And Sven dropped me off at home." She hiccups and examines her shoe, covered in grass clippings, scowling at the green flecks. It’s hard not to smile at her lips pursing like--

  Hold up. Who the fuck is Sven?! And why is this douche dropping her off but not making sure she gets inside? Especially when she’s dressed like this? I hate him already.

  "Why do you look mad?" She squints at me and sways a little.

  "I'm not mad. It just seems like your date should have made sure you were safe inside before driving off." Do I sound sour? Absolutely. I do.

  Lilah cackles, hunching over and wrapping her arms around her stomach as she laughs like I'm the funniest guy in the world. She's giving me an amazing view down her dress, but I turn my eyes skyward, cursing my mother for raising me to be a decent guy. I only peek once, because it’s a damn fine view.

  "You're jealous of Sven?" she wheezes.

  "I'm not jealous, he just sounds like a douche," I retort.

  "He's my friend's 50-year-old driver. And he’s gay. I'm not dating him."

  That's a relief. She's still giggling, little hiccups mixed in as she wipes a tear from her eye.

  "Well, as happy as I am to give you a good laugh, why are you out here in the middle of the night?" I ask.

  Lilah pulls her back straight and sets her shoulders, a stern tilt in her eyebrows. "I came off to you!" She jumbles up her words and does an adorable pause as she looks up at her eyebrows. My eyes go wide and all the blood in my body rushes south as I imagine her getting herself off. "I came to tell you off." She sighs as if she’s frustrated, and squeezes her eyes shut. "I'm-not-that-drunk-you-just-make-me-nervous," she whispers in a single breath.

  Then she opens her eyes and glares at me. I'm sure she thinks she looks fierce, but everything she does is so damn cute that I can't help smiling.

  "What am I getting told off for this time?" I ask. "And why do I make you nervous?"

  "Stop grinning at me like that! Put the dimples away!" Her scowl slips a little as she hiccups again. "The Saturday morning mowing has to stop. I swear to Jesus, if you wake me up with that thing one more time, I'll put sugar in its gas tank."

  "Threatening my lawnmower?" I tsk as I step down onto the porch. "Not very neighborly of you, Pickles."

  Lilah closes the distance between us and pokes me in the chest, craning her neck back to look up at me. "Listen here, you big beefcake, you've woken me up two Saturdays in a row! Where do you get off?!"

  "In bed, usually. I'm not averse to the shower, though. How about you?" I choose to take the beef cake thing as a compliment. I'd be her beefcake anytime she wants. I shouldn't push her buttons, but the color rising in her cheeks as I rile her up is sexy as hell. She's a spitfire and I have to admit, I love it.

  Lilah's face blushes all the way up into her hairline and she sputters, "Wha- No! That's not what I meant! I--"

  "Relax, princess," I say, holding my hands out to calm her down. "I promise I'll let you sleep this one off tomorrow morning." Lilah takes a deep breath, and she's standing so close that her breasts brush against my bare chest. Her breath hitches as she stares into my eyes, body frozen for a couple seconds before smacking me on the arm and letting out a sound halfway between a growl and a scream of frustration.

  She turns on her heel and marches across my yard toward her own. I watch her until she makes it back to her house. "Don't forget to lock your door!" I call out. She doesn't look back, but she does flip me off as she opens the front door. I stand still on my porch as I strain to hear the clunk of the deadbolt in the quiet night. If I don’t hear it, I’ll go do it myself.

  A loud but satisfying clunk echoes on the quiet street. I can only imagine how hard she had to turn it to make that much noise. I watch for a minute to make sure she stays inside, then head back to bed.

  Chapter 6: Lilah

  Oh fu-huh-huuuuck, I think as I roll over in bed. My head is killing me. Cracking one eye open, I can see the sun pouring through the window and it is straight torture. I definitely should have pumped the brakes on the mojitos last night.

  I groan as I sit up and look around. My dress from last night is draped over the lamp. I must have thrown my bra at the laundry hamper and missed, but at least I found an oversized t-shirt to sleep in.

  My heels are in the middle of the floor and... why are they all covered in grass clippings?! What the hell? I freeze as my brain starts to reboot. A memory flashes: a beefcake standing on a porch in his pajamas, grinning down at me. The smell of fresh cut grass in the air.

  Oh no.

  I pull my pillow over my face and scream into it as every embarrassing moment of last night floods back to me. I can't believe I woke Ben up in the middle of the night to yell at him. Oh god. I think I called him a beefcake. Like, out loud. What is wrong with me? And I definitely remember threatening to sugar his mower’s gas tank. I'm not taking that one back, though. I'll even use the expensive sugar we use for crème brûlée at the bakery. That's what he deserves for calling me 'Princess.' What a dick.

  The worst part is that I'm not sure I just wanted to yell at him. If that conversation had gone differently, I think I gladly would have hopped into bed with him.

  After Brooks broke up girl's night and kidnapped my sister for things I do not want to think about, we bounced from bar to bar. Men hit on Julia all night and she pretended they didn't exist, sending back drink after drink. Chelsea and Matt were all over each other and watching them together made me lonely. After their chauffeur, Sven, dropped me off at home, I stood inside my front door and fought a war with my hormones.

  Telling myself I was just going to nicely ask him to stop mowing made it seem okay to go knock on his door, at least in Tipsyland. But as soon as I got there, I knew it was a terrible idea. I couldn't lie to myself convincingly enough to ignore the fact that I've been spending a lot of time fantasizing about Ben. I don't remember knocking but when he opened the door, shirtless, my (not so) carefully laid plans flew out the window.

  I scream into my pillow again, equal
parts embarrassment and sexual frustration.

  Rolling over to look at my phone, I'm surprised to see it's 11:15 am. At least Ben kept his promise to let me sleep in. I'm supposed to be at the bakery at noon to help Olive with this afternoon's class, and I have just enough time to shower and clean up my mess from last night.

  After a shower, some coffee and a coat of mascara, no one should be able to tell I'm hungover, but it only takes Olive one glance at my face to figure me out. As soon as I roll into the bakery, she's giving me the side eye. She tries to suppress a smirk as she asks, "How was the rest of last night?"

  I groan in response. "Sally got us all good and drunk and then ordered another round of tequila shots. I'm dying. If I run to the dumpster, don't mind me; it's just that I like privacy when I puke."

  She pats me sympathetically. "Did you put your notice in?" She's trying not to sound too eager, but I know she's excited for me to quit the bar.

  "Yup, I sure as hell can't keep working with Terry. One more week and I'll be free of the most hostile workplace in Sonoma."

  "Yeah, no kidding. Speaking of which, how did the slime lord take it when you put in your notice?"

  I laugh humorlessly. "About as well as could be expected of that piece of shit."

  Olive reaches over and squeezes my hand. "I'm so glad you won't be working there anymore. You can finally be here full time!"

  "Well, I had a thought about that..." I hedge.

  Olive sucks in a breath as if she’s nervous, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead she waits for me to continue.

  "I want to expand the coffee roasting."

  "Yeah?" Olive's eyebrow stays aloft, but her look shifts from worried to intrigued. "What are you thinking?"

  "We only use the roaster for about an hour a day as it is. We could hire someone on part-time and roast coffee for local restaurants and markets. I think even a few hours a day would be enough to keep every shop in town supplied. I'm good at marketing and sales and I can finally put a little of my education to use."

  Olive gives me an impressed smile. "Hell yes. Go for it."

  "Really? That's it?" I ask her.

  "Yes, really. It's a great idea. I don't have the time or inclination to do it, but if you do, I'm all in!"

  "Well, that was easy," I mutter.

  "Were you afraid I'd say no?" She shakes her head. "Lilah, this bakery is just as much yours as mine. At least in spirit." Olive grins at me, and I feel lighter than I have in weeks.

  "Quitting the bar means I need to use the trust fund to pay my mortgage." I say, looking at my hands.

  "Good!" Olive gives me an exasperated look and backhands my shoulder. "You should have been using it all along! Grandpa left them to us for a reason. He wanted you to have a better life than pouring tourists drinks and getting hit on by your slimy boss and half the assholes that come through town."

  "I know. I bet Grandpa would have punched Terry for me."

  "Yeah, that and he would have bought the bar and destroyed Terry publicly as a parting shot." Olive laughs as Brooks, her fiancé, strides into the kitchen looking for her. Her entire face lights up when she sees him.

  "Ready for lunch?" he asks, pulling her toward him. I pointedly look down at the almond flour I'm scaling out for the Macaron Madness class. Olive and Brooks are disgustingly cute together. I'm happy for them, obviously. I mean, I did kind of nudge them together when they both had their heads up their respective asses. But sure, maybe I'm a little jealous. They're clearly made for each other, and I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to find someone like that.

  My own experiences with dating have been so catastrophic that I don't know if I can make myself try ever again.

  Luis, the head baker, interrupts my pouty thoughts with a very tactful, "Who hit you with the hangover stick?"

  "Ha-ha. I would be fine if Brooks hadn't kidnapped Olive from girl's night. She's the voice of reason and the one who switches out my drinks for water when I get too tipsy. All my drunk actions and subsequent hangover are Brooks' fault." I scowl at my future brother-in-law, but he just laughs.

  "Yeah, but she really likes it when I kidnap her."

  "Ew," Luis and I say in unison.

  Olive laughs and smacks Brooks on the chest. "Give me a second. I'll meet you up front."

  He kisses her adoringly and walks back out the way he came.

  "You could have switched out your own drinks last night. That's what I always do when I go drinking with Sally. If I didn’t swap out some of my martinis for water in a martini glass, I’d never make it through a single night. I swear, that woman has the alcohol tolerance of a rhino," Olive says as she wraps the sheet tray of chocolate chip cupcakes.

  "And take responsibility for my own actions? Hard pass," I joke. "Besides, how would I embarrass myself in front of my hot-as-fuck neighbor? It's not like you can wake someone up in the middle of the night to yell at them sober."

  Olive's hands freeze mid-task as she turns to look at me with enormous eyes.

  "Noooo. What did you do?"

  "Matt and Chelsea asked Sven to drop me off last night. I was all worked up because Ben woke me up two weekends in a row with the stupid mowing. I mean, who even mows their lawn every week? Anyway, I was all salty about it and I drunkenly decided I should tell him to knock it off."

  Olive leans her elbows on the counter and covers her face with both hands, groaning at my poor decision making. Yeah, she knows where this is going.

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time," I try to defend myself. "So anyway, I woke Ben up at 3 am. Or maybe he was already awake? He said he wasn't sleeping, and I doubt he'd lie to make me feel better. I tried to tell him off, but he just thought I was being funny. He wouldn't stop grinning at me. I think I yelled at him to put his dimples away. I definitely called him a beefcake and poked him in the chest."

  Olive is laughing so hard she's wheezing as she asks, "Holy shit, dude. What did he say after you assaulted him?"

  Just recalling it makes me scowl. "He called me Princess and said he'd let me sleep in today."

  Olive cackles. "He called you 'Princess' and you let him live? If one of our brothers had called you something like that, you would have destroyed him."

  "Yeah, well, I took the high road and left instead," I say, holding my head high and trying to preserve the last shred of dignity I have left.

  "You say 'took the high road' but I know you and I've seen you drunk. You mean you shrieked at him and stormed off."

  "I hate you sometimes, you know that?" I tell her.

  She hugs me aggressively, pinning my arms to my sides and kisses me on the temple. "You love me all the time. You just hate that I know you so well." She squeezes me even harder when I grumble at her. "Say it! Say you love me!" she demands.

  "Fine, fine! I love you!" I huff. Olive laughs and lets me go. Luis shakes his head at us from the back where he's taking inventory. "Go eat with Brooks," I tell Olive, shooing her out of the kitchen and taking the tray of cupcakes from her. She blows me a kiss as she heads out front.

  Luis is muttering in Spanish, something about "chicas locas."

  "I heard that!" I tell him.

  "You're just like your sister," he says, rolling his eyes at me.

  Chapter 7: Lilah

  My last night at Blue Ruin flies by. It's after 2 am before we finish closing, but my coworkers throw me a mini party in the back. They present me with cupcakes and a teddy bear with a martini glass. It's not like I'm moving away, but I appreciate the gesture. Mostly I'm just glad Terry wasn't working tonight.

  It's pouring rain when we walk out, so we hide under the awning, hugging goodbyes before running to our cars. The spring rain is icy cold, little bits of hail bouncing off the pavement. I'm soaked by the time I get to my Jeep and already shivering when I wrench the door open.

  Tossing Martini the Bear in the passenger seat, I climb in and turn the key, eager to turn up the heat. Nothing. I try it a second time, because maybe I'm an idiot and
I forgot how to turn a car on? Mother. Fucking. Nothing. The damn thing doesn't even turn over. Picking up my phone, I plan to use it as a flashlight to look under the hood until I see that it's at a whopping 4%. I snort at myself because even if I had all the battery power in the world, I would still have no idea what to do with anything under the hood of my car. This is what mechanic brothers are for.

  I rack my brain, trying to decide who to call. It's almost 3 am, so my gran and brothers and sisters will all be asleep. Maybe one of my coworkers? But they’ve all booked it out of Sonoma by now...

  Luis! He's the only person who I know for a fact will be awake. No doubt he's elbow deep in baguette dough right now, but the bakery is only five minutes away. He could rescue me and be back at the bakery in less than 15 minutes and I can just crash in Olive's old apartment above the bakery.

  I lock the car doors, just to be safe, and call Luis. He doesn't answer the first time and my phone is down to 3%. I can't help thinking about the four charged battery packs I have sitting in a drawer at home. They're so helpful now, aren't they? I try Luis again and thankfully he answers on the second ring.

  "What's up, homeslice?" he asks. I can hear music blasting in the background, and I guarantee he was singing at the top of his lungs until I called.

  "Hey, my Jeep won't start. I'm stranded outside Blue Ruin and my phone battery is about to die. Can you pick me up?" Rain is pounding on the roof and windows of my car, so loud I have to cover my other ear just to hear him.

  Luis sighs, but I hear him turn off the music. "I'll be right there. Stay in your car and lock the doors."

  "Worry wart," I tease him.

  "Lilah, if anything happens to you before I can pick you up, your Gran would skin me alive."

  Laughing, I promise to keep the doors locked and thank him before hanging up the phone. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes, willing myself to relax while I wait for Luis.

  Gran would never skin her next-door neighbor alive. After our dad abandoned us with Gran, Luis became almost like an adoptive father to us. He even took Julia to her Father-Daughter dance in fifth grade. His two boys, Mateo and Javier, were like extra brothers that came and went as they pleased. They still do, come to think of it.