Page 39 of I Think He Knows
“I was just getting Legs a drink,” I reply with a smile. “You know, before our fancy steak dinner that we totally had planned.”
“And how’s my other favorite girl doing?” Carter suddenly pivots his attention to Allegra, who’s still in the backseat of the car watching everything go down. “Sorry, Leggsy. I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m doing very good,” she informs him with a cat-that-got-the-cream smile. “Can I have steak tonight, too,Daddy?”
She asks Carter the question, but she looks right at Mona while saying it, her fierce little expression clearly stating: “See, you idiot?! I was right and you were wrong.”
And while I know that we are now locked in a very tricky and elaborate lie, I can’t help but feel a swell of pride at my daughter’s unwavering sass. And a corresponding swell of complete and utter panic.
Because my daughter just called the man that I am hopelessly in love with “Daddy.”
Carter’s smile falters for a split second and his eyes widen, but he regains his acting prowess swiftly. Reaches into the car and ruffles my daughter’s hair. “‘Course you can. I bought enough steak to feed a small army. I know how hungry you get after dance.”
“Did you get the filet mignon? Uncle Liam said that’s the best steak.”
Carter nods. “Your Uncle Liam’s a smart man.”
“Just like you, Daddy.” Allegra smirks, really laying it on thick. I had no idea she was so good at deception—she’s as good an actor as her apparent new dad.
Mona and Lance, meanwhile, are still watching us like this isThe Truman Showor something. Only nothing is true about any of it. Mona’s practically catching flies with that open jaw of hers. If she were a golden retriever (ha, yeah right, she’s much more rottweiler in her nature), I could fit about seven tennis balls in that mouth right now. And Lance, professional as ever, appears to be snapping photos of Carter on his cellphone.
“Well, we’d better be going.” I spring into action and clap my hands like an overeager gym teacher. “Places to be, steaks to eat…”
I laugh a little desperately. Carter gives me side-eyed look that clearly says “Dude, chill” but I have zero chill right now. We need to get out of here so I can a. figure out what the frickety frick is going on here, and b. die of mortification.
“Okay, bye now, Mona. Lance.” I go to open my car door.
“Nice to see you, Lana Mae, andverynice to meet you, Carter.” Mona’s finally found her tongue and is back in full, perfectly presented mode. Instead of her usual saccharine expression, she gives Carter a smile that is closer to a grimace. “And I guess we’ll be seeing you next week at the campout then?”
Carter glances at me sideways quizzically.
“Absolutely, you will,” I answer for him, flinging open my door while internally cursing every curse word my ears have ever heard.
Mona arches a brow at this exchange, but Carter just gives her an impish grin and a shrug. “I’d say that Lana Mae wears the pants in this relationship, but I personally prefer when she wears no pants, if you know what I mean.”
“Hahahhaha!” I laugh like a hyena while smacking Carter in the chest a little too hard. “Always making inappropriate jokes, this one.”
At this point, Mona’s perfectly groomed brows look like they’re about to fly off her forehead, while Lance just looks… impressed. I give my (now former) best friend a look that I hope communicates the full force of what I’m currently telepathically screaming at him in my mind. Which isshut up, you moron!Out loud, I say. “Okay. Um, see you at my place in a bit?”
“Absolutely, you will.” Carter, clearly not picking up what I’m mentally throwing down, echoes my words and chuckles that deep chuckle of his. You know, the one that’s just a little dirty and just a lot sexy. He then gives Mona and Lance a suggestive little wink that definitely suggests he will be seeing a lot more of me at my place later.
I balk at him, but he’s completely undeterred as he leans forward and grazes his lips to my cheek. They skim over my skin for just a second, warm and surprisingly soft, and it’s all I can do not to melt into a human puddle in the middle of the parking lot.
“Looking forward to it,babe.” His whole face is alive with mischief as he pulls back so his eyes meet mine. “Seems we have a lot to talk about.”
“That we do.”
14
CARTER
I’d say I’m a lover, not a fighter, but that wouldn’t be strictly true.
I’m actually highly trained in both areas, professionally speaking. I can simulate the most passionate bedroom scenes for the cameras while my brain is somewhere else entirely—making a mental shopping list or thinking about what I might order for dinner. I also know the basic ins and outs of pretty much every martial art known to man, could breeze through a choreographed fight sequence in my dreams, and fire a (prop) gun while rolling through a (set of a) burning building.
But I’ve only ever gotten in one real-life physical altercation.
A couple of months ago, at a bar on the Las Vegas Strip, I punched Steven Stanton in the face. And let’s just say what happened in Vegas, definitely did not stay in Vegas.