Page 87 of The False Flat

William dipped his head in agreement. “We could both be that sexy if we wanted to.”

Deanna put her hands on her hips. “You mean, I could’ve been married to Jason Statham all these years if you had simply been looking at me the right way?”

William stuck out his lower lip. “Pretty much.”

“Then by all means!” She gestured to the men. “Commence with the Statham look, and Pen and I will melt all over the carpet.”

William lowered one eyebrow while simultaneously raising the other.

Grant nodded his approval. “Not bad! Get a load of this.” He pointed to his face.

William’s head bobbed. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“And who could blame you?” Grant wiggled his shoulders with provocative flair. “What’s Jason Statham got on this?”

The two men went back and forth. They were so absorbed in congratulating themselves on being so handsome that they didn’t notice Deanna and I retreating to Grant’s kitchen.

Deanna pulled the lid off a small aluminum container on the black granite countertop. “After the whole Chad thing, I didn’t ask: How many people made appointments with you at the event last night?” Her excitement made me feel special.

“Fifteen. I don’t know how many will actually sign with me, but I have fifteen appointments, and Erin’s working on some social media event with Lady Mama, who promises more. I might have to start turning people away.”

Deanna clapped. “She’s awesome!”

“Lady Mama? She’s intense.”

“Lady Mama is lit AF, but I was talking about Erin.”

“Yes, Erin is amazing. I’m thinking of asking her to be my business partner. Please don’t ever say ‘lit AF’ again. Do you even know what that means?”

“As fuck I do. Okay, you’re right. I will never say that again. But did you say you were going to ask Erin to be your business partner?”

“I think so. She does way more than a secretary. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea! You and—”

“Why is it we always end up in the kitchen?” Grant interrupted and peered over Deanna’s shoulder as she sliced through homemade brownies, revealing a gooey marshmallow center.

“D! Marshmallows? This soon?” Grant cut his eyes to William, then pointed to the pan. “You okay, buddy? The last time you saw a marsh—”

“Not funny, Grant. Not funny.” William glared.

Deanna covered her smile with her hand and said, “I didn’t even think about the marshmallows!”

I wanted to laugh, but I was too busy salivating, literally salivating. Grant in his sweats, Statham single-handedly taking on the bad guys, Grant’s hand absentmindedly caressing my back—I was about to explode or at least need to change my panties. These brownies—marshmallows or no—were going to help me release the built-up tension. If sex wasn’t on the menu, I’d eat away my lust.

Deanna patted her brother’s face. “Shall I cut you an extra large?”

She waved the knife above the pan, the chocolate-draped marshmallow clinging to it every bit as seductive as Jason Statham’s clenched jaw and an acceptable substitute for biting into Grant’s fleece-covered ass.

Grant sucked air through his teeth. “D, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but can I save that extra-large piece for tomorrow? Indigestion.”

Deanna’s face fell. “But . . . but . . .”

“Hand me the brownie,” he responded.

“It’s all that junk Pen makes him eat,” William said. “His delicate, grass-fed stomach can’t handle it.”

“Be quiet, Marshmallow Center. I’m not that bad!” I defended. When had this become about me? “The other night, I made him Tater Tot hotdish.”