Page 58 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

“And what will they do? Arrest her? Fine her? While we stand here for hours getting questioned for a report? I don’t want to spend my last days in Summers with the cops.”

I didn’t either. But I was done with shit from Moira. She didn’t get to act like a brat and cost me time and money. If she wouldn’t listen to me, maybe the sheriff would have more influence.

“Let’s call it a day.” Londyn squeezed my hand.

No fucking way. “What kind of pizza do you like?”

“Uh . . . I’m not picky but—”

“Wyatt likes pepperoni, sausage, bacon and ham.”

“That’s a lot of meat.”

“He’s a growing boy.” I looked down at her. “You good with that or do you need some veggies on there too?”

“I wouldn’t say no to onion, green pepper and olives. But I don’t need them if he’s picky.”

I was glad to see she was done objecting, not that I was taking no for an answer. “Wyatt will eat anything with cheese and meat on it.”

I pushed through the door, holding it open for Londyn. Then I locked it up, not that it mattered now. Moira had done her damage.

The tires sucked. But I’d deal, like always. I’d make it right. And for tonight, I wasn’t going to let it take away from my time with Londyn. She seemed to be letting it go too. Either she was the most easy-going woman in the world, or she was cherishing this time together too.

We climbed in my truck and I called Wyatt with instructions for pizza. He agreed to pick it up on his way home.

“Should we get something for dessert?” Londyn asked as we pulled away from the shop.

“I’ll make brownies.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You can make brownies? I feel like I’ve been cheated this past week.”

I chuckled. “I’ll make it up to you in my bedroom.”

“Your bedroom? I’m spending the night?”

“Let’s give the motel a rest. What do you say?”

“Is that appropriate if Wyatt is at home?”

I liked that she cared about my son. “He’s sixteen. He knows what I’ve been doing every night this week.”

“Me. You’ve been doing me.”

“That’s right.” I grinned. “Every chance I get.”

Chapter Twelve

Londyn

“Morning,” I said as I came into the kitchen.

Brooks stood by the stove, stirring scrambled eggs in a frying pan. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon drifted around the room, making my mouth water. As did the chef. He was dressed in olive cargo shorts and a black T-shirt, the logo on the front for the garage. His hair was still damp from his shower.

I had fully intended to go to the motel after pizza last night, but Brooks was stubborn and tricky. He hadn’t asked me to stay, he’d just made it happen. He’d worn me out in his bed until I’d passed out, blissfully sated. I’d woken up alone in his massive bed this morning as the sun streamed through his bedroom windows.

Waking up by sunshine was now a must for all future days.

Brooks looked fresh and clean and delicious. I was in yesterday’s tank top and shorts, using my swimsuit as underwear.