The Best Kind of Trouble
Page 42

“It seems underhanded to go behind Vaughan’s back like that. He’s a big boy.”
She grabbed a cart. “Or, you can realize this is a business as well as a creative endeavor in your family, and that sometimes we hear things better when they’re delivered by a person who comes at us in a way we don’t react to negatively. Humans are crazy that way, Patrick. Sometimes their emotions get in front of their logic.”
He bumped her with his hip.
“While we’re being honest, can I tell you how much I hate it that we can’t go anywhere without women eye f**king you?” She said this casually as she put cartons of milk into the basket.
“You’ve never expressed a single bit of jealousy before. I like it.”
She frowned. “I don’t. It sucks. I like to think I’m above that stuff, and I am so not. I mean, I’m guessing you’d be getting female attention even if you weren’t who you are. You’re pretty nice to look at, and you’re flirty and sassy.”
He didn’t stop himself from kissing her temple. “You know it’s just how I am, right? I mean, I might smile and nod but you have absolutely nothing to fear. I’d never do that to you, nor do I even want to. You’re all the woman I can handle.”
“Yeah, yeah. I imagine you guys would freak out if your women got the same level of attention you do. I mean, look at Mary, she’s absolutely gorgeous. Full-stop beautiful. I bet if men touched her the way women touch Damien, he’d flip his lid.”
“Well, of course!”
She gave him a raised brow. “On the way from the front of the store to here, a woman walked close enough to you to brush her entire body against yours. There was plenty of room in the aisle for her to pass without touching you. And you’re here with me. Jeez.”
“I’m sorry.” He was sorry she was bothered, but he couldn’t help but want to preen that she’d expressed some level of possessiveness over him. It felt like a victory to him.
“Meh. It’s okay. I get it. Maybe if I was another person, I’d rub all over you, too. You’re pretty rubbable.”
He leaned in, his lips against her ear. “You just rubbed against me a few hours ago.”
She blushed hard. “Quit it. Rogue.”
“That’s me, baby. Rogue. Rebel.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops exaggeratedly.
“Come on, then, Pirate Paddy, we need to get all this back to Mary. I’m starving.”
They headed to the checkout lanes. This time he pushed the cart so that he’d be out of prime random-women-rubbing-against-him space.
Once they got to his car, and he unloaded the bags into the trunk, he heard someone call her name.
She cursed but didn’t turn. “Let’s go.
“Someone is calling you.”
“I’m aware. Just ignore him and unlock the door.”
“Are you afraid? Has that dude hurt you in some way?”
The guy reached them. He was in his fifties, though the lines on his face indicated he’d lived hard. His hair was thinning but he had it in a ponytail in the back like a lot of guys his age who tried to hold on to how old they were a decade or two before. He had a soul patch and wore tinted glasses and a diamond stud in his ear.
“Natty, I’ve been looking for you. I was just stopping here to get some lunch.”
“I told you to stop calling me that. Paddy, the door, please.”
* * *
HE HEARD THE tension in her tone and unlocked the door, opening it for her. “You need to tell me if I have to introduce this douchebag to my fist or not.”
She shook her head. “No. I have it handled.” She looked around him to the guy. “Go. Away. I’ve been totally clear with you on this point.”
He turned his attention from Natalie to Paddy. “Who are you, young man?”
“I could ask you the same.”
“I’m her father.”
Natalie got between them, and Paddy didn’t like that at all.
“Jesus. Shut up, Bob. Paddy, let’s go.”
“How can you be so cold? I raised you, and this is the thanks I get? Your mother ran off, maybe you’re like her.”
Paddy spun at the calculation in the man’s voice and the intake of her breath in response. His hands were already in fists as he stepped around her and toward the ass**le.
She touched his arm. “No. Patrick, I’m not kidding. Get in the car. Don’t engage with him. That’s what he wants. Please. For me.”
It was the way she called him by his full name and the pain in her plea that finally enabled him to unlock his muscles and get in the car. She hit the locks.
“Drive before he can get in his car and follow.”
He blew out a breath but obeyed. They were both silent on the way back to the ranch. Paddy made sure no one was behind him when he took the main road up the hill and then the main drive to the house. At the main gates, he used the code and then made sure the security was set. He’d need to tell his parents so they didn’t go setting it off when they came and went.
“Even if he found us, he can’t get in,” he reassured her.
She nodded, looking out the window.
He drove to his place. “It’s cold enough. The stuff will keep while you tell me what the hell just happened. Do we need to call the cops?”
“So that’s my biological father, which you probably guessed. Every three years or so, he gets clean for a while. And then he goes NA and AA and he gets to the make-your-amends point. For many people in recovery, this is the point where they have to own their shit and work on rebuilding relationships they’ve destroyed while they were using. It’s hard, I get that and so the first time—God, that was when I was fifteen or so—I wanted him to be different. I wanted him to be healthy. So it wasn’t a perfect apology, but I just wanted him to get himself straight. Five months later, he and one of his girlfriends overdosed in the living room. That’s when he added oxycodone to the mix of his addiction.”