Whitney looked exactly the same, like a brunette bombshell. Thick, dark hair hung past her shoulders and around her hefty rack. Blue eyes, as cold as her heart, zeroed in on him, and she gave a tremulous smile.
Smirking, Phil put a hand to her lower back, ushering her in. “Look who I found coming to visit you, Lynn. It’s Whitney.”
Whitney looked thrilled to be interrupting—until she spotted Vanity. Then she drew upon absurd indignation and suspicion, scowling as if Stack had somehow betrayed her.
Standing, Vanity took it all in, slipped her hand into Stack’s, and said to his mother, “I’d love to join you for Thanksgiving. Thank you for inviting me.”
* * *
IT TOOK LESS than two seconds for Vanity to know that Whitney, the voluptuous beauty standing poised before her, was pure trouble. Some women were like that, she knew. They enjoyed causing drama and conflict. No doubt, Whitney was the source of negativity between Phil and Stack.
And yet f’ing stupid Phil had dragged her in here, now, when Stack was only just reuniting with his family.
She turned to Stack—seeing six feet, 185 pounds of badass ability. But in that moment, she wanted to defend him.
Not her place. Not yet anyway.
Would she let that stop her? Nope.
Only after she’d hugged up to Stack’s arm did she extend a hand toward the other woman. Putting on her airiest blonde bombshell attitude, she said, “Hi, Whitney. How are you? I’m Vanity.” And yeah, Stack is mine. So eat that.
Eyes narrowed, Whitney took her hand. It’d be best if Whitney had no clue of her backbone, so Vanity kept the shake deliberately limp.
That earned her a strange look from Stack.
“Vanity?” Whitney asked with a mocking surprise. “Odd name.”
“Yes.” Another demonstrative squeeze to Stack—and another “WTF” look from him. “It’s funny how I got the name. See, my mama says I was a beautiful baby with curly blond hair and big blue eyes, smiling at everyone. She and my aunts decided that I was so cute, vanity would be my vice, so I might as well be named that.”
Unimpressed, Whitney gave a malicious smile. “And are you?”
“Cute? I like to think so.” She tipped her head back against Stack. “He certainly thinks so.”
Playing along, Stack kissed her forehead and said, “Cute doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Vanity beamed at him. “I’m proud,” she continued to Whitney. “But not narcissistic. Overall my worst fault is that I’m possessive. Very, very possessive.”
Lynn choked but turned it into a cough that turned into a laugh.
Using it as an opportunity, Stack freed his arm from Vanity’s grip and snagged up his mother’s tea glass. “I’ll refill your drink.”
Vanity watched him stride to the kitchen. You can run, but you can’t hide. She was onto him now. No, she didn’t know the details. Had Whitney cheated on him with Phil? Betrayed Stack in some other way?
She wouldn’t pry. When he was ready, he’d tell her. She hoped.
In the meantime, she’d do her best to behave.
“Where’s Tabby?” Lynn asked. “Shouldn’t she have been home by now?”
Very disinterested, Phil rolled one shoulder. “She’s working overtime and then hitting up the grocery store. Past due, by the way. There’s nothing here to eat.”
Vanity tipped her head at him. “You don’t grocery shop?”
The direct challenge—given nicely—threw him. “Tabby likes to do it.”
“After working overtime. Wow, she’s like superwoman. I bet that’s intimidating at times, being with someone so strong.” She smiled after delivering that barb.
It took Phil a bit to come up with a reply, and then, sounding like a petulant boy, he snapped, “Tabby knows I’m strong, too. She always says we’re a good match.”
Ignoring that was the worst insult she could give, so that’s what Vanity did. Eyeing the other woman, who still hovered near the door, she said, “Whitney, did you want to come in?”
Lynn smiled at Vanity. “You’re a very good hostess. I don’t know where my manners have gone.”
“You’ve always been a wonderful hostess,” Whitney gushed, while casting a mean look Vanity’s way.
As Whitney stepped farther into the room, the dogs moved to greet her. “No, go. Git.” Whitney swatted at them on her way to sit by Lynn.
“I’ll close them in the bathroom,” Phil offered.
“No,” Vanity said, not bothering to hide her temper. “You won’t.” She held out a hand, and the dogs returned to plop down by her feet. “It’s all right, babies,” she told them. “Not everyone likes dogs.” Because not everyone has a heart.
Smirking, Phil put a hand to her lower back, ushering her in. “Look who I found coming to visit you, Lynn. It’s Whitney.”
Whitney looked thrilled to be interrupting—until she spotted Vanity. Then she drew upon absurd indignation and suspicion, scowling as if Stack had somehow betrayed her.
Standing, Vanity took it all in, slipped her hand into Stack’s, and said to his mother, “I’d love to join you for Thanksgiving. Thank you for inviting me.”
* * *
IT TOOK LESS than two seconds for Vanity to know that Whitney, the voluptuous beauty standing poised before her, was pure trouble. Some women were like that, she knew. They enjoyed causing drama and conflict. No doubt, Whitney was the source of negativity between Phil and Stack.
And yet f’ing stupid Phil had dragged her in here, now, when Stack was only just reuniting with his family.
She turned to Stack—seeing six feet, 185 pounds of badass ability. But in that moment, she wanted to defend him.
Not her place. Not yet anyway.
Would she let that stop her? Nope.
Only after she’d hugged up to Stack’s arm did she extend a hand toward the other woman. Putting on her airiest blonde bombshell attitude, she said, “Hi, Whitney. How are you? I’m Vanity.” And yeah, Stack is mine. So eat that.
Eyes narrowed, Whitney took her hand. It’d be best if Whitney had no clue of her backbone, so Vanity kept the shake deliberately limp.
That earned her a strange look from Stack.
“Vanity?” Whitney asked with a mocking surprise. “Odd name.”
“Yes.” Another demonstrative squeeze to Stack—and another “WTF” look from him. “It’s funny how I got the name. See, my mama says I was a beautiful baby with curly blond hair and big blue eyes, smiling at everyone. She and my aunts decided that I was so cute, vanity would be my vice, so I might as well be named that.”
Unimpressed, Whitney gave a malicious smile. “And are you?”
“Cute? I like to think so.” She tipped her head back against Stack. “He certainly thinks so.”
Playing along, Stack kissed her forehead and said, “Cute doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Vanity beamed at him. “I’m proud,” she continued to Whitney. “But not narcissistic. Overall my worst fault is that I’m possessive. Very, very possessive.”
Lynn choked but turned it into a cough that turned into a laugh.
Using it as an opportunity, Stack freed his arm from Vanity’s grip and snagged up his mother’s tea glass. “I’ll refill your drink.”
Vanity watched him stride to the kitchen. You can run, but you can’t hide. She was onto him now. No, she didn’t know the details. Had Whitney cheated on him with Phil? Betrayed Stack in some other way?
She wouldn’t pry. When he was ready, he’d tell her. She hoped.
In the meantime, she’d do her best to behave.
“Where’s Tabby?” Lynn asked. “Shouldn’t she have been home by now?”
Very disinterested, Phil rolled one shoulder. “She’s working overtime and then hitting up the grocery store. Past due, by the way. There’s nothing here to eat.”
Vanity tipped her head at him. “You don’t grocery shop?”
The direct challenge—given nicely—threw him. “Tabby likes to do it.”
“After working overtime. Wow, she’s like superwoman. I bet that’s intimidating at times, being with someone so strong.” She smiled after delivering that barb.
It took Phil a bit to come up with a reply, and then, sounding like a petulant boy, he snapped, “Tabby knows I’m strong, too. She always says we’re a good match.”
Ignoring that was the worst insult she could give, so that’s what Vanity did. Eyeing the other woman, who still hovered near the door, she said, “Whitney, did you want to come in?”
Lynn smiled at Vanity. “You’re a very good hostess. I don’t know where my manners have gone.”
“You’ve always been a wonderful hostess,” Whitney gushed, while casting a mean look Vanity’s way.
As Whitney stepped farther into the room, the dogs moved to greet her. “No, go. Git.” Whitney swatted at them on her way to sit by Lynn.
“I’ll close them in the bathroom,” Phil offered.
“No,” Vanity said, not bothering to hide her temper. “You won’t.” She held out a hand, and the dogs returned to plop down by her feet. “It’s all right, babies,” she told them. “Not everyone likes dogs.” Because not everyone has a heart.
