Sweet Little Lies Read online

  He was still smiling when her next text came in:

  There’s a key hidden on the top of the doorjamb.

  He let himself in, crawled into bed with her and pulled her warm, sleeping form in close.

  “Finn?” she murmured sleepily, not opening her eyes.

  Well, who the hell else? “Shh,” he said, brushing his mouth over her temple. “Go back to sleep.”

  “But there’s a man in my bed.” She still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she did wind her arms around him tight, pressing her deliciously soft curves up against his body, sliding one of her legs in between his. “Mmm,” she said. “A hard man . . .”

  And quickly getting harder. “I didn’t mean for this to be a booty call—”

  “Finn?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.” And she rocked against him so that his thigh rasped over the damp heat between hers, taking what she wanted from him.

  He loved that she’d figured out that her confidence and belief in herself was as sexy to him as her gorgeous body.

  “Mm,” she hummed in pleasure, rocking against him, making him even harder. “I wonder what to do about this . . .” she mused.

  He rolled, tucking her beneath him, and buried himself deep. “Let me show you.”

  Chapter 19

  #JustLikeThat

  Typically as summer progressed and more tourists poured into San Francisco, Pru got buried in work. This summer was no different. She worked long days, during which time she dedicated most of her daydreams to one certain sexy Finn O’Riley and what he looked like in her bed.

  And what he did to her in it . . .

  “What are you thinking about?” Jake asked her at the end of a shift while she was doing paperwork. “You keep sighing.”

  “Um . . .” She struggled to come up with something not X-rated. “I’m thinking about how much of a slave driver you are.”

  “Uh huh,” he said, not fooled. “You tell Finn yet?”

  “I’m getting there,” she said, her stomach tightening in panic and anxiety at the thought.

  “Pru—”

  “I know, I know!” She blew out a breath. “You don’t have to say it. I’m stalling. Big time.”

  His voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You’re really into him.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  His hand slipped into hers and he squeezed her fingers. “You want a chance with him.”

  She nodded again.

  “Chica, to have that chance, you’ve got to tell him before your window of opportunity closes and things go too far.” He waited until she looked at him. “Before you sleep with him or—”

  Oh boy.

  “—I’ve got this,” she said. “I know what I’m doing.” But they both knew she had no idea what she was doing.

  That night, Elle and Willa dragged Pru out for “ladies’” night.

  They surprised her when they ended up at a lovely spa, snacking on cute little sandwiches and tea before deciding on their individual treatments.

  Pru stared at the spa’s menu, a little panicked over the luxury that she couldn’t really afford.

  “It’s my treat,” Elle said, covering the prices with her hand. “This was my idea. I owe Willa a birthday present.”

  Willa smiled. “Cuz I can’t afford it either.”

  “But it’s not my birthday,” Pru said.

  “Pretend,” Elle said. “I want a mani/pedi and a Brazilian, and I don’t like to primp alone.”

  Which is how Pru ended up with a mani/pedi and her very first Brazilian.

  The next day it rained all day long. Pru joked to Jake that after eight long hours on the water—in the rain—she felt like Noah.

  Jake felt no mercy at all. “Make the money now, chica. Come wintertime you’ll be whining like Thor does for that mini chow across the street, the one who’s got fifty pounds on him and would squash him like a grape if given the chance.”

  So she worked.

  At the end of another crazy day, she changed out of her uniform into a sundress and left Pier 39. She was Thor-less. After a stunt where he’d rolled in pigeon poo for some mysterious reason that only made sense to himself, Jake had once again taken him to the South Bark Mutt Shop for grooming.

  All Pru wanted to do was to go home and crawl into her bed. For once she was too tired to even dream about having Finn in that bed with her. She wouldn’t be able to lift a finger. Or a tongue.

  Not that she’d mind if he insisted on doing all the work . . .

  But that fantasy would have to wait. She had an errand to run before getting home, hence the sundress. She wanted to look nice for her weekly visit.

  She walked up the steps to the home where her grandpa lived and signed in to see him.

  Michelle, the front desk receptionist waved at her. Michelle had worked there forever, so they were old friends.

  “How is he today?” Pru asked her.

  Michelle’s easy smile faded. “Not gonna lie, it’s a rough one, honey. He’s agitated. He didn’t like his lunch, he didn’t like the weather, he didn’t like wearing pants, the list goes on. He’s feeling mean as a snake. You want to come back another day?”

  But they both knew that the bad days far outweighed the good ones now, so there was no use in waiting or she might never see him. “I’ll be fine.”

  Michelle nodded, eyes warm, mouth a little worried. “Holler if you need anything.”

  Pru took a deep breath, waved at Paul the orderly in the hallway, and entered her grandpa’s room.

  He was watching Jeopardy! and yelling at the TV. “Who is Queen Victoria, you jackass!” He picked up his cane and waved that too. “Who is Queen Victoria!”

  “Hi, grandpa,” Pru said.

  “No one ever listens to me,” he went on, dropping his cane to shake his fist at the TV. “No one ever listens.”

  Pru moved into his line of sight and picked up the cane for him, wondering if he would know her today. “It’s me, Pru—”

  “You,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes on her, snatching the cane from her hands. “You’ve got some nerve coming here, Missy, into my home.”

  “It’s good to see you, Grandpa. You sound good, your cold’s gone from last week, huh? How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not telling you shit. You were a terrible influence on my son. You encouraged him to be a good time, to party, when you knew—” He jabbed the cane at her for emphasis. “It’s your fault he’s dead. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  This hit her hard but she did her best to ignore the hurtful words. “Grandpa, it’s Prudence.” She purposely kept her voice low and calm so that maybe he would do the same.

  No go.

  “Oh I knew who you are. I knew you for what you were the first day I saw you,” he said, “when Steven first brought you home. He said ‘this is Vicky and I love her,’ and I took one look into your laughing eyes and I knew. All you wanted to do was have fun and you didn’t care what fell by the wayside. Well, I’ll tell you what, our business fell by the wayside because he wanted to spend time with you, not that you even noticed. Our business went into the ground because of you, because you didn’t care if he had to work—”

  “Dad worked,” Pru said. “He worked a lot. Mom just tried to get him to enjoy life when she could because he did work so hard—”

  “You were trouble with a capital T, that’s what you were,” he snapped out. “And you still are. Told you that then and I’ll tell you again. You’re Trouble to the very bone.”

  She’d frozen to the spot. She’d had no idea that her grandpa had called her mom Trouble, that he thought she’d been a bad influence on her dad simply because she’d wanted him to have a life outside of work.

  The irony of this was not lost on her.

  What was lost on her was how long she must have stood there, mouth open, gaping, letting old wounds reopen and fester because her grandpa grabbed something from the tray by his bed and chucked it at her.

&nbsp