Offside Bride (Toronto Titans #2)

8. Sawyer

8

SAWYER

I 'm pacing the foyer, phone pressed to my ear, trying not to wear a hole in the fancy area rug my sister, Siobhan, bought me six months ago. She’d said it gave my house a more feminine touch and that I’d be grateful for it one day. Now that Maggie’s living here, the idea of a feminine touch from my wife takes up a good portion of my thoughts.

“Sawyer, breathe. We’ll figure this out,” Siobhan says over the phone.

“I don’t like that he’s sending you cryptic messages.”

“Dad’s messages really are getting weirder and weirder. They don’t even make sense.”

“Probably best we don’t understand them, sis. The less we know about his ‘business,’ the better.”

“Look on the bright side,” Siobhan quips. “At least we’re not solving crosswords like normal families.”

I run a hand through my hair, messing up the careful styling I’d done earlier for my dinner with the CEO of Sunrise Foods. My only consolation is that the strange messages from Dad are left for Siobhan in inconspicuous ways, so she’s safe for now.

“This is what you’re going to do. Send an email to Uncle Whitey. Make sure it’s traceable so anyone who might be monitoring your digital trails can read it. Tell him you are disowning Dad and for him to pass it along next time he visits the prison. You are to make it clear you want nothing to do with Dad and that you are completely clueless about the business—about everything. Do you understand?”

“But what if Dad is trying to tell us something important?”

I snort. “No, Siobhan. Let him stew in his own juice for a while.”

Siobhan sighs heavily. “Fine. But what about Mom?”

I hear footsteps on the stairs and turn to see Maggie in a red dress with a slit up the leg the size of the Grand Canyon. My brain short-circuits.

“Uhghuh…” is all I can say, letting the phone slide down my cheek while Maggie descends the stairs. She takes her sweet, sweet time, each step exposing her perfectly fit leg.

“Sawyer? You still there?” Siobhan’s voice echoes over the phone’s speaker.

“Gotta go,” I mumble, ending the call without taking my eyes off Maggie.

“Close your mouth, O’Malley. You’ll catch flies,” Maggie smirks, stepping onto the landing.

I snap my jaw shut, trying to regain my composure. “Took you long enough,” I tease.

“What? It’s my everything shower day.”

Do I really want to know? I shouldn’t ask, but I do anyway. “What the heck is an everything shower?”

Maggie hitches one shoulder and snorts. “That’s between me and my lady garden. Ready to go?”

“I was ready two hours ago, wife.” I reach over to her and run a finger over the slit in her dress. “Although, I don’t think we should ride my Harley tonight.”

“We’ll take my car, then.”

“Actually…” I grin, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small box. “I’ve got something for you.”

Maggie’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “What’s this? A bribe to make me wear your jersey more often?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. Just open it.”

She takes the box, her fingers brushing mine, sending a jolt through my body. As she lifts the lid, her eyebrows shoot up. “A fob? What’s this for?”

“Your new car,” I say, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “It’s parked outside.”

“My new what now?”

“Car. You know, those things with four wheels that get you from point A to point B without breaking down every other mile?”

Maggie's eyes narrow dangerously. “I know what a car is, smartass. What I don’t know is why you’re giving me one.”

“Your current ride is a rolling disaster. I thought you might appreciate something that actually starts when you turn the key.”

“So you just went out and bought me a car?” Her voice rises an octave. “Without asking me?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling less sure of myself.

“Sawyer O’Malley, you can’t just go around buying people cars!”

“I can if that person is my wife.”

Maggie’s nostrils flare.

Uh-oh. I know that look. It’s the ‘I’m about to verbally eviscerate you’ look.

“I don’t need your charity, O’Malley. My car works just fine.”

I snort. “If by ‘fine’ you mean ‘held together by duct tape and spit,’ then sure.”

She pushes past me and runs outside. There, in the driveway, is the shiny ice-blue Genesis I had delivered this afternoon. There’s even one of those big red bows on top.

“Where’s my Mazda, Sawyer? You didn’t junk it, did you?”

I hold up my hands in defense just in case that hot dress has built-in missiles. “Woah, woah. It’s in the garage.”

“I love my Mazda.”

“Nothing wrong with Mazdas,” I say. “But that 1980’s bucket of bolts is so old it might explode at any moment.”

She snuffs defensively. “It has character.”

“It’s leaking more oil than the Louisiana Pipeline spill.”

She waves her arms toward the Genesis. “This…thing…looks like a spaceship.”

“I’ll have you know, this beautiful, luxury vehicle is a top-rated safety pick. I don’t want you driving around in that death trap anymore.”

“Death trap? You literally ride a motorcycle!”

“Only in the summer. I drive my pickup in the winter months. Anyway, listen. We’ll be late for dinner of we don’t hurry. Let’s just try the car for tonight, and if you really hate it, we’ll look for something else.”

She crosses her arms, huffing as I carefully take the bow off the hood. “I’m only complying because I look hot in this dress and don’t want to rip it while climbing into your truck. Also, because there’s a wet substance on the seat of the Mazda.”

“Wet substance?”

“Could be coffee. Or rainwater mixed with rust.”

“Because you have a leak in the roof,” I supply, opening the car door for Maggie. Ah, I love new car smell. “I’ll drive on the way there if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever you say, dude.” Such vitriol on her lips, but her eyes tell another story.

The way she rakes her gaze over me…the way her little pink tongue pokes out to drag over that cherry-red lipstick she’s wearing. The way her cheeks flush when we’re near one another. She may not love me, or even like me. I’m pretty sure she downright hates me. But a part of her wants me, and that’s a dangerous place to be.

She slides in the passenger seat, that sleek leather interior cradling her perfect rear end. And the slit on that dress! I don’t know if I’ll survive the rest of the night.

When I jog around to the driver’s side, Maggie’s already buckled in. I hold out my hand and she plops the key fob in my palm. I don’t really need it to start the car, but I put it in my pocket for safekeeping.

“So…this guy from the cereal company?” she begins.

“The CEO of Sunrise Foods, you mean,” I say. “Robert Thornton. And his wife Patricia, remember?”

“Right. Can you explain to me why we’re having dinner at his house?”

I pull out of the driveway and head down our residential street. “Like I’ve said before, he wants to meet you. It’s what bigwigs do.”

“Because he wants to make sure your wife has tamed the playboy?”

“Something like that. Bruce says they’ll only continue with the endorsement deal if they’re convinced I’m a family man.”

She laughs. “So this is kind of an important dinner then?”

“Yes.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see her wicked grin as she lets out an amused sniff. “Got it.”

Lord help me. I don’t like the sound of that sniff. That sniff makes me nervous, especially considering the mood she’s in.