Pat

Leave it to Max to make Pat's one shot at a little payback backfire on her so epically. Pat knew he had her pegged as uptight and wound way too tight. It's why, when she noticed her sucking that first strawberry had messed with his focus, she decided to lay it on a little thicker. She figured, if he could relentlessly amuse himself at her expense, she could give him a harmless taste of his own medicine. Still, no matter how uptight he considered her, he had to know even the laxest of women would be feeling scandalized right about now. She'd dreamt of that damn smirk all night, and now it was taunting her in the worst way imaginable.

Gathering herself, she refused to comment on the elephant in the room. Mostly because she'd be damned if she'd admit to unwittingly asking for it. Lifting her chin, she turned back to the kitchen door and started marching her heated and likely bright red face right out of there. "I meant lunch, Max. But I'm thinking that's a bad idea now."

"What? I'm up, uh . . ." Unbelievably, she heard him chuckle. Of course, the shameless jerk was loving this. "Down for lunch."

They walked into the kitchen, and she headed for the fridge to put the strawberries away. Thankfully, by the time she turned around, he was standing behind the kitchen island, and it was high enough so she couldn't see below his waist. Following her lead, but still grinning unapologetically, Max went on ignoring the obvious. "Since you do owe me—your words not mine—I say I get to pick what we're having." Pat pressed her lips together, staring at that overly amused grin and braced herself. "How 'bout wings or baby back ribs?" Before she could figure out why this amused him so, he added the next part. "Anything I can watch you suck dry."

Unwilling to give him the upper hand and pissed that he'd managed to turn this so completely around, Pat refused to let him see her squirm. Standing her ground and looking him right in the eyes as unfazed as possible, she shrugged. "Up to you. Just be careful what you ask for. Might be too much for you to handle."

The offending grin started to go flat, and Pat felt a bit triumphant. Until he flashed those perfect teeth again. "That a challenge or a promise?"

Standing up a little straighter, in spite of how hot her face still felt, Pat was determined to not let him win, but this had gone too far. "Okay, ha, ha. Seriously, unless you want me to throw you out—

"Sweetheart," he said, holding his hand up. "I'm sorry, but you can't do or say shit like that and not expect a man to react."

"Do what?" Pat asked, feeling like a complete hypocrite. "Eat fruit? If I'd known it took so little to—"

"Oh, you have no idea."

Locked in his sultry gaze again for a moment, Pat managed to snap herself out of it and started back to the fridge.

"Alright," she said, annoyed that he'd be so utterly tickled by this instead of mortified as he should be. "Do you want lunch or not?"

"Got either of my requests?"

Glad she wasn't facing him anymore, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "No, I don't actually. She turned around to face him when she had a thought. "But I can order a pizza."

"Yeah, that sounds good," he said thankfully, and just when she thought they'd finally moved on, he added, "Most pizza places have wings."

The verdict was in loud and clear. Pat had been debating from the moment Max drove away yesterday about whether having him over again was a good idea or not. She'd written several texts she'd talked herself out of sending. After her restless night of being haunted by those maddening grins, and then today, she knew this should end now. Knowing now how easily she could get this man going would only further the temptation of giving into something crazy.

But he had fixed her dryer after bringing her chocolate-covered strawberries, and she was getting hungry. She grabbed her phone from the counter, mind made up. She'd order a pizza, get through lunch with him, then send him on his way—for good this time.

"So, what's your preference?" he asked. "Pizza Hut? Dominos?"

"Oh, hell no." She shook her head. "There's only one place I ever order pizza from." She scrolled through her contacts. "Zia's. Ever been?"

Naturally, his expression was a disapproving one when she glanced up at him. More proof that they couldn't be more opposite. Pat loved the place. "That snooty Italian place on the beach? That place is overrated, and way overpriced. They're not even all that."

"Best pizza in all of San Diego if you ask me."

For once, he was doing the eyerolling. "Yeah, well, I'm not surprised you'd think that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She put her phone down on the counter again, ready to go head-to-head with him now.

"I'm just sayin' I was there once. Saw people eating their pizza with a fork and knife." He shook his head. "Bunch of pretentious assholes."

"Are you saying I'm a pretentious asshole, Max?"

Max laughed. Laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, even as she continued to glare at him. "Hey, you said it, not me."

"No. You said you weren't surprised I liked the place and then followed up by implying only pretentious assholes eat there."

"Oh, I know." He pulled out his phone. "Can't believe it wasn't the first place I thought of." He glanced up at her with that eternal gleam in his eyes, giving her objection of his name-calling as much concern as he had when she saw the tent in his pants. "But then I was a little distracted there for a minute." He laughed again, tapping his phone screen a few times. "Ever try Naked Pizza over on the North Shore?"

Pat thought about that for a moment, still ruffled about the insult. "I have but not in years."

"Let's go there," he said, putting his phone back in his pocket. "I doubt they deliver this far, but we can eat there. They have a bar too."

"Go?" she asked, not sure she wanted to risk being seen with him.

The place wasn't too far from either of her sisters and in the same shopping center where Bell usually bought her groceries. She'd have a field day with this, probably try even harder to convince her to give him a shot. But after today, Pat had every intention of putting an end to his intrusive little visits.

"Yeah, why not?"

Pat shrugged. "If it's all the same to you, I really wasn't in the mood to go out today. The plan was to just stay home and relax."

"Alright." He pulled the phone out again. "I'll see if by chance they deliver. If not, we can order take out, and I'll go pick it up. But I have to have it now." Their eyes met as he brought the phone to his ear. "Pretty sure they have some of that fancy shit you like too."

She rolled her eyes as he started talking into his phone. How in the world did her sister think for a moment she and Max were in any way compatible?

"No shit?" he said, smiling big, and motioned to Pat. "They do deliver here for a few extra bucks, but I got it. What do you want?"

"No, I got it," she said, picking up her phone. "Give me a sec to look up their menu."

Max nodded. "Okay, first, I'll take an order of wings. What kind do you have?"

Pat shook her head, reading the place's menu on her phone. If he really thought she'd be sucking those wings for him after what happened in the garage, he was woefully mistaken.

"Ooh, I'll take the Guinea pie."

"The what?" he asked.

"It's the one with meatballs, spinach, and white garlic sauce."

He stared at her blankly for a second before shaking his head. "One Guinea Pie and a meat lovers. Yeah, that'll do it." The smile was back as soon as he hung up. "Should be eating some real pizza in about thirty minutes. Though I don't know about the one you ordered."

Not getting into this again, Pat decided to let his comment go and change the subject. "Is your . . . bar open on Sundays?"

"Yep, titty bar runs seven days a week, ten in the morning until four a.m."

"Really?" Pat started toward the front room, phone in hand, and he followed. "But don't you have to stop serving alcohol at two?"

He told her about the other stuff they serve, including coffee, and how a lot of the chumps stuck around, thinking they had a shot with some of the waitresses. They chatted a little more about his bar and how it all came together. Then he asked her about her job.

"What made you wanna be an attorney?"

"My dad was one, and I just liked the idea of prosecuting scum."

Max laughed. "I should've known you were a prosecutor, not a defense lawyer."

"Actually, I started school, set on becoming a defense lawyer. My dad was one." She picked up her phone when it dinged but put it right down after reading whatever it was. "It's a lot harder having the burden to prove your case beyond a reasonable doubt. It's also heartbreaking to know they're guilty and have them get off on some technicality or have to offer some bullshit plea bargain because you're afraid they'll walk."

"So, what made you change your mind?"

She was quiet for a moment before frowning. "More like who changed my mind." She shook her head. "I met my ex-husband in law school. He was studying to pass the bar exam the year I started school, so he started practicing before me. After hearing all the stories of his cases, it just seemed so much more rewarding. But then he was a damn good prosecutor, so I rarely got to hear about him losing a case. Too bad the brilliant bastard went and got himself disbarred."

"Brilliant?"

It was almost strange to finally get a response from Max where he didn't look ready to drop another punchline. For once he looked serious—almost annoyed.

Just as she was getting ready to respond, he added another comment. "I heard you're still not over the bastard."