Free Somebody's Ex by Jasmine Haynes Page B

it?”
    “I asked if you would talk to your
brother. Some bug’s been up his butt the last couple of weeks.”
    “And which butt would that be, Jace
or Mitch?” David didn’t really want to know.
    “Mitch. Take him out for a drink
and find out what’s up with him, would ya?”
    David snorted and shook his head.
Mr. Fix-It. Talk with your brother and fix him up. He hadn’t fixed
things with Jace. He wouldn’t even try with Mitch.
    “Can’t do it, Dad. Got a date.” He
threw an armload of branches onto the pile in the trailer.
    His dad raised one eyebrow. “Should
I be telling your mother anything important?”
    “It’s a date. That’s all. Not
someone serious.” He’d screwed Randi, that was all. All that intensity crap was
just that—crap. He didn’t even know her. She was a good lay.
    The thought made him wince.
    His dad waggled his eyebrows, but
laid off. “Tomorrow then, or Friday. I’m sure Mitch’ll hold till you get to
him.”
    Mitch could rot in his own
self-made hell.
    David sucked in a breath. Anger,
seething, had risen so quickly it took his breath away. His gut ached with it,
his blood boiled, his muscles tensed. He gritted his teeth.
    “Later, Dad. Gotta go.”
    He eased his bunched fists. In a
minute, he’d start yelling at his old man like a maniac. And for nothing. It
wasn’t his dad’s fault that David couldn’t get his shit together, much less
Mitch, for that matter.
    He took one more deep breath, then
another. If Randi didn’t show, she didn’t show. He didn’t give a damn. Yes, she
was more than a good lay, more than a screw, but they still weren’t serious
together.
    And Mitch could handle his own
goddamn bug.
    “That’s it.” He slapped the side of
the trailer, flipped the tarp over the load, and tied it down. “Can you handle
the dump on your own, Dad?”
    “Sure.”
    “Good. I’ve got something to take
care of.”
    He stopped at home long enough to
shower off and change his clothes. It was four o’clock. Randi hadn’t gotten
home last night until close to six, which meant she’d probably still be working
at her parents’ shop. He’d find her there.
    Dinner was still on, as far as he
was concerned. He’d pleasure her again, better than last night. He wanted her
to burn, hot, hotter, until this thing between them burned itself out. He
needed her to burn the flare of anger from his soul.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    The shop was dark and cramped, the
three aisles narrow, the shelves filled with cans, bottles, and packages jammed
with candy. The checkerboard linoleum was clean but dingy. Two register stands
stood to the left at the front of the store, and in the back, the refrigerated
section hummed.
    “May I help you?”
    Short, plump, and white-haired, the
woman was probably the same age as his mother, but the lines at her mouth
drooped as if she frowned more than smiled.
    “I was looking for Randi.”
    “Papa, he’s looking for Randi.” Her
voice rang out with a sing-song Scandinavian lilt. The name sounded softer and
more feminine coming from her lips.
    For a moment, David wanted
desperately to perfect the lilt gracing the name.
    Randi’s father was no less round,
but taller, and he had twenty years on his wife. He must have been middle-aged
when Randi was born.
    They stared at him with blue eyes
identical to Randi’s.
    The man spoke first. “You’re
looking for my daughter?”
    “Yes. She works here, right?”
Somehow he felt like a sixteen-year-old showing up for a prom date and driving
his dad’s car for the first time.
    “And you are?”
    “David Jackson.”
    “And how do you know Randi?”
    Carnally. Exquisitely. “Her car
broke down the other day, and I helped her into town.” He couldn’t say why, but
he knew in his gut that saying she ran out of gas would be the worst
explanation he could give.
    The old man grunted out a Norwegian
word and flapped his hand. “That cursed truck. She’s in the back. Working.”
    It would have been better to