Twirled Bond (Holly Woods Files, #5) (2 page)

“Concealed carry yoga pants.” I shove my phone screen in his face. “Yoga pants, Drake! With a home for Betty!”

His bright-blue gaze lands on me, and he lets go of a heavy sigh. “Sweetheart, I’ve told you. Nobody is gonna take you seriously if you keep calling your gun ‘Betty.’”

I just showed him yoga pants that have a space for my gun. Does he not see the brilliance of this?

“Besides,” he says, looking back down at his file. He licks his fingers and flips a page, the sound swishing through the air. “You don’t need any more excuses to wear yoga pants. You have an entire drawer of them.”

“Yes,” I reply slowly, adding the pants to my cart—don’t freaking judge me, okay?—and staring at him. “But none of them have space for my gun to go in. I can work in these!”

“That’s my point. You don’t need another reason.”

“Excuse me!” I put my phone down on the kitchen counter and indignantly put my hands on my hips. “I don’t see
you
complaining whenever I walk past you wearing them. The last time I did, you smacked my ass and then threw me on the sofa and screwed my brains out!”

He grins, looking back up at me. “I know. But, if you have a pair with a gun in, you might shoot me the next time I try that.”

I glare at him. “Who says I won’t do it anyway?”

“You won’t. If you shoot me, you’ll have to go back to cooking seven nights a week, and I know you’re way too used to me doing it now.”

Cute. He thinks I used to cook every night before he moved in.

“Yeah, but then I’ll also be able to take my shoes out of the storage tubs they’ve been relegated to while you don’t build my shoe closet in the spare room.” I sniff and fold my arms. I’m so holding a grudge against him for that.

It’s been six months since we made the decision to live together. Six freaking months since my shoes were “temporarily” transferred to plastic tubs and he started sharing my closet.

He sells his house in three days.

I still don’t have a shoe closet.

“I told you. I’ll get around to doing it,” he says dismissively.

“You’ve been getting around to it for a long-ass time now, Nash.”

“If I had known you’d nag this much, Bond, I wouldn’t have moved in.”

“I wouldn’t have to nag if you just did it. You’re half done. I don’t know why it’s taking so long.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say your shoes are more important than my job.”

I purse my lips. Man. I thought he knew that was the case. Oy vey. It’s been an entire year since he first walked into my office after a dead body had been left in my dumpster and he still doesn’t know that my shoes are right up there with basic nutrition. And cupcakes.

I pull out the chair opposite him and drop onto it with a huff. “Honey, you’re a homicide detective. Nobody has been killed since Wally at Halloween. You bet your ass my shoes are currently more important. I don’t even know what y’all do when you say you’re working.”

He slowly meets my gaze, his lips in a thin line. Then he sighs and shuts his file. “You know you’ve just jinxed it, right?”

I frown. “You don’t believe in feelings and jinxes and crap. Last time, you laughed at me.”

“Last time, we found a dead body,” he points out. Correctly.

So my feelings are usually on point. That’s not my fault.

“Well... True,” I answer then pause. “That wasn’t my fault though. You can’t blame me for that. Besides, if it is jinxed, it’s your fault. If you built the shoe closet, there wouldn’t be a discussion about my shoes being more important than your job.”

Drake looks at me in the way that tells me he’s counting to ten inside his head.

He does that a lot now. Like...three times a week, at least. I think I get a gold star if he goes an entire day without even considering it.

In my defense, I warned him before he moved in that I’d be completely insufferable and a total pain in the ass. He decided to do it anyway.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rubbing his temple. “I’ll do it tomorrow, okay?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You told Dad you’d help him build Nonna’s new bed.”

He drops forward on the table, completely burying his face in his arms, and a groan escapes his mouth.

My lips twitch. Oh, man. He forgot. Of course he did. Typical male.

“You remember?” I ask. “That fancy new one with the electric controls to help her hips.”

“The woman spends three hours a day in the kitchen, standing up and cooking,” he says as he stands up and goes to the fridge. “I don’t see how an electric bed will help her hips if she’s always on her feet.”

“Drake, none of us do, but it’s the new bed or telling her not to cook. I know which one I’d rather suggest to her.”

He slams the fridge shut and turns to me. “Are you telling me she doesn’t know the bed is coming?”

She has no idea the bed is coming. This is Nonna we’re talking about. Nobody is gonna tell her until it’s done and her old bed has been removed from the house.

“Noelle.” Drake slaps his hands against the table and leans forward, his arms tensing as he holds his body weight up. It’s a nice view. “Does Nonna know about the new bed?”

“Would you look at the time? I need to finish up some paperwork before bed.” I stand and dart around the table.

He’s quicker than I am. His hand closes around my wrist, and he forcefully tugs me toward him. I squeak as our bodies collide and he wraps one arm around my waist, keeping me against him.

“I reeeeally have to work.” I try to push against him despite the fact that I know it’s completely futile.

“Noelle.” His eyes meet mine, and amusement shines back at me. He’s trying to fight it, but he’s failing so epically that I can’t help but smile at him. “Nonna doesn’t know, does she?”

I shake my head. “Dad brought it up last month and she had Gio answer with, and I quote, ‘
Cazzo! A fanabla!’
and long story short, it’s way too much effort to argue with her. She can’t argue when the old one is gone.”

“She can and she will.”

“Nah, she won’t. She’s being good lately.” Good for Nonna, that is. For everyone else... It was probably borderline illegal, in all honesty. “You’ll see.”

“I can-a not-a believe-a you!” Nonna waves her arms around, staring at the bed that runs along the far wall of her bedroom. “I go-a for-a lunch with-a a friend and you-a do this!”

“It’s just a bed, Nonna,” I offer. “And who knew you had friends?”

“Noella, I will-a kill you!”

“Me? Why? I didn’t build the dang thing. Blame Drake and Dad!”

“Way to throw me under the bus, cupcake,” Drake mutters, prodding his finger into my spine. “I was coerced,” he says to Nonna. “Tricked into it, really.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I-a do-a not believe-a you.”

Well, that isn’t exactly a surprise, given that it’s an outright lie.

“I can’t believe they did this,” I say, leaning against the wall. “How dare they, Nonna?”

She spins and spears me with her angry gaze. “You-a! What-a do-a you want, siding with-a me?”

“Meatballs and spaghetti to take home.”

“O-a-kay,” she replies after a moment of thought. “I-a know! How-a dare you?” she throws at Drake.

“I swear to god, Noelle,” he hisses in my ear. “I swear I was forced into it, Nonna. You can’t believe I’d build you a bed knowing you’d be angry at it, could you?”

Nonna pauses. “
Si.
You would.”

“Why do you believe Noelle’s bullshit siding with you but not mine?”

“Because-a she would-a not build a bed. She would-a break-a a nail.”

I grin over my shoulder.
Nailed it, Nonna.
Ner-ner. No meatballs and spaghetti for him. More for me. Nom nom.

“Where-a is-a Antonio?” Nonna demands, storming past us. Her cane whacks against the wooden floor. “Antonio!” She follows up Dad’s name by yelling in harsh, angry Italian.

Drake sighs heavily and hits me with his bright-blue eyes. “I can’t believe she let you side with her. She doesn’t even like you half the time. I’m her favorite out of the two of us.”

“I know.” I can’t stop grinning. “But I didn’t build the bed. You did. Sucker.” I turn away and skip into the kitchen.

So what if I’m smug? He didn’t have to build it.

“I had to build it!” he argues, following me through downstairs. “Your dad would have put his back out trying to do it alone!”

I smack my palm against my forehead. “I have three brothers.
You
didn’t have to do anything!”

Drake stops. “Shit. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re their boss and already tell them what to do enough?”

“And you don’t, right?”

“Hey—two of them are married now. Besides, they’re both older than I am. They never listened to me anyway.”

So, Brody doesn’t exactly listen to me, either, because if he did, he’d probably be dating my best friend, but whatever. Picking battles and all that.

Drake rubs his hand over his face. “Sweetheart, I rarely listen to you, but you tell me what to do sometimes.”

“Yes, I know you don’t listen to me.”

“Don’t bring up the shoe closet.”

I pull a double-chocolate cookie from the jar and take a big bite out of it. My eyebrows shoot up. There’s my case in point. He doesn’t need to tell me that he doesn’t listen to me. I’m still holding out hope that, one day, I’ll come home from work and there will be the small spare room, shelves all in place, ready for me to organize.

“Oh, fuck the shoe closet,” Brody mutters, slamming the front door. “Just use the damn boxes, Noelle.”

I purse my lips. “Then maybe you should take your belt off and stuff your handcuffs and your gun in your ass pockets.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” He frowns at me. “Did Mom bake cookies?”

I hold mine up so he can’t swipe it. “There’s my point. And yes. She did. But I ate most of them.”

Brody drops his gaze to my stomach. “I can tell.”

I punch him. Hard.
Asshole
.

“Brody!” Nonna yells. “You do-a not-a call your-a sister fat!”

He holds his hands up, jumping away from the cookie jar. I have no idea if he’s trying to look innocent, but if he is, dropping the three cookies he’s gripping is probably the best way to do it.

“I didn’t say she was fat. I just said it was obvious she’s eaten a lot of cookies,” he argues.

“Drake! Why-a you-a not-a stand up for-a her?”

Boy. Nonna is on the warpath today. I’m a little afraid and I’m not the one in the way.

Drake snatches two cookies out of Brody’s hands. “Because, last time I tried, I got a knee that belonged to Brody to my dick. I’d rather not repeat it, thanks, Nonna.”

I grimace. Yeah... About that... Whoops. In my defense, Brody did move out of the way.

“You should-a stand-a up for-a her!” She finishes her tirade to him before turning to my little brother. “And-a you! Stop-a being mean to-a her!”

Okay... Nonna’s standing up for me is getting more than a little scary now.

“Dad’s gone down to the station to see Sheriff Bates,” Brody tells her. “Something about hiding from you and letting Drake take the crap for a new bed.”

Nonna gasps, dramatically clasping her hand to her chest. “No! That is-a it!” She shuffles past us all and out of the front door before I can even finish rolling my eyes.

Who knew a bed could invoke such wrath? Not me—that’s for sure.

Then again, this is Nonna we’re talking about. Giving her a bouquet of flowers where the lilies are different colors is enough to get her a little agitated.

Drake swings his gaze from the door back to me. “I knew it. I knew he’d do that.”

Brody shrugs. “More fool you for letting him talk you into it.”

“You knew about the bed?” I ask him, raising an eyebrow. What a little shit.

“Yeah.” He swallows the cookie he was chewing. “He might be my boss at work, but y’all’ve been datin’ for almost a year, not to mention living together for months. Mom constantly insists he’s part of the family, which means that, outside of work, he gets the same shitty treatment we give each other.”

Well... We do have an unwritten rule in the Bond family that, if something screwy has to be done, it’s gotta be done by someone else.

“That’s true,” I agree. I look at Drake. “Sorry, honey. Looks like you’ve gotta ride this one out.”

He looks like he wants to bend me over and smack my ass. “What? You’re not gonna help me?”

I snort and grab another cookie. “I survived twenty-eight years of this crap before you even got involved here. I love you, but it’s way more fun watching it happen to someone else. This time, it’s your turn.”

“You really shouldn’t eat more of those cookies,” Brody points out. “They’re going straight to your hips.”

I stare at him. “I’m going to mix baby powder with water, tip it into a condom, then put it in Nonna’s bed and tell her you had sex in it.”

Drake raises his eyebrows. “Like she needs another reason to hate the bed.”

“I don’t care about the bed. I just need other methods of pissing this asshole”—I point at Brody—“off, because I can’t keep kicking your balls instead of his. I need yours. I couldn’t give a shit about his.”

“Aaaand I’m out.” Brody steals two more cookies out of the jar. “All gone. No more cookies for you, fatty.”