A small commotion followed, drawing their attention to the stage as a man streaked across it. Thankfully, his hands covered his front, but since he had a nice tan line, there was no missing his butt as he jumped off the stage and kept running.
Tango shook his head. “Every year some idiot thinks that’s a good idea.”
“So it’s a tradition,” Liv said, trying to keep from laughing.
“When you put it that way, it’s not such a bad thing.”
White Strand might be small, and everyone might like to know everyone else’s business, but the place had a charm that Liv found herself falling for more and more every day.
“I don’t know about you guys,” the emcee, a Chris Hemsworth look-a-like, said into his microphone, “but I thought tonight was supposed to be moonless. Guess we got beamed anyway.” He smiled as the audience ate up his corny intro.
“Who is that?” Liv asked Danny.
“Dr. Flynn.”
“That’s Dr. Flynn? I don’t know why, but I pictured someone much older and with a lot less hair.”
“What do you say we kick things off with a scary looking bunch,” Dr. Flynn said. “Judges, you ready?”
They nodded they were. And with one last peek at Danny, Liv gave silent thanks that something was finally going to distract her from her best friend.
Chapter Seven
Danny trudged into the kitchen Thursday night, exhausted and hungry, his mind on last night’s leftover ribs. “What the?” he grumbled, tripping over something in the middle of the floor. And what was that god-awful smell?
He flipped on the light. In the few seconds it took his eyes to adjust to the brightness, several things registered. One, Liv had cooked that broccoli crap. Two, she’d gone shopping and packages were all over the place. Three, intimate apparel was soaking in the sink.
She’d broken their rules. He ground his teeth in annoyance. Not cool.
Ignoring everything for the moment, he opened the fridge. The foil wrapped leftovers that this morning had sat on the middle shelf were nowhere to be seen. Un-fucking-believable. She’d stunk up the kitchen and eaten his ribs. He hastily grabbed turkey, mustard, and lettuce to make a sandwich.
There wasn’t a knife in the drawer to cut the sandwich in half, so he checked the dishwasher. He took a few minutes to empty the clean dishes, admittedly not very quietly, not because he wanted to wake up Liv, but because…who was he kidding? She deserved to be woken up for aggravating him.
It’s not her fault you had a long-ass day.
Food on the plate, cold bottle of beer in his hand, he hit the light switch with his elbow and rounded the corner to take the food upstairs to his room.
Only to be hit in the face with something hard and flat. “Ow!” The object smacked him again, this time in the shoulder. He dropped the plate and raised his arm in defense. A loud clatter sounded at the same time he yelled, “Stop!”
“Danny?” Liv said in surprise. The attack stopped. “Oh my God. I thought you were a burglar. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
He stepped back and turned the light on. “What the hell did you hit me with?” His forehead throbbed, his left eye stung.
She winced as she lifted a large square candle enclosed in glass. “I bought it today. It’s pumpkin spice.”
“It’s a deadly weapon.”
She made a sad, regretful face. “Sorry.”
Shit. How was he supposed to stay mad at that? “You used a candle to nearly knock me unconscious. Not bad, Maybug. But—”
“I know, I know. You don’t have to tell me it was stupid.” She took a step toward him.
“Don’t move. I don’t want you to cut your foot on the broken plate.”
She didn’t listen, but walked a wide circle around the mess and the kitchen island, getting to him without incident. “You need ice. Sit.” She took the beer out of his hand and nudged him toward a barstool. His face hurt too much to protest.
“Next time if you think someone is in the house, call 9-1-1.”
Her nose scrunched up. “I did.”
Great. He’d successfully gone twenty-seven years without police interrogation and would have preferred his first time be something less humiliating than a misunderstanding with his room—fiancée. Liv took one look at his pained expression and set the half-filled bag of ice down on the counter to pick up the phone.
“I couldn’t sit still and do nothing,” she said. “Adrenaline or something kicked in. Hello? Hi, no emergency. I actually wanted to cancel one. I just called…”
Danny tuned her out, his brain focusing on her appearance now that he had a chance to take her in. She wore her V-neck angel sleep shirt and nothing else—that he could see anyway. Blond hair fell around her shoulders in sexy, sleep-mussed waves. Healthy calf muscles, pink toenail polish. Panic swept through him, but was quickly replaced by a strong, possessive compulsion to keep her safe. What had she been thinking, coming downstairs to confront an intruder?