CHAPTER THREE
As Rylie drove, she shot annoyed glances at Michael Brisbane, who sat in the passenger seat, eating pistachio nuts and powering down the window every so often to spit out the shell.
Not only that, but they were red pistachios, and his fingers were the color of cherries.
He may have been pretty, but her partner was pretty gross. Not only that, but he had a habit of talking. All the time. About absolutely nothing. The man could talk to a mountain and get it to talk back.
He handed her the paper bag, full of them, chewing noisily. “Want some? My momma always said that pistachios are pretty darn good for you. Nuts, you know. They got protein, and antioxidants, and--”
“No, and please stop talking like Forrest Gump,” she mumbled, screwing up her face in disgust as he went to s
