Page 126 of Holding On To Good

Frowning, she took the cone. Kept her money clutched in her free hand. “No. I’m buying. That was the whole point of this little trip, remember?”

“Guess you should’ve been paying attention instead of flirting with Frat Boy.”

Her eyebrows went so high up, they about disappeared into her hairline. “Okay, first of all, I wasn’t flirting with Brandon. And even if I was, what does that have to do with you?”

Warmth crawled up his neck. “Nothing,” he muttered. “It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Exactly. Now, how much was the ice cream? Because I’m paying you back every cent.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Fine. I’ll just ask the woman working here.”

When she moved to go past him, he stepped in front of her. “I may be an angry, mean hardass with a chip on my shoulder,” he said quietly so Ian couldn’t hear him repeating her description of him from the night she showed up at his place. “But even I know enough to thank someone when they do something nice for me.”

Her lips thinned even as she blushed, because a Type-A girl like Verity could handle being pissed-off and embarrassed at the same time.

Was probably pissed off because she was embarrassed.

“Thank you for buying Ian and me ice cream,” she said in the snottiest tone he’d ever heard. She then turned to Ian. “Come on. Let’s sit down and eat.”

Ian ran over to the booth closest to the door and slid onto the bench seat. Verity joined him. Reed glanced at the door. He should go. Tommy, his boss, let him pick up extra hours on Saturdays and he still had an oil change and a state inspection to get done before he was finished for the day. If he was lucky, he’d be able to punch out with plenty of time left to grab a sandwich and a shower before heading for his shift at the bar.

He wasn’t like Brandon. Home on break, soaking up the sun and spending his parents’ money. Reed took care of himself. Pitched in with the household expenses as much as he could to ease his mother’s burden. To keep his old man off their backs. He had jobs—three if you counted the few times a month he stocked shelves at the grocery store where his mom worked. He had responsibilities.

He didn’t have time to sit on his ass and eat ice cream with a bossy, prissy princess.

But then Ian said something that made Verity laugh and instead of heading for the door, Reed found himself being lured by that light sound toward the booth.

And when she glanced at him, her eyes crinkled with amusement, a smile on her face, he slid into the seat across from her, sat on his ass and ate ice cream.

Verity and Ian got into some deep discussion about what they’d do if they fell into a pit of snakes. Reed kept quiet. For one thing, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall into a pit of snakes. For another, he’d already said too much for one day. Asking if Verity had been to his house, letting her see his fear over the thought of her coming face-to-face with his dad. Wanting to know about her brothers.

Making that comment about her flirting with Brandon.

But he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at her. She talked to the kid like he was her equal, listening in an intent way that made it clear he had her full attention. That she respected his thoughts and opinions. And when Ian asked if he could play the old-school Donkey Kong game in the back corner, she didn’t force him to finish his ice cream or bitch about him wasting money, just gave him a dollar and told him when he asked for change, to also get a cup to put the rest of his ice cream in for later.

“I know why I’m pouting,” she said, when Ian went up to the counter. “What’s your excuse?”

Reed sent her a glare. “I don’t pout.”

She tipped her head to the side, her ponytail sliding across her shoulder. “The way your lower lip is sticking out says otherwise.”

It wasn’t sticking out, but he rubbed his fingertips across his mouth. Just to be sure.

She sighed, as if he was just too much to deal with.

Welcome to his world, sister. He was having a hell of a time dealing with the sight of her eating her ice cream, the dainty licks she took making his dick twitch. He wondered what it’d be like, having good girl Verity Jennings’s tongue in his mouth. On his cock.

“I don’t think you’re mean.”

He jerked his gaze up to her face. Shifted in his seat. “What?”

“I don’t think you’re mean,” she repeated, staring at her ice cream. “In case that’s why you’re upset or whatever. Because you think I do. But I don’t.” With a soft inhale, she raised her eyes to his, her tone soft. Sincere. “You’re not mean.”

He wrapped both hands around his plastic cup, wished he could pitch it across the room. Damn it. Damn it! He had thought that. Why wouldn’t he? She’d said it. His act, she’d called it that night. He’d hated how clearly she’d seen through him. Hated how much it’d bugged him, her thinking he was some asshole with nothing more going for him than a mean streak.

Like his old man.

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