Page 20 of Daring You

I hate eggs. Despise them with the ultimate death stare. They should be eradicated from this world along with mosquitos. But I can’t insult this girl before I ask her to leave. I ain’t that much of a jerk.

“How’s your head?” she asks.

“Huh?”

“Your head,” she repeats, lightly tapping my temple. “You were saying last night how you took a really bad fall.”

“I told you that?”

“Uh-huh. But you assured me your other head was just fine.”

Okay, yeah, I believe that.

“I smelled bacon,” I say.

“Here.” She puts the entire plate of crispy, still sizzling bacon in front of me, and I’m a happy clam. When I crunch down on one I think, damn, now I’m really going to feel shitty for kicking her out when she makes the best crispy bacon this side of Manhattan.

I wonder if she works in a restaurant, or is some kind of chef, especially considering I met her with Ash. It’s then my mind fires up its backup battery, reminding me she better not work with Ash or be any sort of semi-permanent fixture in my inner circle. That would’ve been an incredibly amateur move on my part last night.

Damn, I truly wish I remembered what went on.

But she has to go. To be real, there’s only one blonde I have room for in my life, and she’s in the form of a one-and-a-half-year-old.

Speaking of…

I check my watch and curse when I realize I only have about forty-five minutes before I’m meeting Locke, Lily and Carter in Brooklyn.

“I’m sorry to do this, but I really have to roll,” I say to the blonde.

She shrugs and takes the pan off the heat. “Okay.”

My chin jerks back. Could it be this easy? It’s never this easy.

“I put my number in your phone,” she says with a wink, and fuck-damn, she peels off my shirt she’s wearing and stands in front of me bare-ass naked. “You should call me.”

Or fuck you on the kitchen table right now.

Priorities, Benny-boy. You’re seeing your honorary niece today, and nothing, not even a great pair of tits and an excellent ass, could keep me from it.

“Will do,” I say, honestly impressed. “I’ll for sure remember you.”

She smiles and pats my head affectionately. “You can’t even recall my name, but that’s okay. Hot Piece worked for you last night, and it works for you now.”

“Hot Piece? That’s what I called you?”

“Often.”

She sashays away, her plump ass-cheeks molding firm with each step. “Where did you come from?”

“Daddy’s Girls, down the road.”

“I…hang on a second.” I stand and follow her to the bedroom. “You work at the local strip joint?”

“Sure do, B-Daddy.”

I fucked a stripper? Holy hell, what did Ash give me last night? And why did I want to be called B-Daddy?

“It’s Penny, by the way. My name,” she says as she steps into her thong and shimmies it up her hips, making her tits bounce.

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