Page 30 of Never Kiss the Bad Boy

“Yeah,” Dani says, her voice barely a whisper. She goes back to sharpening, the knife sweeping back and forth across the stone. “Luckily, I was able to keep some of the equipment. The pots, the pans, the knives. One of the older gas burners. The smoker out back, since it was a handmade job welded up by a friend of Papa’s as a trade for two weeks’ worth of lunches for his crew. Those things wouldn’t fetch shit when it came to resale, and they thought I could use them when I got married.” She scoffs, and I think that’s an entirely different scab she’s trying to heal. “Anyway, I told the customers I was going to figure something out, and I did. Now, they come to me for lunch.”

Dani goes quiet, her hands never stopping even though she’s lost in her thoughts. I don’t think she ever quits moving, working, struggling, fighting to prove something to herself and her parents.

I keep washing, my own mind whirling. “I think we’re more alike than you’d expect,” I say. I’m not gonna deep dive into my own family shit with her, as neither of us needs that, but I do feel some sense of similarity with her—both of us disappointing our families because we’re not what they want us to be.

Dani’s brows climb her forehead. “Yeah, you come to that conclusion after seeing my thirty-thousand-dollar Harley sitting out front?” she asks snarkily.

I laugh, not mad at her assessment when it’s the truth.

“Lucille cost more than that,” I admit, “seeing as she’s custom. And you liked riding with me.” She huffs out in feigned annoyance, and I continue, seeing the interest in her eyes. “But in some ways, I’m trying to prove something to my family too.”

“What’re they like?”

I try to think about how best to describe my family. We’ve gone through a lot in the last few years. My oldest brother, Cameron, lost his wife and never fully recovered. My second oldest brother, Carter, left the family business in a blaze of glory. Two of my brothers, Chance and Cole, told Dad to fuck off a long time ago in their own very different ways. And my sister, Kayla, somehow expertly straddles Dad’s world at work while being Mom’s right-hand woman the rest of the time. And then there’s me.

“Perfect, other than me,” I confess. “They all fit some sort of mold my dad has, either working for him or striking out on their own in ways that make him proud.”

“Your dad’s not proud of you?”

Damn, she clued on to that fucking fast. And no, he’s not, which pisses me off. And hurts. But I cover the hurt up by annoying the hell out of Dad so he’s pissed off too. Just two angry assholes, me and him.

That’s not what I tell Dani, though. Nope, I fix a smile on my face and let out a deep chuckle. “I don’t think he is or isn’t. I’m not something he thinks about, unless it’s to curse my existence, which I give him cause to do regularly.” Dani frowns, and I explain, “With as many siblings as I have, life was always crisis management as we grew up. Who needed to be where and when, mostly. I was the baby, so Mom hauled me along to everyone’s games, awards, tutoring, or whatever, or I got left with a babysitter. Dad was there for the big stuff, like holidays or family dinners, but I was basically an afterthought. But there’s one sure-fire way to get distracted people to pay attention to you,” I tease, genuinely grinning as I recall some of the antics I’ve pulled.

“I’m afraid to ask.” Dani’s cringing as if she’s already imagining the worst.

“Be a pain in their ass,” I answer, proud of myself even if no one else has bothered to be proud of me.

She laughs at my unexpected answer. “Well, you’ve definitely perfected the art of that,” she surmises.

“Pretty sure my dad would agree,” I gloat.

Is bad behavior the best way to get attention? Of course not, but if the choice is that or no attention, I think most people would start doing some stupid shit. And it’s not as if I make a habit out of my bad behavior now. I’ve left most of the truly horrifying stuff in my sordid past and live a pretty boring life for the most part—working, playing with my dog, and hanging out with my siblings, who I’ve learned maybe aren’t as bad as I always thought they were when I was growing up.

But as far as Dad’s concerned? Yeah, that’s when I act out, act up, and act a fool. It’s family tradition at this point.

“You’ve definitely been a pain in mine,” Dani teases, but her grin says she’s not as mad about that fact now. “I noticed your parking job today. Thank you. It helped… a lot.”

“Glad it made a difference. What’s next?” I don’t want to dwell on the parking deal that’s been such a thorn in both our sides, so I move on quickly, letting us both off that particular hook. Plus, I really have made it through the stack of dishes, pots and pans, and all the silverware.

She looks around the kitchen in surprise, as if she didn’t realize how much progress we’ve both made. The dishes are dried and piled up neatly so they’re ready to go in the morning, her knives are all sharpened, and the countertop and table are clean, save the whetstone that’s sitting out on the windowsill to dry in the evening air.

I see the moment she realizes that we did it all… together. I don’t think it’s something she’s used to—having someone at her side to make the hard stuff a little easier.

Not that dishes are hard. But they’re a constant, a fact of daily life for Dani, and taking that off her to-do list for even one night seems like a big deal to her, even if it’s something I would gladly do every day to make her smile.

“Kyle… thank you,” she whispers, her voice husky.

“Anytime. I know you can handle it all yourself. Hell, you’re walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders like it’s nothing. But I don’t have to be the enemy. If you’ll let me, I might even be… a friend?”

It’s a weird word. Certainly an unusual description for what I want Dani to be, which is beneath me, in front of me, or riding me. I’m not picky. But as much as I want her and think she wants me, I think both of us need something else from each other more.

Friendship.

So I don’t push. I don’t ask if she’s thought about my offer the way I have, imagining her coming over and over on my fingers, tongue, and dick. I don’t ask if she’s replayed that kiss in her mind to the point of insanity like I’ve been doing.

CHAPTER 11

DANI

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