Page 51 of Never Kiss the Bad Boy

Out front, Nick boldly looks me up and down as Mama closes the door. I know she’s still peeking out the curtain, so I try to maintain some semblance of manners even though I want to tell him to keep his eyes above my shoulders or I’ll be forced to poke them out with my thumbs. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Nick says, sticking a hand in his pocket. “So, you’re the girl my mom was telling me about, huh?”

“Guess so. I just heard about you ten minutes ago,” I say flatly.

“Oh, guess that explains…” He looks me up and down again, and when his eyes come back to mine, I’m glaring hard, daring him to say one single fucking word about my appearance. Granted, he’s in baggy khakis and his short-sleeved button down is tucked in behind his belt, showing some effort, but it’s not like I’m in grungy sweats or work clothes. He doesn’t flinch, which I guess is some sort of point in his favor. “Let’s get this over with.”

Good, sounds like we’re on the same page.

Nick walks to the curb, where there’s a late-model SUV parked. It looks clean and well-cared for, and when he pulls a fob out of his pocket, it beeps, unlocking the doors.

I glance longingly at my own car, wishing I could make a run for it, but this truly is for the best. An hour at dinner, tops, and then I can tell Mama that there was no chemistry, which will buy me a few weeks at least until she rounds up some other suitable potential suitor.

So I follow Nick. He walks around the back of the SUV, not opening my door or anything. I’m no princess, but considering that Kyle was more of a gentleman on an ad-hoc non-date, I’m not impressed. Still, I get in and buckle up.

As he starts the car, the radio blares and he’s slow to turn it down. “It’s my favorite song,” he says as he pulls away from the curb and starts down my parents’ street. I nod, not knowing the song at all and not liking it any more when Nick starts singing along.

Once the song’s over, he pushes the button, shutting off the music entirely. “My mother says you’re a good cook?”

“Yes, I run a lunch service out of my home kitchen.”

I’m about to say how much I enjoy it despite how hard the work is, but I don’t get a chance because Nick interrupts me. “I’m an assistant manager at Walmart.” He proudly puffs out his less-than-impressive chest. “In the next year or two, I’ll be a full manager, and that’s a six-figure gig, easy. Even if they stick me in a bad area, I’ll be making bank, so you wouldn’t have to do the lunch thing or whatever.”

I blink. He did not just assume that our future is some version of me quitting my job while he works. Hell, is he assuming that this is some done deal already? That I’m a done deal?

Fuck that.

“I think there’s been some misunderstanding?—”

He cuts me off again. “There’s a place up here I like. They have good mole. Maybe you can figure out their recipe.” He tells me about his favorite foods until he’s whipping the SUV into a parking lot. All the while, I grit my teeth.

Just get through it, Dani. Keep your mouth shut for a change and get through it.

It’s surprisingly easy to do because Nick gets out of the car—not opening my door again—and walks into the restaurant while I follow along a couple of steps behind. He’s friendly with the hostess, who he seems to know and who shoots daggers at me like I’m stealing her man, when as far as I’m concerned, she can have him. Please, take him.

The waitress is older and doesn’t greet us, just stands at the end of the table while Nick orders for both of us. I raise my brows, but at this point, I don’t care. Whatever they set in front of me, I’m gonna eat it and get this date over with.

But then Nick starts talking and doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop when the waitress drops off a Pepsi for me and a beer for him. He keeps talking when she brings out our chicken enchiladas with mole. And he keeps right on going as we eat.

And there’s only one subject to his long, twisting monologue. Himself. His likes, his dislikes, what clothes he prefers to wear, what music he listens to, his gym workout, his movie preferences. Him, him, him.

He doesn’t ask what I like to do, what I think about the food, if I’m a rap music fan or not, or even if I’ve got any opinions on the world at all.

So when my phone rings, I have zero guilt about holding up a finger and telling Nick that I have to take this call. And when he balks, looking offended at my rudeness, I don’t tell him to choke on his enchilada, which is a kindness he doesn’t deserve.

“Hello.”

“Hey, I know you’re busy with your parents, but I wanted to see if you or they needed anything. I know you were worried about your mom unexpectedly calling you home.” Kyle says it in one big run-on sentence, and I can hear how concerned he truly is.

He’s checking on me. And even checking on my parents, which is undeniably sweet. I have no doubt that if I said I needed something, Kyle would make it happen. That’s the kind of guy he is.

“Yeah,” I drawl out, looking at Nick and judging how much I want to say. Deciding ‘fuck it’, I tell Kyle, “Mama tricked me. She didn’t need dinner. She set me up on a blind date, which I’m on right now.”

I hear squeaking like he’s quickly sitting up in a chair or his couch or somewhere, and then he growls, “Are you serious? Dani, if you’re fucking with me, it’s not funny.”

Nick narrows his eyes, looking at my phone, and I wonder if he can hear Kyle.

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