Page 29 of Puck & Make Up

“I—”

“Is that why you push everyone away before they can get close?”

“Bailey and Rosie?—”

“Do they know what you told me last night?” he asks gently, and he rushes to my cheeks. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. “I thought so.”

“They’re busy,” I hedge. “Bailey is still rebuilding after the fire and figuring out her life with Axel, Veronica, and Alex. And Rosie’s dealing with more than enough”—the legal tangle that cost her the mayoral position and nearly her freedom—“all while falling in love. They don’t need to more on their plate, especially when my stuff?—”

“What?” He turns on the bench, resting an arm along the back. “When your stuff iswhat?”

“Isn’t that big of a deal.”

Nine

Fox

Ibust up laughing.

I know it’s a dick move, but I find that I can’t stop myself.

She glares at me then huffs out a breath and goes back to sucking down that mocha. “It’snota big deal,” she says again.

“Want to dig out you phone, call them, and ask?”

Her glare intensifies.

“Exactly,” I say. “You know itisa big deal and that they’d feel the same way as I do. So,” I say, exhaling and giving in to the clawing need inside me—just a little bit—by sliding closer, near enough that my knee brushes the outside of her thigh—“why don’t you tell me?”

“You?”

The befuddlement on her face would be an insult if she weren’t so fucking cute. “Yes.Me. I know about the cheating asshole.” Pain darts across her face, andIfeel like the asshole, but I stay the course, shifting nearer and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me what other secrets you’re keeping?” I ask softly.

I know I have no right.

I haven’t earned it yet.

Haven’t gained her trust.

But Dessie needs me to be here listening.

“Talk to me, sugar,” I press.

She’s quiet for so long that I open my mouth, start to ask her again, but then she sighs, sets the cup of coffee aside, and begins to talk to me.

Without slurred words and booze in both of our systems, she tells me more about the ex who made her position at the fire station so uncomfortable that she eventually quit and moved home. And about the men before. The dick of a college boyfriend, the similarly pitiful high school one.

“So,” she says quietly, her gaze trained on the trees in the distance, “like I told you last night. My picker is broken. If I’m attracted to a man, if Iwantone then I know that the smartest thing I can do is stay the hell away.”

“Or make it so they stay away from you,” I murmur, finally getting it now.

Another deep sigh. Then a nod. “Yeah.”

“And what else?”

She looks up at me, and I know they shouldn’t, but my lips turn up.

She’s annoyed and she’s fucking adorable when her temper is piqued.

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