Page 12 of Take the Bait

“I used to have frosted tips.”

She gasped. “No.”

“Yep. Starting when I was eighteen all the way until I was twenty. Thought I was hot shit, too. ’Til one time, I asked for a girl’s number at a bar and she straight-up laughed in my face. Told me my hair was ridiculous. That I looked like a wanna-be boy band member.”

“Well, that’s kind of mean.”

“Yeah.” Tucker tilted her head to get a better angle to wipe away the still-wet face paint. “But it was true.”

“I’d have to see pictures to confirm, but yeah. Probably. Still…yikes.”

“Oh, that barely scratches the surface, shortcake. One time, I shat my pants at a funeral.”

She glanced up at Tucker so suddenly he was startled. “No, you didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

She gaped.

“As an adult?” She whispered, and Tucker laughed.

“Yep. I had food poisoning the day before my great-uncle’s funeral. Really thought I shouldn’t go, but my mom insisted. Told me she’d basically disown me if I wasn’t there. So I went. We were sitting there in the middle of the eulogy, and all of a sudden, my stomach hurt really bad. I hadn’t been feeling that great all day, but this was like, major cramping, ya know? Like the kind you get when you’re sick.” He couldn’t believe he was telling her this, but he was committed now. “And I felt a fart coming on. One I couldn’t hold in. So I tried to hold it until music was playing, and then I let it out. It was stinky, but not too bad. A lot of old people were there, so I figured people would assume it was one of them. I thought it was fine. Until I stood up.”

She gasped, and he paused for a moment to smile at her while he delivered the punch line. “That’s when I noticed that my seat was brown. And I felt something trailing down my leg.”

“Oh my god,ew!” she said, grimacing through laughter. “That’s disgusting. So what did you do?”

“Well, my whole family saw it.” Tucker cringed at the memory. “My mom was horrified, but it was her fault. I told her I shouldn’t be there. She made me go. So I took the car and went home.”

She bit her lip. “Oh. My. God.”

“My mom made me sit on an extra beach towel on the drive home.” He still remembered that drive home—what a sweaty, smelly mess he was. “Then she threw out that beach towel.”

“Good call on her part.” Hanna closed her eyes and shook her head. “Holy shit. That’s so embarrassing.”

Tucker grinned to himself.

She’d stopped crying.

Her cheeks were pink with amusement.

All because of him.

He tossed the paper towel he’d been using in the trash and grabbed a fresh one. Grabbing her chin again, he angled her face. But this time, instead of bursting into tears, her breath hitched. They were close—almost flush against each other—and he resisted the urge to trace her lip with his thumb.

“Almost done,” he said, resuming his work on her face.

She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch so his hand cradled her cheek.

“Any other stories?”

“I have one more for you, but you have to promise me you’ll take it to your grave.”

“I promise.”

He tipped her head up, noticing how her eyes went hazy as she looked at him. “I mean it, shortcake. I can’t have this getting out. It’ll ruin me.”

She bit her lip, then crossed her heart and held up her hand like a Boy Scout. “Your secret is safe with me.”

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