Page 37 of The Good Girl

I glance at the couch and picture us snuggled up together. “Table.”

He smirks, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking—he probably does. We walk over to the table, and I sit as Havoc places the pizza boxes down. He pulls a chair out and drags it closer to me before opening the top box and sitting down.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a plain cheese pizza and a meat lover’s.”

“I’m not picky. Cheese is fine.”

He moves the boxes so they’re both open and picks up a slice of cheese pizza, handing it to me before taking a meat one for himself.

“So Amity says you’re a writer?”

I frown at him. Amity usually keeps that to herself because she knows I don’t like people knowing. But then, with the signing and everything, she probably thought it didn’t matter anymore.

“Yeah.”

“What do you write?”

“Romance novels.”

“Really? I’ll have to check them out.”

“You read romance?” I cock my brow at that. I can’t picture it.

“After being away for years, I learned to appreciate anything I could get my hands on,” he admits. That’s the second time him being away has been mentioned but he never says he went nomad. It makes me feel like I’m missing something.

“What do you mean when you say you were ‘away’?”

He looks at me for a moment. “What did Amity tell you about me?”

“You’re from another chapter, and your old lady was a b-word.”

He snorts at that. “You can call her a bitch. It’s true.”

“I don’t swear much, and I’ve never liked that word anyway.”

“She slept with my brother and is expecting his kid.”

“Okay. She’s a bitch,” I say, making him laugh. “So when you say ‘away,’ do you mean metaphorically or that you put distance between you?” I ask, taking a bite of my pizza.

“No, I mean I was locked away in a six-by-eight-foot cell.”

I choke on my pizza, and Havoc curses, hitting my back as I cough uncontrollably. When that doesn’t help, he grabs a bottle of water from the kitchen and hands it to me.

I swallow a few mouthfuls before looking at him, my eyes watering. “Explain,” I rasp out, taking another drink of water.

He rubs his hand through his hair and sighs. “My brother was on his second strike when he got into a fight with someone and put him on life support.”

“Okay. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

I scrunch my face, trying to understand what he’s saying. But clearly, I don’t.

“My president ordered me to take the fall for my brother.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “Are you kidding me? That... I... Why would your president do that? Why couldn't your brother serve time when he was the one who committed the crime? Wait! Did the guy survive?”

“Yeah, he woke up and made a full recovery.”

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