Page 19 of Never Kiss and Tell

I chuckle. “Andi’s just worried about you. She wants to keep you around. I can’t figure out why.”

With a curse under his breath, he hurls the remaining bite of sandwich at me, hitting me in the shoulders. I laugh and toss the remnants of Dad’s lunch in the trash.

“Did Bailey make it into town, okay? I haven’t heard from your sister.”

My mood instantly darkens at the mention of my newneighbor. Fuck Andi for not warning me that she was coming, even more so for not telling me she would be staying beside me for the next month and a half.

“In all her preppy glory,” I murmur, leaning back against the door.

Dad eyes me. “She’s a nice girl. And she’s your sister’s best friend.”

I shrug. “She’s a princess who’s used to getting her way and being waited on hand and foot.”

I’m not wrong. I’ve seen how Bailey and her siblings live. You don’t have a stepdaddy that works for rich criminals and have a sense of actual work. I don’t think Bailey has ever even had a job.

It’s a shame someone so fucking sexy can be such a spoiled brat. It’s been over a year since I’d seen her and when I found her in my courtyard, I almost thought God had dropped an angel down to save my damned soul. Then she opened her mouth and I was reminded as to why she always pissed me off. She always has to try and one up me with her sarcastic comments and witty jokes.

After Bailey went inside this morning, I called Andi and immediately demanded she make Bailey stay with her. Andi refused, of course, and I had almost debated on cutting the power to the other house, just so she wouldn’t have a choice.

Having Bailey around fucks with my head. I hate it. Like an addict who keeps coming back for more even though he knows he can’t stand the way it makes him feel. Let’s face it, stuck up princess or not, one doesn’t just forget Bailey Carpenter.

“She took care of your sister when your mom passed. Giveher a chance. She can’t help where she was born.”

“Yeah, the last time I trusted a Yankee, he stole my wallet.”

Dad shakes his head, turning back to his monitor.

“Give her a chance,” he says, his tone taking an air of finality, telling me I don’t dare argue. “She’s here to help your sister and get her mind off stuff at home. She’s had a rough year, you know?”

Oh, the fiancé. Drew? I think his name was. Dickhead? I can’t remember. Part of my quarrel with Bailey is that she could ever agree to marry a prick like Drew. The few times I’d met him, he’d been sleazy. There was something in his eyes — something dark that didn’t belong with someone as happy as Bailey. I make a mental note to figure out what happened there and open the door to the office.

“Sure thing, Dad.”

Dinner rush is especially busy for a Wednesday night. You have the regular businessmen in for a drink, the older women on a girl’s trip, and then the tourist families, looking to score some authentic New Orleans fare. The bar is packed without an empty seat for most of the night.

I love nights like these. It gets my mind off things. It allows me to slip into autopilot, so my brain can recharge for a little bit.

It’s not until almost closing time that a familiar face slides up to the bar in front of me.

“Hey, stranger,” Priscilla says, flashing that stark white smileat me.

My guard goes up and my autopilot comes to a screeching halt. Priscilla only ever comes to me for one thing. My cock.

“Come to mingle with the common folk?”

Pricilla is from a family of money. Her daddy owns a couple off-shore oil rigs and she profits heavily from that. When I say Bailey is a stuck-up princess, Priscilla is worse. It’s what swore me off women like her.

“No, silly,” Priscilla grins, reaching out and running her fingers down my arm. The same song and dance is getting old. Every time she and one of her equally as rich boyfriends break up, she comes running to me. “I came to see you.”

I grit my teeth, my jaw hardening as I wipe down the bar.

“I thought you were dating the man with the yacht?”

She rolls her eyes and flips her platinum hair over her shoulder. It’s dyed just a few shades lighter than Bailey’s and almost white in color.

“I broke it off. He started talking about getting married.”

Ah, the marriage talk. The one thing all Priscilla’s rich boyfriends want to give her and the one thing I don’t. Marrying Priscilla would be suicide. We didn’t get along while we were dating. Whatever made me think I could marry her and live past my forties is beyond me.

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