Page 61 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

Curiosity was a dangerous thing, especially when Callie remembered how Ellie had been squirming in her chair. Picking up the bottle, Callie read the ingredients. It was made with basic stuff, including peppermint.

How bad could it be?

AT BUCK’S, HALF a dozen poker tables were set up for Justin and his friends. Each table held about four men, and they rotated two players out every three games.

Everett sat at a table playing with Justin, Eric Henderson, and Jared Brown. Eric ran Buck’s Shot Bar for his dad, and Jared had been Justin’s best friend since elementary school. It had actually surprised Everett that Justin had picked him to be best man instead of Jared, but Jared didn’t seem to mind.

Despite the fact that Everett was currently on a winning streak, he’d have rather been with Callie, even if they weren’t doing anything at all. He’d been trying to figure out what she was hiding and why she didn’t like taking her shirt off. She seemed fit and felt good, from what he could tell. He had his own body issues, especially after the fire, but what were Callie’s? He thought she was beautiful.

“It’s your call, Rhett.” Justin tossed back another swig of his beer casually, but after years of playing games with him, Everett knew his brother’s tell. Anytime he bluffed, he was doing something with his mouth: drinking, chewing gum, or biting his lip.

Everett glanced down at his cards and smirked. “Call.”

“Son of a bitch,” Jared said, folding.

“He could be bluffing,” Eric said.

Everett showed his cards—a full house. Justin cursed and dropped his hand on the table. “I’d call you a damn cheat, but I know how good you are.”

Everett chuckled as he swept the chips toward him. They had been playing poker since they were kids, but back then, it had been for Halloween candy and jelly beans. Their mom’s four brothers, all younger than her, had come for Christmas one year and had gotten a kick out of teaching their nephews to play.

“I think that’s my last hand anyway.” Everett dumped the chips into his bucket as he stood up. Each man had shown up with a hundred-dollar buy-in to help pay for everything. After that, it was on them how much they played.

The men around the table groaned.

“Come on, man, it’s only nine thirty,” Jared said. “Besides, I want a chance to win my money back.”

“You’ve had two and a half hours to win it back. Face it, buddy, my brother whooped all our asses.”

“I’ll see you all later.” Everett made his way over to the table where Sam Weathers was playing cashier. Taking his cash, a little over four hundred for the last couple of hours, Everett headed out to his truck.

After climbing inside and warming it up, Everett grabbed his phone from the floorboards. It had been dying earlier, so he’d left it in the truck to charge. There was a missed call from an out-of-area number and a text message.

It was from Callie.

Why do some women find sweaty, half-naked men gyrating all over them appealing?

What the fuck? Where the hell was she? Everett’s fingers flew as he typed. No idea. I don’t swing that way. Then, after debating how she might take it, he added, I thought you were staying in.

The minute he sent it, he dropped his forehead to his steering wheel and groaned. Did that text make him sound like a jealous, controlling asshole? Well, at least one of those descriptions was right. His phone beeped.

I needed to get out of my head. So I let Caroline drag me to Valerie’s bachelorette party.

Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Had she been thinking of him and wanting to put the brakes on whatever they had going, or . . .

Maybe she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

Trying to seem casual, he typed, Did it work?

Beep. He read her message and his heart skidded to a halt.

No. I can’t stop thinking about you. ;-)

His heartbeat came back like a freight train, the exhilaration of her words bringing him up off the steering wheel to drum a beat on the dashboard.

When he finished celebrating, he replied, I’d say I was sorry, but I’m not. I can’t stop thinking of you either. ;-)

CALLIE LIMPED INTO her house with a black bag sporting the Sweet Tarts Boutique logo in one hand and her phone in the other. She was actually glad she’d gone to the party, even if the strippers had killed every tingly feeling the Fired Up gel had created. After everything with Tristan, she’d never had her own bachelorette party, but she imagined it would have been a lot like Valerie’s. Except for the strippers. They were just so slimy and fake.

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