Page 26 of Good at Being Bad (Rock Canyon, Idaho 8)

A tiny ball of black and white fur barked sa

ssily by Mike’s feet and Ellie squealed. “You have a puppy?”

She knelt down, setting the bags on the ground and scooped him up, snuggling him as he licked her face. “Oh my God, he is adorable. Can you get those?”

“Hello to you, too,” Mike said.

Ellie looked him over, from his faded jeans to the gray T-shirt, and clicked her tongue. “You look good today.”

Mike raised his eyebrow at her. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. I like that you took my advice; so do the women of Rock Canyon. They will no longer feel like they are being audited while on a date with you.’”

“Why did I agree to your help again?” Mike stepped out of the way and she walked past him, taking in his home with a smirk. The place was immaculate, nearly sterile. The couches were brown and suede, the walls bare. No plants. No clutter.

“Nice place. Oh, and you want my help, because I am the genius who is going to make you irresistible. And I brought food.”

“I like the free dinner, but the scheming makes me nervous. What is your plan?” Mike asked.

Ellie sat on the couch with the puppy in her arms, turning the puppy to look at Mike and talking to it. “You like this guy?”

“Smalls likes everyone.” Mike sat across from her in the black leather recliner. “He doesn’t discriminate.”

“Smalls? Why did you name him Smalls? Cause of his size?”

“Cause I love The Sandlot. Back to you coming over here to tell me your strategy.”

“Let’s eat first.” She kissed Smalls’s head and set him on the floor. “I cannot be brilliant on an empty stomach. Where is your bathroom?”

“Down the hall to your right.” Mike got up and walked into the kitchen, presumably to grab plates, so Ellie followed his directions to wash her hands. The simple white towels were folded evenly over the bar, and everything had a place, even the books on the shelf above the toilet. Once her hands were dry, she walked over to read the title, smirking.

The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, a few James Patterson novels, and The Odyssey. Each copy was worn, as if they had been read a dozen times and on the back of the toilet were a few magazines. Wired, Mad, Forbes, Times, and Field and Stream. His reading tastes told her he was a guy who craved adventure, yet thrived on order. He was smart, driven, and liked to be in control.

At least, that’s what she imagined one of the profilers on her favorite TV show, Criminal Minds, would think.

As she came out of the bathroom, Mike was sitting on the couch eating. Two sodas sat on coasters and he’d even put a towel under the cartons.

“Were you hungry?” Ellie indicated his overflowing plate as she sat down.

“Yeah, sorry.”

Ellie dished up her plate, shrugging. “I don’t really care. I’m just glad you saved me some.” She picked up the orange chicken, smiling at the half-fullness of it.

“I’m glad you aren’t pissed that I started without you.”

“Me? Mad?” She sheepishly spooned a large helping of chow mein. “I tend to hold grudges.”

“Not me. I hate fighting. I used to try to get out of fighting by making people laugh,” Mike said.

“Did that work?” Ellie asked.

“Sometimes. Other times, I got my ass kicked.”

“Yeah, I saw your high school dance picture. You looked…different,” she said.

“That’s polite of you. Gracie used to call me the nerdy hippie instead of the dirty hippie.”

“Yeah, I got to ask, what is up with the hair to your shoulders?” Ellie snagged an eggroll and a sweet and sour sauce, her mouthwatering. She loved egg rolls.

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