Page 13 of Bad Love

“’Date’ doesn’t have to be a four-letter word,” Rena says when the debacleresolves.

"Maybe not, but to find someone, you have to be on dating sites. Then squeeze in time to date. And tell them about your kid. And then there’re weirdos…” I shudder. “Maybe Wes’s DNA dating app is the way togo.”

Rena met her scientist boyfriend when he came up with a way to match people genetically for compatibility. They’re adorable together because he tames her wild streak and she agitates his logic-drivenone.

“You need someone fun. A moment that’s not about Rory’s future or whatever mistake you think you made in thepast.”

“I appreciate the effort, but if I need to blow off steam, I can take a salsaclass.”

“I’m not talking about salsa!” she insists, her voice rising. “I’m talking about gettingfucked. By a man who knowshow.”

A couple that could be my parents walks by close enough to hear her, and Iwince.

"Let's see," Rena goes on. "Which way would you rather get over your funk? Dancing in uncomfortable heels? Or hot sex with someone like… LoganHunter?"

I’ve had my “come to Jesus” moment. I’m not going looking for it at the end of some guy’sdick.

Still, it’s as if, even though I know I’ve lived a full and beautiful life in my twenty-six years so far, maybe I’ve missed something. None of my limited sexual encounters would qualify as wild. It’s never bothered me, but lately there’s a restlessness I thought I’d buried. It’s as if the past few years of abstinence have woken some long-denied part of me, and now Bad Kendall’s scratching at the lid of her Pandora’sBox.

Rena’s comment drags my brain toward thoughts of my newestclient.

Okay, so Hunter's gorgeous. Thick hair that stands straight up in that reckless "I wake up like this" way only a hundred-dollar barber can achieve. His broad chest stretching his shirt. The faded jeans that worship his legs as though they were made forit.

But I will take that grudging admiration to mygrave.

“You’re calling yourself agentleman?”

“Not inbed.”

His smug expression when he walked away from the car yesterday should’ve left me irritated. Instead, it left me imagining what a man like him would be like inbed.

Wild.

I think he’d be wild inbed.

My thighs squeezetogether.

I’m saved responding when we're interrupted by a tall guy with dirty-blond hair wearing a button-down unbuttoned at the collar. "Who'sLogan?"

She smiles at him. "Newclient."

"You're not having sex with him." The reply is smooth andautomatic.

"I meant Kendall, Dr. Strange. But it's cute that you think you can tell me what todo."

Wes lets out an irritated noise low in his throat, then reaches for his girlfriend, threading his hands through her hair and pulling her up on her toes to kissher.

Hello,jealousy.

Not because Rena and Wes are all lovey-dovey. Because they have this ease together. Like they're comfortable with themselves and eachother.

I'm still thinking about it when Rena steps back. "Logan is exactly what Kendallneeds."

Wes lifts a shoulder. "Better than goatyoga?"

"Hunter”—referring to him by his first name when no one else seems to feels wrong—"is off the table,” I inform themboth.

"Too bad. I think he'd like you on top of the table." Rena wiggles hereyebrows.

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