Page 58 of The Bad Girl List

In my pretend Tequila voice, I say, “Don’t be an idiot, Dad. You’re still in love with Elle. Besides, Dom doesn’t even live around here. Just enjoy hanging out with her tonight and move on.” This is the argument that’s been running in circles through my brain all day.

As I speak, Tequila’s eyebrows draw together to form a pyramid shape. I decide not to try to interpret her reaction. What do dogs know about relationships, anyway?

We head into the bedroom. Tequila lays down on her rug in the bathroom while I shower. Dirt from the vineyard turns the water a muddy brown as I wash.

My phone pings with incoming text messages as I shower. I don’t have reception in most places in the vineyard, which means I usually get them all at once when I get home. There’s more than usual today, which makes me wonder if some of them are from Dom.

As soon as I switch off the shower, I open the door and reach for the phone, not caring that I drip water everywhere.

There is a message from Dom, but only one. We’re bringing homemade dumplings tonight for an appetizer. Hope you guys don’t mind if we fry them up in your kitchen?

Then there are a slew of texts from Kevin.

Did you give my number to Dom?

Do you know if Dom plans to go to Platitude again?

Can you give me Dom’s number?

Irritation makes my skin prickle. Dom is way too good for that man whore.

I delete all his texts without replying. Dom can do better for a number ten. A small part of my brain tells me I’m jealous, but I ignore it.

“I’m fine with Dom having her vacation fling, just not with Kevin,” I tell Tequila.

Her eyebrows flatten out. A whine rises from her throat, as if to say, Really, Dad? Are you really okay with the idea of Dom having a vacation fling with someone else?

I return my attention to my phone. There are also a bunch of texts from Thomas.

Call me. 911 emergency.

Where the fuck are you? Call me.

Don’t you ever take a lunch break in an area with cell service? You aren’t normal. CALL ME.

Dude. Call. Me. Right. Fucking. Now.

I roll my eyes. Thomas is so dramatic. No doubt his messages are something asinine, like how to juggle family dinner tonight while simultaneously trying to get into Minnie’s pants. I wouldn’t put it past him to invite Minnie tonight.

I towel off and head back into the bedroom. Tequila hops out after me. I’m about to grab the shirt and jeans I’d worn to work in the tasting room yesterday, then hesitate when I catch sight of the drawing Dom made of Super Tequila and my truck. It’s propped on my nightstand in front of the picture of me and Elle on a beach in Hawaii.

I normally don’t think much about clothes and, as a rule, I try to do as little laundry as possible. But I don’t want Dom to think I’m a caveman.

I kick the dirty clothes in the general direction of the hamper just outside the bathroom. It’s not unusual for the hamper to overflow, as I tend not to do laundry until I run out of underwear. Plus my bedroom is pretty spacious, and half the time I miss the hamper when I fling my clothes across the room. Elle used to grouse at me for that whenever she picked up after me.

As I grab a clean shirt and a pair of jeans, my phone rings. I hurry back into the bathroom to grab it, thinking it might be Dom.

It’s not Dom. It’s Thomas. With a loud sigh, I answer.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.

“Dude. Where the fuck have you been?

“I was spraying horn silica all day. You know there’s no reception in the vineyards.”

“You have reception now. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m getting ready for dinner.”

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