Page 60 of The Bad Girl List

Mom gives a high-pitched laugh, the one she uses in the tasting room when someone says something they think is funny when it really isn’t. “Trevor, hon, your friend is already here. I suggest you hurry up and get over here.”

She hangs up on me.

I race up to the winery in my truck, fuming. What the hell is wrong with my family? Why do they have to make this so weird?

I know the answer, but it still makes me angry. That sketch Dom drew of me that first night at Zeke’s says it all. On the outside, I look like the wreck I am on the inside. My family just wants me to be happy. They’re overcompensating in all the wrong ways, but they’ve been worried about me for a long time.

But none of this is going to work if my family says the wrong thing to her family. Dom will never forgive me if her mom finds out about Oliver tonight. The idea of her never speaking to me again bothers me more than I would have expected.

It’s seven-thirty when I pull up to the private event center for the family dinner. Passport ended at five, but the caterers are still there as they prepare dinner for us.

As Thomas had warned, everyone is here. I spot Uncle Dan and Aunt Margo’s BMW. All the trucks from Gramps and his old-timer friends are lined up in a row. I’m surprised Mom didn’t invite everyone from my kindergarten class while she was at it.

I spot one car I don’t recognize, a minivan, which I assume belongs to Dom’s family. I scan the wide porch that fronts the event room, looking for her.

I find her sitting in a rocking chair with Gramps and the old-timers. He’s prattling on about something. Dom nods as though listening as she draws in her sketchbook, but as I jump out of my truck, she shoots an urgent look my way.

Her mom and aunts are in the event center with my mom and the rest of our family. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that Gramps and the old-timers cornered Dom and separated her from the rest of the herd. They have been known to do that with pretty girls, especially at Zeke’s.

I hurry up the steps to the veranda. Dom is wearing a short, sexy yellow sundress that shows off her graceful neck. I try not to notice that she isn’t wearing a bra. There’s just enough cleavage showing to be sexy, but not so much that Gramps and the old-timers will go blind. Her face is clean and free of make-up. Her black hair is in its customary twin buns on top of her head, but the loose strands around her face look soft enough to touch.

Despite everything that’s going on, the sight of her makes something inside of me relax. Now that we’re a united front, we can figure this out.

“Trevor.” Gramps beams up at me as I approach. “Glad you could join us.”

“Hey, Gramps. Hey, guys.” I greet the old-timer crew, taking a seat in the chair next to Dom. “You look great,” I say, trying to dispel the tension radiating off her.

“You, too.” Dom’s smile is tense, though I give her credit for trying to fake it. If I hadn’t spent so much time with her in the last few days, I might have even bought it. “The dress is Annika’s.”

“Did anyone get you a drink?” I ask, realizing there isn’t a wine glass next to her.

“It’s my fault,” Gramps says. “I asked her to draw my portrait and make me look twenty years younger so I can set up a Tinder profile. I refused to let her drink until her work was done.”

The old-timers hoot with laughter. Dom smiles at my grandfather’s antics, turning the sketchbook so I can see her drawing. She’s toned down his laugh lines and the seams in his cheeks, but otherwise it captures him perfectly in black-and-white.

“Gramps, a Tinder profile? Really?” I say.

“I’m not getting any younger,” Gramps replies. “It’s going to be hard to catch a new woman with all these wrinkles.”

Dom holds the picture up next to his face. “I don’t think this would be considered a bait-and-switch, do you?”

“Definitely a bait-and-switch,” I say, “but I’m sure you’ll win over your dates with your sparkling personality.”

Dom tears the page out of her book and hands it to Gramps. “Here you go. Be sure to send me a link to your Tinder profile when you get it up.”

“Don’t be getting any ideas, missy,” he replies without missing a beat. “You’re not my type. I think you’re more his type.” He points to me.

Dom gives me a wide-eyed look of alarm.

“Gramps, Dom and I just met.” I run a nervous hand through my wet hair. “We’re just friends.”

Dom says, “I don’t even live in the area.”

Gramps snorts and takes a drink from his wine glass. “You young people overthink everything.”

“We’re going to leave you guys to your game.” I rise, gesturing to the decks of cards sitting on the table between the old-timers. “Dom and I are going inside to get a drink.”

We fall into step as we hurry across the veranda. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t expect my family to go crazy.”

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