Page 44 of The Bad Girl List

I can feel my eyes bugging. “That’s very generous, but no.”

“Why?”

“Why are you being so persistent about this? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you just got out of a long term relationship with a guy you fell out of love with a long time ago. I know you love to draw, and I know you want to make your family proud, which is why you agreed to Annika’s Bad Girl List.”

A confusing fog deploys across my brain. My fingers fumble at a zipper pocket in my cargo pants.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“You’re confusing me. I need to draw.” I balance the sketchbook on my thigh next to Tequila’s head, unzip my pencil bag, and start to sketch.

“Think of it as a trade,” Trevor says. “You help me, and you tell me how I can help you. You don’t want a private winery tour, fine. There must be something else. How long are you in town?”

“Ten days.”

“I have a lot of connections. I can set up some things for you at other wineries while you’re here.”

I drive my pencils a little too hard into the sketchbook, making grooves in the paper, but I can’t bring myself to let up. Trevor is making me sweat. I should not like the idea of being his pretend girlfriend, and I definitely should not be entertaining it.

So why am I? I should just say no and ask him to take me to the next winery where my family is. That would be the smart thing to do.

“What about the Bad Girl List?” he asks.

My chin snaps up. “What about it?”

“Maybe I can help you with it.”

I stare at him, thinking of number ten. Is he offering to be my number ten, my vacation fling? My face and chest are getting hot just thinking about it, but I can’t come straight out and ask him, not now that I know he has a dead fiancée and is still grieving for her.

“I, uh, was hoping you’d forgotten about the list,” I say.

“Kind of hard to forget about that, Dom.”

I feel like I’m back in the trunk of the car with Trevor. With his hands all over me. With my hands all over him. It leaves me feeling turned on and more awkward than ever.

“Can I see the list?” he asks.

The crumpled Post-it note is in my purse. I stashed it in there so no one would accidentally find it at home. The aunties were known to straighten up our room whenever Annika and I were out. I dig it out and hand it over. Trevor attempts to smooth it out on his knee.

“Karaoke.” He points triumphantly to number seven. “Zeke’s has karaoke every Wednesday. I can take you. And if you need to smoke weed, I can get you some.”

“You want to take me out to sing and smoke pot?”

“Why not? And this one, number eight. I know the perfect place to break into for skinny-dipping. I did it once in high school. What do you say? This could be fun.”

He doesn’t mention number ten. Neither do I, but I see his finger resting on it as he reads the list. “A tattoo? Really?” His eyebrows climb.

“She said I can get it some place where no one will see it.”

“Okaaaay. Well, I know a great tattoo shop.” Without warning, he pulls up his shirt and turns so that his back is facing me.

Dear lord, can someone please get me a blindfold? I do not need a reminder of that perfect body and that glorious skin. The tattoo is a large M on his shoulder blade with grapevines curling around it.

“What do you think?” he asks.

I think he’s so hot that I want to come to pieces in my chair. “Your family wine logo,” I say, then regret admitting I’m familiar with it. So familiar, in fact, that I completely redesigned it.

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