Page 9 of The Bad Girl List

That had been a disaster. I’d been a cold dickwad to the girl. She hadn’t deserved that, but I’d been too angry to apply common decency to the situation.

“Your mother just wants you to be happy.” Dad clears his throat. “And if you don’t come meet the next girl on her list at dinner this Sunday, she’s going to cook up another way to introduce the two of you–”

“There’s a list?”

“It’s your mother, Trevor. Of course there’s a list.”

“She’s making a list of girls to set me up with?” If a frantic round of barking from Tequila is any indication, I have raised my voice.

“Your mother just wants to help.”

“I don’t need help. I’m fine.”

“Using a Tijuana rescue dog as an excuse to become a recluse is not doing fine.”

“Tell her I already met someone. Tell her that if she cancels the blind date, I’ll come to dinner.”

“What did you just say?”

“I’ll come to Sunday dinner if she cancels the blind date.” Truth be told, I miss my family. The hard part is seeing the pain in their eyes when they look at me, like I’m a broken bird in need of tending.

“Not the blind date part,” Dad says. “The other part.”

My mind rewinds the last few seconds. “The part about meeting someone?”

Dad scrutinizes my face. “Is it true?”

It’s a lie, of course. I hadn’t planned for it to come out. I’m about to take it back, but the way Dad is looking at me right now–like maybe I am a bird recovering from a wound, rather than a broken one in need of massive surgery–makes me pause.

Lying has never been my go-to. That’s my brother’s arena, who can lie like a con artist in Vegas when he wants to.

But the hope I see in Dad’s eyes gives me pause. One little white lie can’t hurt anyone, right? Just a little lie to get them off my back, and maybe I can go to Sunday dinner and enjoy time with my family without everyone looking at me like I need to be rescued.

“I just met her,” I say cautiously, testing out the waters of my deception. “It’s nothing serious.”

“But you like her?”

Shit. The hope in Dad’s eyes is like a gut punch.

“Kinda,” I say, before I can think better of it. “Yeah, I like her.” I shrug, backpedaling so as not to get his hopes up. “Like I said, I just met her. I’m not rushing into anything. But yeah, she’s … neat.”

Neat? Shit, Trevor, you couldn’t come up with anything better than neat?

“I’ll tell your mother. I’ll get her to cancel the blind date. You invite your new friend–”

“No,” I say firmly. “Dad, don’t oversell this to Mom. I just met this girl. Things could flame out in a week.”

Dad’s eyes narrow. “Did you meet a girl, or not?”

“Yes, I met someone.”

“Then invite her to Sunday dinner.”

“Dad–”

“Invite her, or I’ll let your mother continue to play matchmaker.”

He’s testing me to see if I’m bluffing. Well, fuck him. “If you’re going to make a big deal out of this, I’m not coming to dinner.”

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