Page 32 of You're so Bad

Constance sighs, looking off into the night. “That girl’s deep in her doldrums again. All of this fuss about the wedding and Bianca is bringing back some bad memories.”

“Oh?” I ask, angling my head for a better look at her.

Danny takes out his phone and starts messing with it. Knowing him, he’s clocking out of the conversation because he knows it’s semi-private.

Constance turns her gaze on me, her eyes searching. “You may have noticed she’s a bit prickly.”

“Like a damn cactus,” I say with a grin. “I’m not opposed.”

“Because you like a challenge. Same as I do. You know the people who are most worth knowing don’t always make it easy for you.”

I nod.

“It’s hard for her to trust people,” she continues, her gaze intent. “Because when she does, she gives them everything. So, Bianca turning on her like that is the worst thing that could have happened to her.”

There’s a warning there, and I nod to acknowledge that the message has been received. I know I’ll be thinking about it later. Reminding myself of it when I find myself noticing Shauna’s tits. The gleam of muted mischief in her eyes.

“Which is why we need to help her feel like she’s still in control,” I say pointedly. Then I reach around and poke Danny. “And that’s where this talented bastard comes in.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” he says, “but I’d appreciate it even more if you could go in and get me my laptop and a beer.”

“You got it, bud. Let the magic begin.”

“Indeed,” Constance says, smiling slowly. She looks like she’s got something she’s plotting, but I’m not going to push her for answers. Not right now, anyway.

When I get home later, there’s no sign of Reese, so I text the little tyke and let him know he’s welcome to come back. No answer.

In the morning, I come down, my head feeling like it got run over by the stolen Chevy, which then reversed and ran it over again, and there’s a dirty dish in the sink.

The little shit ate all of my Fruit Loops, so I have no idea why I’m smiling.

ChapterTen

Shauna

It’s Friday morning. I’m at The Waiting Place, sitting at my desk with a massive travel cup of coffee and doing my part to make the name of our business accurate. The pompom party is tonight, and I can practically feel the minutes ticking toward it.

I stayed up late watchingTime to Settle Downwith Bertie last night. Hate-watching that TV show is addictive. Delia texted me while the male star was on a swimming pool date—his knees are knobbly, which brought me great pleasure—and asked me if I was really attending a pre-wedding pompom-making session with Leonard. I confirmed my insanity. When she followed up with an invitation to join them at her boyfriend’s place, I took a selfie with Bertie and insisted I was too busy being his emotional support pillow to leave the house.

I remained busy until midnight, shouting expletives at the TV.

Of course, Bianca saw fit to text me as well:

I can’t WAIT to meet your man tomorrow.

I’ll bet she can’t. With a grin that would make a tiger proud, I wrote back:

We’re SO excited. When I told him you make pompoms for a living, he couldn’t believe it! You know, he asked me about the functionality, but I told him he was missing the point.

Exactly! I told Colt the same thing about that monster figurine you made him for his birthday last year.

It’s wonderful to feel so understood.

I’m not usually a passive aggressive person. My nana is an ace at telling it like it is, and she raised me to be the same way. With one exception. Like me, Nana has crocodile-hide pride. She doesn’t enjoy letting people know they’ve wounded her. I’d rather go on pretending—badly—to be Bianca and Colter’s ally in marital bliss, than let Bianca win this game she started.

Sighing, I take another sip of coffee and kick back in my chair. I might have told Leonard not to do it, but it feels good.

My phone buzzes with a text. I catch Leonard’s name, so I lower my chair and click through the link he sent.

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