Page 48 of You're so Bad

“Ten dollar word,” he mutters.

“I just know because my grandpa Frank is the king of useless information.” I feel a little flutter of missing him, which I stow away. “He always lets people know within five minutes of meeting them that he’d slay on Jeopardy. Anyway, Milquetoast was the last name of some 1930s cartoon character. That’s where the word comes from.”

I can feel him studying me again. “I bet you fifteen bucks that cartoon guy was named after milky toast.”

I tap the wheel, taking the final turn. “Probably.”

“What about my question?”

Sighing, I say, “I probably stayed with him because of his mother. She’s nice, and I let myself get drawn in by her, in the beginning. By the thought of having a mother who wants to bake cookies with me and do normal shit like that.”

“You have Constance,” he says, a bit of defensiveness in his tone.

I like him for it. And for caring about Bean. And for recognizing Bianca is a narcissist.

Of course, he’s still an overgrown man child who lives for causing trouble. Nothing’s going to changethat.

“Yes,” I agree. “I love Nana. There’s no one like her. But there’s part of me that still wanted one of those moms they have in jelly commercials. Someone sweet and soft and kind who’d tell me everything’s going to be okay even if it’s bullshit.”

“Your mom wasn’t like that.”

It’s not a question, not that I’m surprised. It seems Nana’s told him every other goddamn thing, so why not that?

“Or my dad.”

“Me either,” he says. I don’t pretend to be surprised. He’s already told me his father’s in jail and his mother was his enabler. That’s not exactly the kind of family you see in commercials for family-friendly TV shows.

“So you know exactly why I’d look for someone…” I wave my hand as I pull up to the little purple house and park the car.

“Who resembles a piece of soggy-ass toast?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” I shrug as I park the car. “For all the good it did me. I wanted solid and reliable, but there’s nothing solid or reliable about getting dumped for your friend.”

When I turn to him, he’s staring at me, his eyes glittering in the dark. I can see the strong line of his jaw, the way his shirt flares out to accommodate his biceps and hide the ink that fascinates me.

Tattoos tell a story, and I’d like to know his.

I’d like to know everything about him, truthfully. Despite myself, I’m fascinated by him.

I swallow and tell myself to look away. I don’t.

“Bianca was never really your friend,” he says, his voice rough.

“So you’ve said.”

“She saw your claws and wanted to steal them for herself.”

“And my milky toast,” I say with a partial smile. “She can have him. I… It was never right, obviously. It’s probably not a great sign when your favorite thing about someone is their mother.” I lift my eyebrows. “Or their grandmother, as the case may be.”

He gives his head a shake, eyes still glued to mine. There’s a ferocity in them, and there’s hunger there too.Appreciation. I feel an answering throb between my legs, so strong it makes me squirm a little.

“Constance is one in a million,” he says. “But she’s not my favorite thing about you, Tiger. Not even close.”

My breath hitches. Tension hangs in the air between us, like we’re both waiting for a roulette wheel to stop.

“What about my ass?” I ask, because I caught him looking. I also can’t help myself. Call it morbid curiosity or sexual starvation, either will do.

“Top three,” he says with a wicked grin. Then shrugs as if I called him out on lying. “Okay, top two.”

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