Page 106 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

“Can I have some?”

“Not a chance,” I gleam, leaning back against the countertop. “Why

are you here?”

He forces a grin, something telling me he’s replaying the sight of me

making out with Percy in my foyer. “I wanted to talk to you, ladybug.

I have a job, and I was wondering if you could get it done for me.”

“What’s the job?”

Looking around the house for a moment, he stuffs his hands into his

pocket, his ring catching the cloth of his pants as he does so. “I want

to get a classic car for the wedding. Something we can paint white

and drive away from the venue together. I think it would really up

the ante.”

I choke on my coffee—more so on my laughter. “Yeah, that’s not

going to happen.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m not making a getaway car for you, Ryan. You left me in a

vulnerable time, and you’ve only come back to tell me you’re

engaged. Now you want something from me? Not in a million years.”

He pulls out a checkbook from his pocket, and I question how old he

is. “What’s your price?”

“Too much for you,” I mutter into my coffee mug.

“Come on, Leah. I know you need the money.”

“You don’t know shit.”

He snarls, scribbling around the first check and tearing it off. After

sliding it across the counter, I lean in curiously to read the number.

It’s a moderate price, not bad in my opinion, but he doesn’t know

what he’s looking at. For me to build one of the shells I have around

the graveyard lot in town and replace the inside while I fiberglass the

outside—I wouldn’t do it for cheap. And for Ryan, I might not even

do it for expensive.

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