Page 107 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

He writes another check begrudgingly, yet still, I am not satisfied.

“You’ve just paid for the new tires,” I breathe. “And that’s about it.”

“You’re killing me, ladybug.”

“That is the point.”

I take another sip of coffee while he writes a third check. Handing it

over, it’s nearly double what I need as the bare minimum to do this

job, and more than I’d charge any normal client. But this isn’t a

normal client. This is the prick who left me for some easy fling and a

quick wedding into money, just to come back and call me his friend.

At what point do friends disregard feelings and only come back for a

favor?

The jury is still out on that theory.

“How about that?”

I only shrug, still not content until I drain him dry. “Eh, it’s really not

that great.”

It’s enough to cover the debts on the house, money I really need right

now, but I still feel a pang of pride watching him squirm.

He hikes his hand onto his hip like an impatient aunt standing at the

edge of the playground, waiting for her niece to hurry the hell up.

He’s bothered and very flustered. Something about me taunting him

not helping that rage in his eyes.

The puerile side of me is tempted to keep this up until I can just cash

in all these checks at once and really screw him over. I wouldn’t be

that evil, but the longer he stands in my kitchen, the more I

daydream about him running home to his new fiancée and crying

into her embrace about how Leah Reese bested him for once. Bet that

lucrative princess would blow her top after hearing that.

After running a heavy hand over his tired face, he exhales a long,

windy breath.

“You and I both know this is more than enough.”

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