Page 145 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

“I’ve seen it,” he replies.

“How much?”

Shrugging briefly, he tips his head up for a moment of deep thought.

“I watched her do a closed fist hit once. It blackened his eye for two

weeks, too. She’s thrown things at him before. Hit him in the

forehead with a stiletto It’s fucked up, but he’s always just taken it

and never mentioned it again.”

“That’s not right.”

“It’s not. I agree. I’m just hoping you can keep an eye on him now.

I’m worried about the guy. He’s like my brother, but when she acts

out like this, he used to keep it between him and a bottle of beer.

With his sobriety and all, I don’t want to see him regress. It would be

a shame.”

My mouth dries at the thought of his doing such a thing. “Oh, no. I

need to get home. Thank you so much…”

“Reggie,” he says, shaking my hand before patting the side of my

truck door. “Watch out for my friend. He’s a good guy.”

“I will, I promise.”

I speed off, worried I’ll be too late. Worried I won’t know what to say.

Worried he’ll make a mistake he can’t take back.

All because that witch can’t keep her fury to herself.

JUST A SIP

Percy

It’s hard to say how I got here.

My hands are clutching the edge of the countertop in the shop, my

mind straying too far to the sun, where my thoughts and concerns all

burn to a crisp. I think about that bottle in the fridge, the cold

whiskey that goes down so warm, the silky smooth taste like pecan

praline with a hint of honey right off the comb. My mouth salivates

as if someone’s served me a steak, and I have to walk away from the

---