Page 27 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

more important than a decade of love and support.

But hey, three weeks without sex is the equivalent of an asteroid

hitting our relationship and obliterating it completely. I guess that’s

the same thing. At least, in Ryan’s mind, it is.

Maybe I dodged a bullet with him after all, but the wave of that bullet

still stings all the same.

TRUCE

Leah

If it wasn’t for my surmounting debt and heavy pressures from the

bank to get some money together—and quickly—then I would go

back to bed and cry my afternoon away. But I’ve spent enough tears

on that sorry excuse for a man.

To turn it around on me is one thing.

To come out here to rub his newfound marriage in my face is

another.

I inch myself back under the car I’m working on, trying to get things

back in order so I can zone out and work through the evening to get

this project shipped off and start the next.

Footsteps halt me from doing that, something so odd about the sight

of Converse coming into view near the side of the classic I’m

underneath. Black jeans come into sight and then a set of pale hands.

Percy Elrod pokes his head out from the side of the car while we’re

nearly face to face on the ground here.

“Hey, car chick,” he says, sporting a familiar, sad smile. “Catching

you at a bad time?”

“Depends. Are you here to steal another motorcycle? If so, I’m all

out.”

“That was forever ago, Leah. You really should let it go.”

“And you should tell me why you’re here,” I bite. “I’ve had enough

run-ins with assholes today. I don’t need another one coming in here

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