Page 120 of The Best Kind of Bad

She’s wearing my t-shirt and shorts so short they barely peek out from beneath the hem of the shirt. Her hair is twisted into a messy bun. I look up at her and my heart squeezes because this is what I wanted to see every day of the rest of my life. And this might be the last time.

Her sharp gaze scans my body, head to toe, and she tilts her head. “Long day?”

I sit back, settling deeper onto the couch. “Yeah.”

Pursing her lips sympathetically, she climbs onto the couch next to me. “We should talk.”

“We should?”

Her eyes study my face, scanning my expression. “I know you’re tired, but it can’t wait.”

I push a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Go ahead, baby. I’m all ears.”

All ears and a heart that’s beating too fast.

I don’t want to hear what she has to say, but I’d do anything for Marnie. And that includes letting her squeeze the breath from my chest.

It’s hard to breathe, but I’m looking at her, waiting for my life sentence.

79.

Marnie

Dusty is filthy.

His hands are stained with grease. He’s even got a little smudge by his jaw. His forearms and chest are sweaty.

And I love it.

I love the way he smells. Like soap and fresh air and good, honest sweat. I kind of want to run my tongue along his neck to see how salty he tastes.

But first things first. I need to know if I’ve made the right decision.

He will either be pleased, or seriously freaked out.

I’m almost shaking, afraid to form the words, but one of us needs to take a leap of faith. There’s a part of me that knew that I was the one who had to make the first move. There’s an icky power dynamic that I want to scrub from our situation, but it is what it is. I’ve decided it’s time to woman up and deal with things head on.

“Do you like your new job?”

“Yeah.” His answer is automatic.

I tilt my head, trying to gauge the truth in his reply. He’s always been very good at wearing masks. It’s how he survived, but I don’t want him wearing those masks around me.

I run a finger down his jaw, and his breezy smile falters. There it is.

The truth.

“Do you like it better than bees?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “No.”

“How about lavender?”

He tilts his head, peering at my face. “No, not better than lavender.”

“If I asked you to, would you quit that job?”

He tenses up next to me. “Why?”

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