Page 22 of The Best Kind of Bad

“I live for it.” Dusty responds, with a tone that suggests he could give a shit.

Sienna is undeterred. “Here’s a juicy one for you. You know Edna Korra?”

“The baker?”

“The very same.” Sienna nods, grinning toothily as she hands me my coffee. “Word is, she ran away with the drummer of a band.”

Dusty does a double take. His voice is flat. “A drummer.”

Sienna giggles. “Of a polka band. I guess they’re touring Canada this summer.”

“Well, that is…” Dusty pauses. “Good for Edna, I guess.”

“Yeah, man.” Sienna laughs. “Edna got her groove back.”

Dusty looks at me over the rim of his mug. “And I bet you thought small towns were boring.”

“Clearly, they’re not.” I reply, sipping coffee.

“Clearly.” Sienna agrees, laughing. She glances at the clock, wincing. “Ah, crap. I’m late for work.”

“Again?” Dusty shakes his head. Sienna whisks away, leaving the two of us alone.

Dusty sets his mug aside. “Is that what you were after this morning? News about Edna Korra?”

I fiddle with my coffee mug. “Not quite. I was hoping we could talk about the estate.”

“The estate.” Dusty repeats. He forms the word like it tastes funny. Pushing away from the counter, he tilts his head. “Have you seen it?”

“The fields?”

“Yeah.”

I shake my head. “Uncle Gus used to take me around when I was younger, but that was years ago.”

“Well, first things first, maybe you want to take a look at what you’re trying to sell.”

I detect the faintest note of accusation in that statement, but he has a point. I should see it with my own eyes. “Are you offering to give me a tour?”

He grins, looking down. When he glances back at me, the softness in those gray eyes is like a sucker punch. “For you? I’ll clear my busy schedule.”

Acting like my heart isn’t racing ahead, I do my best to adopt a casual stride as he leads me back outside. Ed barks a happy greeting as we walk towards Dusty’s truck. I climb in the passenger side and before I can close the door, Ed heaves himself up beside me. He sits with half of his ass on my lap. Looking over at me with those strange green eyes, I get the feeling he’s either embarrassed for me or suffering in some way.

Dusty settles behind the wheel, a sly grin curving his lips. “That’s his seat.”

“Ed has his own seat?”

Dusty nods. “That’s where he usually sits. I bet if you asked nicely, he might let you borrow it. Be warned, Ed’s a rather gassy beast.”

I glance down at the fabric upholstery, wondering how much air one seat can trap. I’m scooting over before I even finish the thought. Ed heaves a sigh, and I swear to God, he smiles at me.

Dusty’s smiling, too, though Ed’s doing a better job of hiding it.

I glance upwards for strength. “Why do I get the feeling all the boys in this truck are laughing at me?”

“I’m not laughing.” Dusty throws his arm over my shoulder as he backs out. “This is just my face.”

“Mm-hmm.” I murmur skeptically. It’s hard to think of a clever reply when I’ve got a sexy Viking sitting hip to hip with me. He’s got his legs akimbo, our thighs touch from knee to hip. I could scoot over if I was truly offended by the proximity, but I kind of like the soft buzzy feeling stoking in my belly.

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