Page 32 of The Best Kind of Bad

“Nope.”

“Help yourself. It’s only the finest in the Novak house.” Another peel of thunder cracks overhead, sounding angry and much, much closer. “Shouldn’t we be in the basement?”

“Meh.” Dusty saunters over, pulling two plates down. He knows the kitchen better than I do. He has a very faint farmer’s tan—a subtle boundary that wraps across a very firm set of biceps. Technically, I’ve seen that farmer’s tan in all its naked glory. But then I’m remembering the time we spent in Tia’s office and my cheeks are heating up.

I clear my throat. “Where’s Sienna?”

“At her friends.” He hands me the plate with a slice and grabs another for himself. “I called and checked on her a few minutes ago.”

“Where’d that dog go?”

“Probably where he always goes during storms. The basement.”

“Smart dog.”

“We didn’t name him Edison for nothing.”

I lead the way into the basement. It’s finished, but the last update had to have been in the seventies. The carpet is a vibrant red shag, and the walls are paneled with dark, ‘wood’ paneling. But there are a few comfortable couches and a decent TV on the wall. Sure enough, Ed is occupying the couch nearest the TV. His tail whumps happily on the cushion when he sees us stepping into the rec room.

I plop down on the couch, pulling my leg up under me.

Dusty elects to sit next to me, despite the numerous alternatives. There’s at least a foot between us, but I swear I can feel the heat rolling off his body. He looks even bigger up close. Sinking back, his long legs stretch out in front of him.

He tilts his head, a smile playing across his lips. “You’re not nervous about storms, are you?”

I’m nervous, alright. But it has nothing to do with the storm outside and everything to do with how sexy he is. How good he smells. “I never really pay attention to storms. I’ve gotten by fine so far.”

He laughs. “That seems a wee bit irresponsible. Aren’t you supposed to lead by example? Being my elder and all.”

I push on his leg with the ball of my foot. “Okay. Invitation revoked. Good luck with the twister.”

“Ed, too?”

Ed perks his head up.

“The dog can stay. You got to go.”

He holds up his hands. “Okay. I’ll be less judgmental. Promise.”

He studies my profile unabashedly. I squirm under his perusal. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

“Can I?” He gives me a lopsided grin before holding his hands up in peace. Laughing to himself, he glances at the stairs and his smile slips. “Last time I was down here, your Uncle Gus and me were trying to catch a snake.”

I wrap my arms around my knees. “Please tell me you caught it.”

He smiles. “Caught and released.”

“Far away?”

He laughs again. Pausing to admire my expression of horror. “We took it down to the creek.”

“Thank God.”

He glances at the stairs again. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone. I keep expecting him to walk through the door.”

“The snake?”

His lips tug into a lopsided grin. “Yes. The snake. I miss him.”

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