Page 50 of The Best Kind of Bad

Marnie lets me lead her a short distance away from the crowd before digging her heels in. She looks annoyed. “You need a ride?”

“Actually, I was thinking about giving you a ride.” I murmur, stepping closer. “Your cute little shorts have been working overtime, but I think those thighs would look better wrapped around my hips.”

She sucks in a breath, cheeks turning a fascinating rosy shade. “If you want an easy fuck, that leggy blonde over there is yours for the taking.”

I pull back, an uneasy feeling tightening my stomach. “She’s just an old friend.”

“Right.” She narrows those amber-colored eyes.

I tilt my head. “Are you jealous?”

That does all sorts of things to me. I’m pleased that she was even paying attention. But a surly part of me is all too aware that she is leaving soon.

Leaving me and my life in shambles.

She’s an atomic bomb and I want nothing more than to wrap myself around her.

Clicking her tongue, she rolls her eyes and starts to walk away.

I grab her wrist and gently pull her back. “Hey, don’t walk away mad, baby girl. I want to talk to you.”

“You want to do more than talk.”

She’s right about that. I’ve had her almost every night since I met her and it’s not enough. My blood surges for her. She’s bad for me. Her presence alone means destruction. And still, I’m addicted.

I reel her in closer, closer, fascinated by the way her chest rises and falls. She takes a shaky breath. “I’m not into players, Dusty.”

It would have been better if she’d just slapped me. I let go of her wrist, not liking the weight settling on my shoulders.

She backs up a few steps, looking like she wants to say something. Closing those lips, she winces and turns away.

I like to blame the small-town rumor mill for my reputation. I like to think it’s unfair.

But if this woman, who hasn’t been here long enough to be poisoned by rumors, is calling me the same thing, maybe there’s some truth to it.

Maybe it’s time to call a spade a spade.

33.

Marnie

It is possible to actually beat eggs.

I whipped those suckers with the rage and the frustration of a woman who rebuked a man she’d rather be sleeping with.

I spent the entire night replaying our last conversation. Editorializing, adding endings that made my stomach clench with anger. Dusty taking that blonde brat home. The girl so slim and long she made me look like a bridge troll in comparison.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she touched him. There was something proprietorial about it. Like she’d had him before and intended to have him again.

It’s not like I thought Dusty was a virgin.

You don’t handle a woman’s body with skill like his without getting a little practice in first.

But there’s a difference between knowing he had a past and seeing his present. Seeing that girl line up after me like maybe Dusty ought to put a rotating door on his barn.

The least he could do is not flirt with other girls right in front of me.

At least let the smoke on our smoldering fling clear before he moves on.

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