Page 74 of The Best Kind of Bad

She parks right in front of the club’s front doors, slamming the door and muttering to herself. “This is why I don’t like dogs.”

“What about Ed?”

She laughs, frustrated. “He’s half-okay.”

“I’m sure he’d half-appreciate that.”

She peels the lid off the box and flinches at its contents. “God damn it.”

I circle around the car, standing at her shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

She looks up at me with a rigid expression. “It’s the topper, Dusty. People might notice.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, babe. I know how hard you worked on this.”

“Worst-case scenario.” She says, looking frustrated.

I rub her back and pull her in so that I can kiss the top of her head. Taking a deep breath, she lets it out in a whoosh. “Okay. Let’s see what we can do to fix it.” She peers up at me, a sly grin tugging at those lips. “How are you with a piping bag?”

“Terrible.”

“Terrible is all we got. Let’s do this.”

I trail behind her, carrying the cake boxes like they contain deadly explosives. She finds the wedding director, otherwise known as Mason’s aunt, who points us towards the cake table. Marnie gives me directions while she sets up the cakes. I watch, fascinated, as she assembles the cake tower like a reverse game of Jenga. The last cake to come out of the box is the topper. The final tier. It’s pristine except for a smashed edge the size of her hand. I hand her the icing bags she packed and watch as she creates swirls of frosting that look like folded satin. Once she’s placed the fresh flowers, the damaged edge is a thing of the past.

We stand back, my arm hooked around her waist. “I think it looks better this way.”

“I actually do, too.” She peers up at me. “I had a moment there where I thought I wanted to toss the whole cake in the dumpster. Thanks for helping me through that.”

I peer down at her. “What’d I do? You were the miracle worker.”

“You were just you. Steady and calm. I feel better when you’re around.”

I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but steady and calm are not words I’ve heard before. Her words make my chest feel strangely tight. I pull her into a hug, relishing the way her body feels in that stretchy little dress. “I feel better when you’re around, too.”

49.

Marnie

I’m with Dusty in his bed when the storm rolls in. He’s on his back, arm curled around me, chest rising and falling gently.

I peer around his room. My slinky black dress hangs off the edge of the bed. His tie and dress shirt are in a pile on the floor. Our exit from the wedding reception was borderline rude. We didn’t even stay to watch Mason and Tate cut my cake.

My only duty was in delivering the pastries. Dusty was the one who received an actual invitation, but he seemed more intent on finding out what kind of panties I had on. My pussy still has a pleasant ache to it. I glance back at him, running my fingers over his hard chest. He really knows how to leave an impression on a girl.

A burst of lightning illuminates the room, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. Dusty stirs sleepily beside me, tugging me back down against his chest. An alert chimes on both of our phones. We don’t need to look to know it’s a tornado warning. Dusty checks the radar anyway. “Fuck.” He mutters, zooming in on the screen.

“Where’s Ed?” I push upright.

“Probably outside the door, freaking out.” Dusty sits up, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It sticks up endearingly. “We better get to the basement again.”

A tiny thrill of alarm threads through my chest, but I’m starting to get used to the weather out this way. There must be something about the topography that draws the worst of the Nebraska weather.

He stumbles into a pair of sweats, pausing with a t-shirt in his hands to watch me shimmy back into the dress. “Little black dress. The sequel.”

In the hall, Dusty pauses at Sienna’s door, knocking gently. “Sienna? You up?”

She comes to the door, looking half comatose. Her eyes widen at my presence. And my dress. A smirk tugs at her lips.

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