Page 96 of The Best Kind of Bad

He shrugs, spitting to the side. “Early August I’m thinking.”

Fuck.

Carl reads my thoughts like they’re stamped on my forehead. He clicks his tongue. “Shit, son. You’re a smart kid. You’ll land on your feet. Didn’t Gus send you to tech school?”

I nod. “To become a diesel mechanic.”

Carl lights up. “You know Ernie Hall?”

“Owns the equipment dealership in Clark?”

“That’s the one. I think I recall hearing him bellyaching about how he can’t find decent mechanics anymore. You head on over to his place and tell him Carl sent you.”

“Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Carl.”

He slaps my arm again. “You bet. Have a good night, you hear?”

“I will.”

But how can I? I watch him walk away and turn back to the street party. I can see where the barbecue stand is. Marnie will be over there. God, I hope she is.

I need to see her now. I’d throw myself at her feet if I thought it’d do any good. But the truth is, I don’t want to pressure her into staying. I want to offer her something instead of being the guy doing all the taking. Maybe getting that damn mechanic’s job is the answer. If I can lighten the burden on her conscience, she can make a decision about us free and clear. That’s the way I want it.

63.

Marnie

“Damn dude, what happened to you?” Bo looks past my shoulder. “You look like you got rode hard and put away wet.”

I turn, eyes immediately locking onto Dusty’s. A happy little thrill goes through my stomach—the same feeling I get every time I see him. But Bo’s right, he does look tired. Usually, he’d have a clever comeback for his buddies, but this time, he just goes straight for me. His hands weave through my arms, resting on my lower back. I hook my hands around his neck and lean into him, taking in the clean soap scent radiating off his skin. Peering up at him, I have to agree. He looks drained. “You do look tired.” Leaning in closer, I push up on my tiptoes and he accommodates me by leaning down so I can whisper in his ear. “Still sexy as hell, though.”

That brings a smile to his lips, though there’s still something off that I can’t quite put my finger on. He pulls me hard against his body, tucking my head under his jaw. I pat his chest. “Did you eat?”

I feel him shaking his head.

“I saved a plate for you.”

He takes a shaky breath.

Damn, what is wrong with him? Wiggling out of his tight hold, I take his hand. Snagging the plate we wrapped up, I find an empty picnic table and push him onto the bench. “Sit. Eat. I’ll grab you a beer.”

I snag a beer from the cattle tank full of ice where they’re chilling. He’s facing away from me. His back is straight, but those shoulders look strained. Tired. Like he’s carrying the weight of the world. I glance over at the barbecue stand and notice his friends are watching him just as warily as I am. I suppose that’s the curse of being the clown. If you don’t bring the party every time, people get worried. I resolve to just let him be tired if he wants to. He doesn’t have to perform. Not for me. I like every side of him.

Easing onto the picnic bench next to him, I set the beer by his plate. “Have you eaten anything today?”

He’s got both hands on his head, massaging it like he’s got a headache. “Had a bag of chips at lunch, I think.”

“A bag of chips?” I shake my head. “You aren’t going anywhere until you eat every last bite.”

A smile tugs at his lips, making my heart flutter a little. I ease off the bench and stand behind him. Leaning my tummy against his hard back, I lay my hands on his shoulders and knead his tense muscles. “Eat.”

He finally complies, faithfully shoveling potato salad and rib tips into his mouth. I move my fingers to his neck. His muscles move in interesting ways under my fingertips. I watch the tendons flicker in his jaw. Watching someone eat shouldn’t be sexy, but I’m a baker. I made that potato salad myself. And I am ridiculously turned on just watching him eat the food I made.

I run my fingers over his scalp, leaning in to rest my chin on his shoulder. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is too light. He pushes his empty plate back, taking a swig of beer, before turning on the bench so that he’s facing me. Grabbing my hips, he navigates me so that I’m standing between his legs. That puts his head around boob level. He turns his head and leans into my chest. I wrap my arms around the back of his head and run my fingernails through his hair.

He lets out a long breath. “I’ve been thinking about this dress all day long.”

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