Page 30 of Tinsel in Telluride

My eyes fall to the countertop. “No.”

No one has point blank called me a slut for sleeping with two guys so close together—least of all me—but that doesn’t mean I judge myself for it. That week was completely out of the ordinary for me. Historically, I’m a one-man-at-a-time kind of gal. It’s hard enough fitting one person in my schedule while running Renegade Hearts, let alone two. The other guy—I think his name was Tod. Maybe Tony. I don’t know. He was a victim of my once a year hook up with a random guy because I get a little twitchy and destructive around the anniversary of my parents’ death.

And Luca…well, he wasn’t part of the plan in any way, shape, or form. He just happened to be there during that moment of weakness with a hate fuck proposition I couldn’t pass up.

I’m not proud of myself, but I can’t be mad either.

That week gave me Zach.

Thirty seconds pass, and I brace for Bash to call me out. Fully ready to defend myself. But he doesn’t. Instead, with a soft, almost tender voice, he asks, “And if Luca is his dad?”

As much as I want to keep my eyes trained on the tiny flecks of gold on the marble countertop and ignore his question, I force myself to meet Bash’s. “It feels wrong having this conversation with you and not him.”

The right corner of his mouth twitches up, and he chuckles. “With as angry as he was last night, maybe it’s better you have it with me first.”

I consider his words. I’m stuck here at least until I can get the proposal for Monarch Hearts signed off on. And if Luca is Zach’s dad, I’d really like to be at least friendly co-parents with him. Plus, Bash is easy to talk to. And he’s given me a hell of a lot more insight into the man who might be the father of my child than I had when I arrived here.

“Well,” I sigh. “In that case, the honest answer is, it’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“Luca and I—We aren’t just strangers who hooked up and made a kid.” Though it would be so much easier if we were. “We have a history. And not a good one. He made my life miserable when I was a teenager.”

“Hewasa bit of a prick before we got ahold of him.” Bash laughs and finishes off the last bit of his coffee. “You hungry?”

As if it knew the question asked, my stomach rumbles. “Starving apparently.”

Bash claps his hands down on the island and smiles as he pushes himself up. “Good. Breakfast is my specialty. Does Zach like pancakes?”

“Loves them.” I smile, touched he’d consider my son.

“Perfect.”

I silently watch as Bash makes his way back into the pantry and comes out with his hands filled with everything needed to feed an army instead of five adults and a toddler.

“Do you need any help?” I ask, the manners my mother instilled in me shining through.

Bash drops everything on the island, the flour bag puffing out a giant white cloud. “I’m more of a solo man in the kitchen. But you can sit there and keep lookin’ gorgeous.”

I find myself rolling my eyes again. Something, it seems, that's impossible to avoid when chatting with Bash. Finishing off my coffee, I help myself to another. When I return to my seat at the island, Bash is humming to himself as he whips the batter together in a large bowl.

He reminds me a lot of the guys on the Renegades—grown ass adults, thriving at what they do, yet managing to somehow teeter the line of cocky and down to earth.

My dad used to say,you are the people you surround yourself with. Maybe that’s why I was drawn to Willow and Indie. I was the new kid who just wanted to be included, and they took me in like the little stray cat I was and made me a Rifton Academy elite right alongside them. I’m proud to call them my friends.

Bash is my first look into the people Luca has chosen to surround himself with—and I’m surprised to find out I don’t hate what I’m seeing.

“You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm.” Bash chuckles, lifting the whisk to check the batter’s consistency.“What’s got your lips twisted like that?”

I raise a playful brow and deflect. “So I have you guys to thank for the one-eighty in Luca’s personality?”

Bash brushes off his shoulder as if to congratulate himself. “I like to think so, but we can’t take all the credit.”

Rabid for more information, I shift to the edge of my seat and press. “Then what changed?”

Bash spins away from me and turns on one of the stove's six burners. “That’s a story for him to tell.”

Tension leaves my shoulders at his anticlimactic answer.

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