Page 18 of Betting on the Bad Boy
“Chur, bro.” Oliver raised his mug. “Sorry, I mean, thanks much.”
“No problem.” I grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the counter.
Murph leaned forward, placing his elbows on the bar. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
“You seen much of Faith lately?”
I paused and looked over at him. “Why do you ask?”
“She’s kind of...” Murph seemed to struggle to find the right words.
“What? Special?” I asked.
Murph glared at me. “So, you’ve noticed, too?”
Damn. “Well, no, I mean, she’s hot, but that’s it.” Murph obviously had a thing for Faith. The last thing I needed was for him to think I wanted in on the running.
Murph took a long sip of his beer. “Yeah, she’s special all right. I’d appreciate it if you would, well… keep your distance. I’ve been working hard on her for over a year, and I think she’s getting close, dude, really close to cracking.”
In what kind of relationship would that be a good scenario—the girl close to cracking? “Wow, you must feel pretty great about that I guess.”
“Yeah, yeah I do.” Murph lowered his mug and gave me a pointed stare. “We’re clear then?”
Clear? As mud. “I think you’ve got the wrong impression, Murph. I’m not interested in Faith. She’s not exactly my type.”
“What, not good enough for you?”
“Nah, it’s not that. I’m just not really a relationship kind of guy. She doesn’t seem like the one-night stand variety.” More like the white picket fence in the suburbs, two-point-five kids, and a fluffy slobbery dog kind of gal.
Murph bobbed his head up and down in agreement. “You got that right. She’s high-class, douche bag. Way out of your league.”
“Whatever. She’s all yours, man.” How did Faith feel about Murph? Would she even be remotely interested in him? Based on what I knew of her, which wasn’t much, the guy didn’t seem like a match.
Murph smiled and raised his mug at me again before lifting it to his lips and draining it. He set it down with a slam. “Great. I knew we’d see eye to eye on this.” He threw a ten down on thecounter. “Come on, let’s go. Hey Dante, keep the change. I really hope you can make it to the party.”
“Yeah, me too. Good luck with Faith.”
“I don’t need luck.” Murph made a fist and pounded on his heart. “I’ve got words, dude. That chick is totally into words, and I am so gonna rock her world.” He smiled and lifted his hand in a salute before he and Oliver turned toward the door.
I didn’t know what to make of the whole exchange. Murph was turning into an ass. From what I could tell, Faith could take care of herself against any unwanted advances by that creep. I paused, washcloth mid-swipe. But what if she actually liked him?
A twinge of something prickled in my gut, but I quickly brushed it off. I didn’t have the time or the desire to get involved with someone, not even someone like Faith Wainwright. Especially not Faith Wainwright.
I let myself think about her smart mouth for a moment, but that just got me thinking about what it might feel like to kiss her. Enough, already. I forced all thoughts of Faith out of my brain and walked through the back hallway to Wyatt’s office.
A sliver of light escaped through the crack under the door. As I lifted my hand to knock, the rumble of Wyatt’s deep laughter reached my ears. I paused, my fist in mid-air, as Lindsey said something too low for me to make out.
Damn, they must be at it again. I’d always liked Wyatt, but ever since he and Lindsey got married, he’d changed. She’d sanded away his rough edges, encouraged him to keep his fiery temper in check, and even had him talking about feelings and shit.
I was happy for Wyatt that he’d found his happily ever after. But the more time I spent around the two of them and their sugary sweet public displays of affection, the more alone I felt. Like something in my own life was missing.
Not wanting to interrupt whatever husband and wife moment they had going on, I took a step back. The distressed wooden floorboard creaked under my feet.
“Dante? You need something?” Wyatt asked.
Shit. “Just a quick question.”
