Page 66 of Betting on the Bad Boy
“And you?” She looked over at me, a crease furrowing the small space between her brows.
I lifted a soapy hand out of the dishwater and pushed my glasses back up on my nose. “Um, yeah, I suppose. Me too.”
“Good.” Cheryl bumped me with her hip.
I studied her face. She couldn’t be hoping for another shot at things. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong?—”
“How’s it going in there?” Meemaw’s voice traveled from the front room. “Be careful with that turkey platter. Am I ever going to get to try that pumpkin pie?”
Rolling my eyes, I shouted back, “Hold your horses. We’ll be done in a few minutes.”
“You’re lucky. She really loves you,” Cheryl said.
“Yeah, I love her too. She’s never let me down.” I wiped my hands on a towel and reached for the pie on the counter.
“Dante, I?—”
“You want to dish this up?”
Cheryl grabbed a knife and cut three slices of pie, then topped each one with a squirt of canned whipped cream. She set a fork on each plate and handed me one. We made our way outto the living room, where Meemaw watched an old Bing Crosby movie in black and white.
“Here you go, Mrs. Bishop.” Cheryl set a plate down on the TV tray in front of her. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Meemaw let out a long forlorn sigh.
I took a bite and forced myself to chew and swallow. Did she say this was pumpkin pie? Didn’t have much flavor to it.
Fork poised over her plate, Meemaw finished swallowing and opened her mouth to speak.
I cleared my throat and caught her attention. I shook my head, and she closed her mouth.
“This has a really interesting flavor,” I said.
Cheryl’s eyes lit up. “I’m so glad you like it.”
“Mmm,” I mumbled with a mouth full of tasteless, gelatinous dessert.
Meemaw let her fork drop to the plate in a clatter. “I’m just too full to eat another bite.”
I stood up and took her plate. “I’ll take it to the kitchen for you.” I made it to the kitchen and scraped the remainder of my pie and Meemaw’s into the trashcan before Cheryl had a chance to even look up. Some things would never change. She still couldn’t cook for shit.
Cheryl brought her dessert plate into the kitchen. “I guess I’d better get going if I’m going to get to work on time.”
Meemaw yelled from the front room. “Dante, go grab those packages for her. They’re in the hall closet.”
I found the bag of toys and carried it outside.
She followed me to the back of the car and popped the trunk. “Thanks for inviting me, I had a nice time today.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome.”
“It was nice catching up. Sounds like you’re doing really well over in Newbridge. I remember you always wanted to get thebig paying job and all.” She looked down at the ground. “I was wondering, would you want to maybe go out sometime?”
I sighed. I’d been waiting for her to bring up something like this. “I’m, uh, kind of seeing someone.” Meemaw was already under the false impression Faith and I had something going on. Why not let Cheryl believe the same thing? If my little white lie got rid of any lingering ideas Cheryl might be having, what was the harm?
“Oh sure. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Cheryl slammed the trunk then hurried to the driver side door. She climbed inside, turning the key over in the ignition.
I tucked my thumbs in the front pockets of my jeans as Cheryl backed down the drive. I wasn’t sure what was going on with Faith and our strictly physical relationship, but the chemistry between us was hotter than anything I’d ever had with any other girl, including Cheryl. I didn’t believe in giving someone who’d crossed me a second chance, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize another go ’round with Faith.
