Page 72 of Betting on the Bad Boy
Oliver set the mug down on the bar in front of me, and I took a long sip. As I turned on my stool to see if I recognized anyone, a hand clapped me on the shoulder.
“Dante, my man.”
“Oh, hey, Murph.” I eyed Murph over the rim of my glasses, not sure whether I should brace myself for an uppercut to the jaw or a handshake. Murph offered his hand, so I shook it.
As he settled onto the stool next to me, he signaled to Oliver, who automatically pulled a pint of Bud. “Thanks, bro.”
“Have a nice break?” I asked.
Murph sipped the froth from the top of his glass. “Yeah, it was all right. How about you?”
“Fine. Glad to be back.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Faith.”
Damn, this again? “What do you need?”
Murph’s eyes bored into mine. “Is there something going on between you?”
“No, not really.” I sure as hell didn’t need Murph busting my balls. Whatever crush he had on Faith, she definitely didn’t seem interested in him, and the way he talked about her behind her back didn’t render him worthy of any bro code.
Murph shook his head and smiled. “You’re not fucking with me, are you? I was there when you tossed the bra at her.”
“That was an isolated event.” I shrugged. “You know me, I don’t tend to stick around.”
“Then you wouldn’t be interested in a little dirt about her, huh?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Murph slid a copy of the newspaper across the bar to me. “Page three.”
I took a swig of beer and flipped through the pages, my eyes scanning the headlines for whatever dumbass article Murph wanted me to see.
“Right there.” His finger jabbed at the paper.
The words swam across the page, and I adjusted my glasses. Something about a little family reunion on campus. How famous Christian author Claire Kepner got to speak to her daughter’s class. “What the hell?”
“Shit, bro. That’s Faith’s mom. Good thing you’re not tapping that, my friend. Can you imagine? What kind of d-bag would stick it to the daughter of America’s favorite Christian sweetheart? Her stepdad’s the pastor of some wicked big evangelical church out in California, too. You dodged a bullet with that one.”
I grabbed my beer and drained my glass. “Oliver, pour me another one?”
Murph swiveled around on his stool. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, though, right?” His eyes narrowed into slits.
“What’s your big hang-up with her, anyway?”
“Nothing. I’m over it and moving on. Met this chick right before break, and we’re hitting it off.”
“That’s great.” I gripped the fresh beer and pushed off the stool. “See you around.” Hopefully Murph would stop busting my balls about Faith now. But what the hell was with the article in the paper?
I made my way to the back office to check the schedule. I’d been hoping to start up where Faith and I left off as soon as her plane landed. But Wyatt probably had me working the late shift on New Year’s Eve. Maybe I could sneak over before my shift started.
Oliver found me sitting at Wyatt’s desk, beer in hand, shaking my head. “Are you pissed, mate?”
“Huh? No, I’m a little irked I’m scheduled for tomorrow night. It’s New Year’s Eve. But nah, I’m not pissed about it.”
Oliver smirked. “Not pissed off, like mad. I mean pissed, like drunk?”
“Oh. Hell no. I’m not drunk. But if I have to spend any more time around Murph, I might need a few more pints.”
