Page 65 of My Favorite Bad Decision
“My family loves urination humor,” I reply. “You’d be surprised.”
I go to my mother’s texts next. They follow the same path as Maren’s, but are more outraged, especially when she discovers my dad was privy to information she was not.
Mom
I fully expected you’d humiliate me at some point, and now you have. I’m shocked by your behavior.
If you fully expected it, you shouldn’t be all that shocked.
Miller laughs. “I love seeing your thorniness directed at someone other than me.”
And then I’m left with the texts from Blake’s mom and sister. I hand him the phone because I can’t stand to read them myself.
“Blake’s mom says she’s appalled by how selfish you are. I’m personally appalled that she’s spelled selfish with two e’s. Does she not have spell check? You’re going to tell her that,” he says as he starts to type.
I laugh. “Stop. I think she already hates me enough. What about his sister?”
“Krestley? Is that her? What an incredibly stupid name. Krestley says she always thought you were a stuck-up cunt and that Blake could do better. She also says you think you’re so hot but that your mother was prettier at your age, and your looks will fade.” He frowns. “Your mother definitely was not prettier, but she may have a point here. I’ve heard looks can fade, over time, in a small percentage of women. God, maybe you should have married her idiotic brother. You know, just in case that part’s true.”
I laugh and lean my head against his shoulder as that last bit of worry releases inside me. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Kitten,” he says softly. “That’s what I’m here for.”
A light breeze blows and I close my eyes.
“Why am I so tired?” I ask. “I wanted to take the bikes out.”
“It might be because you’re treating this trip like some kind of athletic event and trying to squeeze it all in at once,” he says. “Take a little nap here.”
I shouldn’t. This is all getting too convoluted, and if I want to take a nap I could just return to bed. Except it’s incredibly pleasant leaning against his warm shoulder. And I don’t want to be away from him.
He wraps an arm around me and I rest my head on his chest. His skin is warm and smooth and smells like his soap. There’s never been a more perfect pillow.
“You won’t be able to turn the pages of your book,” I whisper.
“I like this better than reading.”
Me too. And I love to read.
I will never be this happy again.
* * *
I wake alone.I don’t know why I’m disappointed that he didn’t stay.
I find him inside, making a pitcher of margaritas. When I hop onto the counter, his gaze jerks toward me.
“Sorry. Bad habit,” I say, preparing to jump down. “I shouldn’t be doing this in someone else’s kitchen. Stepmother number three hated it.”
His hand shoots out to keep me in place and lands on my thigh. “Stay,” he says with a quiet purr at the bottom of his throat. “I like it.”
My gaze falls to that hand, hot and rough on my skin. I picture it sliding higher. I can’t quite get a full breath.
He releases me, but it’s as if I’m still at high altitude and thinking some crazy, high-altitude thoughts. Like…we’re already here. This is already a secret…so what harm would another secret or two do?
I cough. “I never pictured you being so domestic.”
He grins, pouring a frozen margarita in a glass and handing it to me. “You’ve seen me make coffee and margaritas. I’m not sure that makes me Martha Stewart. And I wasn’t aware that you’d pictured me at all.”
