Page 62 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

Unlike Everett’s texts.

She still couldn’t believe she’d been brave enough to text him the truth, that she couldn’t stop thinking of him. When he’d taken so long to reply, she’d assumed she’d freaked him out.

But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d ended up sitting in the back of the all-male revue, glued to her phone as she’d gone back and forth with Everett for the last hour. It had started with her making fun of the girls waving their dollar bills and his telling her how glad he was that Justin had opted for a guy’s night of poker and beer, and grown into questions about their likes and dislikes. All the way home, they’d traded texts, much to Caroline’s irritation, since Callie wouldn’t tell her who she was talking to, but Callie wasn’t ready to talk about Everett. Not yet.

The last text she’d sent had been to ask what he was going to spend all of his poker winnings on. Just as she knelt down to greet Ratchet, her phone beeped.

“What do you think he said, Ratch?” She turned her face in time to avoid a lick on the mouth and stood up.

As she flicked her thumb over the screen, she read, Our first date, for one thing.

If she was a romantic, she’d have sighed. I thought we were already on date number three. Hiking up a mountain, remember? And food and a movie usually constitute a date.

She made it to her bedroom with minimal hobbling since the Tylenol she’d taken in the car had started to kick in. Callie set the Sweet Tarts bag on her nightstand as she changed into her pajamas, loving that it was finally cool enough to wear her soft flannel ones with sock monkeys all over them.

Her phone went off again, and she climbed into bed before reading it.

That was hanging out, not a date. Dates require leaving the house.

Flipping off the bedside light, she smiled. Duly noted.

Settling back against the pillows, she listened to Ratchet’s panting and thought about how surprised Becca had been when she’d placed her order. Luckily, everything she had wanted, Becca had brought with her—and she’d promised discretion.

When Caroline had asked on the way home what Callie had bought, she’d told her bath salts, which was so far from the truth she’d had to smother a laugh.

Now, sitting next to the bed was a bottle of Fired Up gel and Tasty Lube in strawberry. She’d bought the stuff because, eventually, Everett and she were going to end up in bed together. And when it happened, she wanted to be prepared.

Her cell started blaring Cole Swindell, the ringtone she’d picked for Everett that afternoon. “Hi,” she said, holding the phone up to her ear.

“Hey, you home?”

His deep voice rose gooseflesh on her body. “I just got home a little while ago.”

“What are you doing?”

“I am lying in bed, listening to Ratchet breathe.”

“Sounds like fun times.”

Her stomach fluttered nervously. “Just how everyone should spend a Friday night.”

“So besides the strippers, what else did you girls get into?”

“Oh yeah. We went to a biker bar and got tattoos—”

“Speaking of tattoos, what’s the one on your hip?”

Callie’s breath caught. “When did you see that?”

“You shirt rode up on the couch last night.”

Callie rubbed her hip. Originally, it had been a heart with Tristan’s and her initials woven together inside, but she’d had it covered years ago with her mother’s name and the date she’d died. The black, broken heart had destroyed any evidence of his name, but she’d never talked about its meaning with anyone anyway.

“It’s a tattoo for my mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really. It’s been a long time.”