Page 4 of Badd Baby

I winced—I try not to mention my famous family members too much. People get weird about it. "Oh, well, yeah. She, uh…works in the film industry."

She frowned at me. "C'mon, Duncan."

"Hey, you still haven't told me one thing about yourself," I said. “Your name, for starters."

"Rune Rigby."

"Rune?"

She nodded, her eyes already glazing over as she anticipated the questions she must get. "Yes, Rune, as in the pictographs used by the Norse and Germanic tribes from antiquity."

“From antiquity, is it?”

"My mother is a historian specializing in…can you guess?"

"Runes?"

She laughed, the genuine smile illuminating her features with the warmth of amusement, snaring my breath and trapping it in my lungs. "Well, yes, but not runes specifically, but rather the history of Norse and Germanic tribes in general.”

"Why Norse and Germanic? What's the crossover?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're lucky Mom's not here or you'd be in for a hell of a lecture. The short version is that the Germanic tribes migrated west and north into Scandinavia and eventually became the Norse. Sort of. Mostly. It’s complicated.” She waved a hand. "I honestly don't know too much about it, as I'm not super into history. If you are, I can get you a copy of Mom's book."

"What about your dad?" I asked.

"Oh, he's not a historian." I just stared at her until she blinked, and then burst into laughter. “Wow…that was dumb."

I laughed with her. "I mean, it was funny."

"He's…well, he teaches Brazilian jiujitsu, and he's also a strongman. He used to compete, and still does compete once in a while, but not professionally."

I shook my head. "Talk about unlikely. A college professor mother who specializes in an obscure branch of history, and a dad who's a strongman and BJJ instructor."

"That's not as weird as having five million people in your family."

"Sorry, I didn't realize this was a weirdness competition," I said.

"If it was, you'd win," she answered.

"Probably, and in more ways than you can probably imagine."

I turned away to snatch a ticket from the printer and pull the drinks; when I turned back, she was gone. Her drink was there with a napkin over the top to indicate she was coming back.

And when I saw her approaching from the bathrooms, my heart skipped a beat.

Yeah, total fucking smokeshow.

The only average thing about this girl was her height—she's stacked. Like, damn. I guess it makes sense considering her dad is a strongman, but it's obvious even wearing loose, ripped jeans and a baggy, off-the-shoulder T-shirt that she's built like a brick shithouse. Which is a weird phrase, now that I think about it. A brick shithouse is not a flattering object to which to compare someone. I didn't make it up, obviously, I just think it's odd.

Anyway.

Thick, muscular thighs pressed against the legs of her ripped, wide-leg jeans, glimpses of smooth, tanned skin peeking temptingly through the rips. Strong shoulders and powerful, toned arms. And again, despite the bagginess of the oversized T-shirt she’s wearing, she couldn’t entirely hide the fact that she had some serious cleavage happening.

I watched her weave through the crowd, blatantly checking her out. Mainly because I couldn’t not stare at her—the bar was over max capacity and full of hot, single young women, since the Kitty is a bit of a destination bar for the cruise ship tourists who flock to and clog Ketchikan this time of year—yet I had eyes only for Rune.

I caught her eye as she approached the bar; I was about to say something flirty—only my mouth knows what it would have been since it didn't bother informing my brain what I was about to say, though. But before I could get a word out, I saw a big guy slide up behind her and casually palm her ass.

She whirled, instantly furious, and shoved him hard. "Hey, hands off, asshole!"