Page 49 of Betting on the Bad Boy

Ugh. I had almost forgotten about Murph sitting in the front seat of my car. I glanced down at the passenger window, and he wiggled his fingers in a wave.

I gave my mom one last hug and watched her breeze through the revolving door and into the hotel. As I climbed back into the car, there was only one thing on my mind: how the hell to get rid of Murph.

“Your mom seems nice, so down to earth.” Murph buckled his seatbelt.

“What was that bit about the bartender?”

Murph’s mouth widened into a smile. A piece of steak or maybe salad was stuck between his two front teeth. “Well, it sounds like you and Dante are seeing each other. Doesn’t your mom want to meet him?”

My hands wrapped around the steering wheel. “We arenotseeing each other.”

“What a relief. I didn’t want to think you’d been lying to me about dating. So dating”—he curled his fingers into air quotes—“is off limits, but you’re open to the idea of a fuck buddy? Damn, why didn’t you say so? Where do I sign up?”

“Get out.”

“I’ve been patient, Faith. You know Dante’s all wrong for you. He’ll sink his dick into anything. I think you owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you a fucking thing. Get out of my car.”

“You use that kind of language around your mom?” Murph gave me a long look. “You’re going to regret this.” He put one hand on the door handle.

“The only thing I regret is putting up with your crap for so long.” I pointed at the door. “Go!”

A wicked smile slashed across his mouth. “Fine. Have it your way. But remember, you asked for it.”

As soon as his feet hit the ground, I pressed on the gas. My tires squealed on the pavement and the door crashed closed behind him. Murph was all talk. I’d always thought of him as a pompous windbag, even if I had once considered him a friend.

No time to think about that now. I’d promised another few chapters to Steph before the end of the week. I turned the wheel and headed toward home. If I wanted to make my deadline, I’d have to get another couple thousand words down tonight. Too bad I’d turned my back on my source of inspiration.

CHAPTER 26

Faith

I’d been sittingat my desk off and on for the past three hours and had written less than two pages. No matter how hard I tried to force the words onto the screen, my writer’s block had returned, rendering my efforts of stringing words together quite useless. I played through the night at Meemaw’s in my head over and over, desperately trying to force the words to appear.

I couldn’t get past the look on Dante’s face as I pushed past him into the hall the other day. He’d looked pissed and angry and, well… wounded. I needed to get past this if I was going to be able to unravel the story of my fictional Faith and Dante and turn it into my next novel. Steph had pretty much dismissed all my other ideas and was holding out for more of the Dante story. I glared at the blinking cursor on the screen for another full minute, then stood up and slammed down the cover of my laptop.

I whipped my sweatshirt off over my head and tossed it on the bed. Grabbing a long-sleeve T-shirt off a hanger, I threw it on and ran my fingers through my hair. I needed to talk to Dante and move on. Besides, what did I have to lose? People were already gossiping about us.

I grabbed my keys and made my way to the car. Ten minutes later, I turned into the parking lot of Tapped.Here goes nothing.As I pulled open the heavy door, I wondered if I was making a mistake. Too late for that. I stepped inside and walked back to the bar.

“What can I get you?” The bartender towered over the bar. Tall, dark hair, could have been a body double for Dante if it weren’t for the dark brown eyes.

“Is Dante around?” I asked.

“Ah, he had to nick away. Something about an emergency meeting with his group.”

“Are you new?” I couldn’t quite place the accent.

“I’m Oliver. Nice to meet you.” He thrust his hand across the bar.

I took his hand. “Hi. I’m Faith.”

“The one and only, aye?”

“What?” I cocked my head. What was that supposed to mean?

“Nothing.” He let go of my hand and flung a dishtowel over his shoulder. “Can I pour you a pint?”