Page 60 of Good at Being Bad (Rock Canyon, Idaho 8)

“Funny, we were just talking about you.”

Mike turned his attention to Gracie, who looked ready to pour hot coffee over his head. “What did I do?”

“You mean besides whore out your services to the wench opening up a coffee shop across the street?” She picked up a piscotti from her plate and threw it at his head. It grazed his cheek, and he yelped.

“Ow, Gracie!”

“Et tu, Brute?” she said.

“It’s an internet café.”

“Ha, that sells coffee and pastries!” she cried.

Mike looked to Gemma for help, but she shook her head. “Sorry, buddy, you know I love you, but I’m on her side for this one.”

Mike met Gracie’s furious green eyes and threw his hands in the air. “I’m sorry, okay? I should have told you, but I didn’t know how to.”

“How could you?” she hissed.

“For money, which buys me food, shelter, and toys for Smalls.”

“Do not bring my godpuppy into this!” Gracie had taken over babysitting duties for Smalls, who had fallen in love with Eric and Gracie’s dog. Gracie kept threatening to not give him back.

“I’m serious. I was on the verge of giving up my space before Wendy offered me the job.”

“I would have covered your rent—”

“I didn’t want that!”

Gemma cleared her throat. “Mike, I get wanting to be independent and not having to borrow money, but we’re your friends. We would have done that. But now, you’ve put The Local Bean in jeopardy.”

“Judas,” Gracie mumbled.

“Okay, I get it, I suck. I am a selfish, giant douche!”

“You said it, not me—

Mike stood up with his coffee cup in hand. “I’m sorry, Gracie. I don’t want to hurt you or The Local Bean, but this is business.”

He started to leave, but Gracie said loudly, “Speaking of business, did you hear about what happened to your little buddy, Ellie?”

Mike paused and turned back, his eyes narrowed at Gracie. “What about her?”

“I don’t know all the details, but apparently someone slashed all four of her tires.”

Mike’s heart flipped. “Is she okay?”

“Other than having to replace four tires, I think so.” Gracie looked at him suspiciously. “Why do you care?”

Mike glanced between two curious sets of eyes, and shrugged. “She’s helping me out with some stuff.”

“What kind of…stuff?” Gemma teased softly.

“The none of your damn business kind of stuff,” Mike said, flushing.

“Aha!” Gracie cried, ignoring the dozens of eyes that swung their way. “The clothes, the goatee, the freaking hair…You let her give you a makeover.”

“I did not. I just needed a change,” he said.