Page 2 of The Bad Girl

“Eh, to tell you the truth, I’m not looking forward to this.”

“Why even go, then?”

“Her father reached out to me. Apparently, since her betrothal to Gabriel Icor fell through, she’s been refusing to so much as look twice at a man.”

“Jeez, Gabriel Icor? Do all you billionaire-types date from the same small pool?”

“Yes, but it’s no longer like the dark ages, and my sister is not a marriage option.”

I bring a hand up to stifle my laughter.

“And what about you? Night in with the cat?”

I roll my eyes so hard, it’s amazing I stay upright. “Actually, no.”

“Book club night? Or is there a library poetry reading? Perhaps you’re going to spend a provocative night in at a nursing home, crocheting blankets for a local pet shelter?”

“Provocative? Really Max?”

“Last spring, I made a sizable donation to Shady Lake Nursing Home, and while I was being interviewed by Channel AO9, this old man walked right into the shot, buck naked, helicoptering his penis around.”

Maxwell puts his hands behind his head and begins thrusting his pelvis in circles.

“Oh my God—I remember that!”

“I’m sure many do. They weren’t paying attention, and even with the delay during the live feed, they couldn’t pull it quick enough.”

“Well, if you’re done reminiscing about that old man’s stripper moves, and you don’t need anything else from me, I have things to do.”

“You mean like drawing Higglesworth in the jaws of a hungry werewolf?”

“How dare you, Maxwell!” I gasp as I stroke the cartoon hippo. “Don’t you worry Higgles, I will never draw a werewolf that would eat you.”

“Wait a minute,” Maxwell says, casting me a sardonic grin. “You still haven’t told me what you’re up to tonight.”

“Well, it doesn’t involve cats or old man cock. My book club has been disbanded, either that or I’m no longer invited. Any more guesses?”

“Settling down with a book boyfriend for the night?”

I feel heat rushing to my cheeks. I read off an on throughout the day when I’m not busy, and more than once, I’ve failed to notice Maxwell hovering over me, watching as I read from my Kindle—that is, until he starts reading passages aloud, almost always x-rated.

“No, actually, it looks like I might be working on arealboyfriend.”

His smile goes lopsided, and a slight sigh escapes his full lips.

Maxwell, like most men with money, is a Player with a capital P. He thinks that at twenty-four, I can’t possibly want or desire a longterm boyfriend. That it must be my greatest—yet unknown—desire to be the vessel for countless men to sow their wild oats in.

He’s wrong.

Yeah, I had some oats thrown at me, more than a few. But I’ve been done with empty and meaningless for a while now. I’m not saying I want to up and get married. I just want something more. Something meaningful. Something like my parents have. They’ve been happily married now for almost three decades and still absolutely adore each other.

“He’s hot, a mechanic, owns dogs. Also—hot.”

With a bounce in my step, I rush over to Maxwell, showing him a picture of Grady.

He tilts his head to the side, running his fingers through his perfectly set dark hair and mocks me with a, “Hmmmm…”

“You don’t like?”