Good Girl Page 18

This time his grin is more wicked than mocking. “I don’t know, princess. How about my tongue spending time somewhere a hell of a lot more interesting than your mouth?”

My lips part, but he disappears, climbing into the truck and slamming the door with a finality that tells me the conversation is over.

For now, Noah Maxwell. For now.

He lifts a mocking hand in farewell as he drives away, leaving behind two barking dogs and one very aroused female.


“You can’t ignore her forever,” Finn says as he idly rubs chalk onto the tip of his cue stick.

I take a sip of beer. “Ignore who?”

He gives me a steady look with his hazel eyes. “Don’t be a dick. You want to ditch the bitch, I’ve got your back. Hell, I’ve been telling you to get rid of Yvonne for years. But this isn’t the way to do it.”

I take another sip of beer. “Got nothin’ to do with you.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” he says, lining up his cue. His hands are steady as the stick makes contact with the ball, but as usual nothing goes in the pockets. Finn Reed absolutely looks the type who should have the game of pool down, but he’s notoriously bad. I keep thinking he has some grand plan: establishing himself as the most helpless player in the history of the game, hoping to lure someone into putting down a shit-ton of money on a game, only to reveal himself as a secret master.

The big reveal has yet to happen. He just continues to lose, although he never says no to a game.

He stands up and meets my eyes. “She’s been calling me.”


“Yvonne, you idiot.”

I frown. “Yvonne hates you.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” he mutters, retrieving his beer from a nearby table. “But she can’t get ahold of you, and she’s been striking out with Country Club—”

“She’s been calling Vaughn?” I interrupt. Vaughn hasn’t mentioned it, but then he can be…overprotective. No doubt he has visions that he’s “handling it.”

“Yup,” Finn confirms. “Shit, man, Yvonne’s calling everyone she can think of to get ahold of you. I’m all for running interference, but it’d be a hell of a lot easier if you told us what was going on.”

Instead of answering, I line up my own cue, but my shot’s barely better than Finn’s. Normally I don’t suck half as bad as him, but I’m off tonight, in more ways than one.

“Hey,” Finn says, giving me a not-so-soft knock on the kneecap with his cue. “Talk to me.”

I take a sip of my beer. Then another.

Then I go for it.

“She cheated.”

Finn swears under his breath, dipping his head. “I can’t stand that bitch.”

“Yeah, so you’ve said,” I mutter, rubbing at the back of my neck.

Finn and Yvonne never got along, which wasn’t exactly surprising given that they’re from different worlds. I wouldn’t be surprised if Yvonne’s first pacifier had diamonds on it. Finn would have been lucky if his pacifier wasn’t a hand-me-down from the family dog.

Still, it was more than just a simple culture clash. Vaughn was also from Yvonne’s world, and he hated her almost as much as Finn did. He never said it aloud, pretending to like her for my sake, but his disdain had been written all over his face every time he’d looked at her.

There’s a life lesson here: when your two best friends hate your girl, pay attention.

But my father adored her. As far as he was concerned, Yvonne Damascus was the one thing that I’d done right in my life. Stupidly, I’d let that be enough.

“Who’s the guy she slept with?” Finn asks.

I drain my beer. “Does it matter?”

“It does if I’m going to beat him to a pulp.”

I appreciate the loyalty, but since I know Finn’s word is good, and since I also know that the last thing Finn needs on his record is assault, I keep it vague. “Some dude that works for her dad.”

“You catch ’em in the act?”

“Nope.” I scan for the waitress and signal for another round. “She confessed.”

“Dumbass,” he mutters. “Let me guess—her confession had more to do with taking a swipe at you than it did with integrity.”

I stare blindly at the pool table for several moments before I shake my head. “Remember that time you found out that Robyn was cheating on you with your brother?”

His expression goes stormy. “Don’t go there.”

I give him a pointed look. “Exactly.”

Finn’s jaw clenches, and it’s clear that he wants to argue, but I’m right, and he knows it. The truth is, I don’t want to talk about what happened with Yvonne, because I’m not even sure that I know.

Her confessing to sleeping with Aaron what’s-his-face burned, sure, but if I’m going to be all the way honest, there was a bit of relief along with the betrayal.

Relief that I’d been given an out.

An out that I took, much to her disbelief.

I’ve never seen anyone as angry—or as shocked—as Yvonne Damascus when I quietly told her the wedding was off.

It felt good. Right. And if that makes me an ass—hell, it does make me an ass—it makes me a happy ass.

“Fine,” Finn mutters, grudgingly agreeing to drop the subject. “All too happy not to discuss Yvonne, but don’t think you don’t have about a billion questions to answer about your tenant.”

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