Bad Cruz(77)

“Until after the wedding,” I said curtly. “I’m not going to live in shame. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“A girlfriend,” Tennessee murmured, her eyes wide. “I haven’t been someone’s girlfriend since I was sixteen.”

“Well, it’s high time someone tamed you, Miss Turner.”

I turned around and walked away, out of the diner.

I watched from the reflection on the glass door as she ran to whisper something in Trixie’s ear, then followed me out, not bothering to say goodbye to Jerry.

Tennessee slipped into my car, ducking her head to make sure no one saw her.

“Are you following me?” I asked extra loudly as she buckled up, just to be a dick.

She grinned at me like a loon, her head tucked next to the glove compartment, still in hiding. “Maybe. Where am I following you to?”

“My house.”

“Nice. Bear is with his mamaw all day and mentioned he wants a sleepover so he can help my dad tomorrow morning with putting together a tree house for their neighbor.”

“All I heard was quality time with my girlfriend.”

She reached across the center console and kissed my thigh, still out of sight from whoever peered into my car.

It was secretive, and forbidden, and even a little crazy.

A calamity waiting to explode in my face in a very public, very un-Cruz fashion.

And I fucking loved it.





I woke up in Cruz’s bed to hot coffee, a heated croissant, and a note.



Dear girlfriend,

Shanna Duggar, Beau’s wife, went into labor earlier this morning and they called me to help. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Your clothes are on the right-hand side of my walk-in closet (don’t freak out).

—Cruz.



I clutched the note to my chest. Instead of freaking out, I contemplated how nice it would be to actually date Cruz.

After I woke up and used a spare toothbrush he left for me in his bathroom, I gave myself a tour. I’d never been inside my Barbie Dreamhouse before.

Yesterday, we were too busy having sex and wolfing down takeout food for it to be appropriate to ask for a tour. Plus, a part of me was still heavily guarded around him.

It wasn’t exactly an even playing field.

He had so much leverage over me, being who he was, and me being who I was, that I didn’t want to point out I’d had vivid dreams of living in this house ever since I was pretty much a (not yet potty-trained) toddler.

The house was gorgeous from the inside. With chevron accent walls, ranch-style furniture, and golden light switches. He had a classic white kitchen, sprawling with space and filled with patterns and textiles.

The bathrooms had claw-footed baths and all kinds of soaps I bet were strictly decorative, but wanted to use anyway, the philistine that I was.

There was no doubt in my mind this place had been the passion project of a pricey interior designer from out of town, and for a minute, I wanted to cry, I was so impressed with how beautiful and yet familiarly intimate it felt.

I rushed to find the game room, the one Bear had wanted to visit, when I heard the doorbell ring.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

My instincts told me not to answer it—it wasn’t my door after all, and Cruz and I had both planned to keep this a secret at least until Wyatt and Trinity’s wedding (and, let’s admit it, long after it, too, if I had my way).

Then again, Cruz had left the house so hastily. What if he’d been waiting for something and was now counting on me to receive it?

I slipped my phone out and shot him a quick text.

Tennessee: Hey, boyfriend. Your doorbell’s ringing. Should I get it?

His answer came less than five seconds later.

Cruz: Please.

Well.

At the very least, I was wearing one of the beautiful Anthropologie dresses he’d gotten me. So if it was someone from town, I could always say we were working on last-minute arrangements for our siblings’ wedding.

The doorbell chimed again, and I raced from the second floor to the entrance, flinging the door open.

Gabriella stood on the other side of the threshold, her big shiny black curls and thin smile in place. She had a deep tan and a knee-length, trendy powder-blue dress, not much different than the one I was wearing.

Her smile dropped as soon as she saw me.

“Messy Nessy.”

There was no question mark in her voice.

Not much surprise, either.

I leaned a hip against the doorjamb, disappointed I didn’t have gum to pop in her face as I took her in. “Sherlock. How can I help you?”

I allowed myself an attitude with her when Trinity wasn’t around. My personal payback for all the times she’d mistreated me while we were in company.

“What are you doing here?” She clutched her straw purse in her fist, baring her too-white teeth.

“Cruz and I are running the RSVPs against the seating arrangement one more time before the rehearsal dinner.” The lie slipped from between my lips so naturally, I made a note to pat myself on the back after she left.

She raised a skeptical brow. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I have no expectations from you whatsoever, but I would like to get on with my day. So if you could tell me how I can help you sooner rather than later, I’d appreciate it.”