Bad Intentions (Bad Love #2)(34)

“No, I mean, yes, he’s still calling, but it’s not about him.” I knew he was, whoever he is, but her confirmation has my hands tightening into fists. I don’t have a good feeling about that guy. “I’ve just got a lot on my plate. I’m worried about Jess, worried about him finishing school, worried that I’m fucking this whole thing up, worried about where we’re going to live—”

“No luck on that?” I interrupt. This sad, maybe slightly vulnerable side of her is a stark contrast to the bold, confident one that I’m used to seeing.

“I’ve looked online, but there’s nothing to rent. I found one place, but I haven’t heard back.”

She’s right. In order to find a place to rent in this town, you pretty much have to know someone. Rentals are few and far between, and they go fast.

“Can I ask you a question?” I hate when people ask if they can ask a question, but this one has the potential to piss her off, so I tread carefully. She nods in acquiesce. “Where is your mom?” These aren’t things a twenty-one-year-old girl should be worrying about. I get that Henry hasn’t been in their lives, but that doesn’t explain who’s been taking care of them all these years.

“At this very moment? Jail. Drugs,” she tacks on as she reaches into the bag, pulling out a fry. No sadness or shame in this statement. Just cold facts.

“Fuck.”

“It’s better this way,” she says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “She was more of a pain in my ass when she wasn’t locked up.”

“Where’s Henry going?” I grab a burger out of one of the bags and hand it to her.

“I assume he’ll just stay in the room at the auto shop. The plan was always to get our own place anyway. It just happened a little sooner than we expected.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” I say before clearing my throat awkwardly. I don’t know how to do this shit. I don’t know how to be a friend. When I took Asher in, it was easy because neither of us was big on talking. He needed a job and a place to sleep, and I gave it to him. He also doesn’t get my dick hard, so there’s that. With Lo, I have this innate need to make sure she’s okay, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do. You’ve helped enough. You know, with the job and all.”

After that, there are no words. We dig in, eating in silence. Lo moans when she takes a bite, and the sound goes straight to my cock. Her phone buzzes on the table in between us, and my guard goes up instantly, but I relax when I realize she’s talking to her brother.

“Of course, it did,” she says, giving a humorless laugh, dragging a hand through her messy brown hair. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it’s clearly not good news. “Okay. No, don’t worry about me. Did you manage to get what you needed?” A pause. “Good. Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”

“What was that about?”

“The Toyota died. Henry’s picking Jesse up and seeing what’s wrong. Take me home?” she asks, batting those pretty doe eyes, sticking her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

Like I’d say no to her.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind waiting around until I close.”

“Nope. I’ve got nothing else to do anyway.”

Once we’re finished with our food, we get back to work. Lo calls the next day’s clients to confirm their appointments while I set up for my next session. Tuesdays are generally slow, so Cordell and Matty end up taking off around ten, leaving Lo and me alone. She sways her hips, singing along to “Wrong Way” by Sublime as she cleans the windows, and I excuse myself to the drawing room before I do something stupid. Like bend her over the front desk.

I’ve never been drawn to someone like this. Maybe it’s because I’m denying myself the chance to fuck her that I want her so bad. Maybe we just need to give in, just once, to get it out of our system. Because I know she feels it, too. I see it in the way she looks at me, the way she presses her thighs together when we stand a little too close, the way she licks her lips. I’m hyperaware of her presence, and the only thing worse than not seeing her for three days is having her here to torture me. Either way, I can’t escape her.

I hear a quiet knock on the door before Lo peeks her head through. “I think I’ve officially run out of things to do.”

I slide my phone out of my hoodie pocket and check the time. Eleven eleven p.m. “You can turn off the sign and flip the lock.” Since we don’t have any clients and it’s too late to take a walk-in, there’s no point. If it was the weekend, that would be a different story. Lo bites her lip and nods, like a locked door somehow makes us more alone than we are now.

When she comes back, she sits on the couch on the other side of the room, tucking her hands under her thighs.

“Once I finish this sketch, we can go.”

“Can I see?” she asks.

I hesitate. I don’t like showing people my work, especially before it’s done. Even when it’s for clients, I still have a hard time handing it over. I always want to make one last change. The problem is, I could work on it for one thousand days straight, and still find something I want to tweak every single time.

“Come on,” she drawls. “I can’t even draw a respectable stick figure. I won’t judge.”