The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(33)

V: What, no groping? Pshaw. He’s not living up to my expectations.

F: Maybe not…but he’s been way above mine.

V: Girl, after Cameron, you have NO expectations. What about tmo?

F: We’re still on. He’ll drive me up there around six.

V: Good. I have confirmation there will be a good crowd. Maybe even Cam.

Faith’s stomach dropped. For all her confidence with Kyle, she still wasn’t sure how she’d do this. What, did you tell everyone to be there?

V: Mayyybeeee

F: Vi! Guh, okay. Yes, we’ll be there.

And hopefully, put on a show no one would forget.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Kyle


When Kyle came in from the garage, Grandpa was waiting for him at the kitchen table, the remnants of a piece of chocolate cake on a plate in front of him. He had on plaid PJs and a ratty robe Grandma had bought for him fifteen years ago.

“Is there more of that?” he asked, and Grandpa pointed to the counter. Rosanna must’ve baked them one before leaving. He cut himself a slice, grimacing when his hands shook on the knife.

“How’d it go, kid?”

Right to the heart of things. That was the old man’s style. “Well. She liked the flowers.”

“And?”

He rolled his eyes. “I kissed her.”

“Yeah, you did!” Grandpa grinned, slapping a wrinkled hand against the tabletop. “Get over here and sit so I can grill you.”

Kyle told the story as simply as he could, trying to stay calm about it. Faith treated him so differently than other girls. She was funny and quick, and didn’t seem to care about any of the stories. Instead, she looked right through him, like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Like she knew exactly who he was.

“She sounds like a lovely girl.” Grandpa wiped chocolate from his mouth with a napkin. “I’m proud of you, boy. You seeing her again?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That sounds good. Did the trick about getting her to talk about the musical work?”

Kyle nodded, and the muscles in his arms tensed, almost like he was about to lift her again. “She appreciated that. I have the feeling her d-bag ex never talked about anything but himself.”

“Great.” Grandpa stood. “I’m off to bed. Keep it up, Kyle. Be yourself, and everything will work out.”

Be himself. It sounded so easy, except he wasn’t sure who he was. Faith had already seen more of the “real” him than anyone. But would she continue to like what she saw? “I’ll try.”

Grandpa shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving Kyle to pick at his cake. That roiling mix of emotions from earlier hadn’t subsided much. The more he saw of Faith, the more he wanted their time together to be real, and not part of “the plan.” She seemed interested, so maybe he should keep going in this direction, see how it went.

A tiny voice in the back of his head whispered awful things, how he wasn’t good enough. How he was a fraud and a liar. How a girl like Faith could never like a guy like him. Those thoughts had pelted him the whole way home, guilt for letting his need to kiss her outweigh the need to keep her at arm’s length so she wouldn’t be hurt. When she’d asked if he was okay, he’d almost snapped before realizing it.

He stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor, cake forgotten. He wasn’t going to listen to that doubting voice, not tonight. No matter what fears he had, no matter what humiliations lurked in his past, he was going to try with this girl. And to hell with anyone—or any voice—who told him otherwise.

Because if he knew anything at all, the way Faith looked at him tonight was enough to chase away doubt.



The next morning, after stopping by the nursery for sod, Kyle prodded the Toyota over to the Gladwells’. Faith’s Bug was in the driveway, but the other cars were gone. So she was here alone. He bit back a smile. Maybe it was time to test his resolve—and hers.

He glanced at the sod in the bed of the truck. It was already humid and unseasonably warm out again today. Whistling like everything was normal, just in case Faith was watching him from the house, he unloaded the sod and carted it to the backyard. A flicker of movement in the blinds upstairs caught his eye. Good, he was hoping for an audience.

Kyle made a big show of wiping his forehead and pulled his T-shirt over his head. After tossing it onto the porch steps, he stretched his arms high over his head. Something thumped against the window upstairs, and he choked on a laugh as he squatted to pick up a roll of sod, making sure to use every muscle in his arms, back, and shoulders to do the job.

The door from the house to the porch creaked open, but he pretended he hadn’t heard it. Still whistling, he went about laying out rolls of new grass onto the plot under the large oak tree. He bent and flexed every chance he had, methodically working as if the girl he was hoping to drive crazy wasn’t sneaking a very long peek, hiding behind the sofa on the porch.

He whistled louder. His cheeks were starting to hurt, but he wanted to make sure she heard him. Still nothing except his knowledge she was watching. He just had to try harder, then.

He stood, went to his water thermos, and steeled himself before dumping some water over his head so that it ran down his back and chest. A little squeak, then a sound like hands being clapped over a mouth, came from the porch.