So Bad (Bad Boy Next Door #1)(32)
I take her hand and she tries to pull away, but I hang on. I smooth my palm over her knuckles. “So, what classes are you taking?”
She frowns. “Small talk? Really?”
Fuck. I can’t win.
I turn her hand over, kissing the underside of her wrist. “Well, if you don’t want small talk, and since I’m not getting laid for lunch, I could just tell you exactly what I’m going to do to you later. First, I’m going to sneak into your place after dark, and then I’ll crawl into your bed—”
“Stop. Just—no.”
I lay my mouth on her palm and kiss it. “Or, you can tell me about you—something I don’t already know.”
She pulls her hand away and tears a strip off the edge of her paper napkin. “Something you don’t know? I have no idea what you do or don’t know. I imagine Rach tells you most things. You tell me something about you first.”
“Okay. Ask.”
“Why do you have that giant panther tattooed on your back?”
“Ah, the cat. Well, first off, I was drunk.” I chuckle. “All the best stories start with ‘I was drunk’, don’t they?”
Mo quirks an eyebrow.
“Anyway, panthers symbolize power and strength, and the ability to make one’s own decisions. That’s my goal, to get to a place where I make all my own decisions and don’t take shit off anyone.” My dad, particularly, but I won’t tell Mo that.
She cocks her head and studies me. “You do seem to do your own thing. All right, what do you want to know?”
“I want to know it all. Tell me anything.”
“Okay. Here’s something I didn’t even know about me until recently. I have a sister.”
I pull back. “A sister? I did not know that. Tell me about this sister. Is she as hot as you? And where have you been hiding her?”
That sweet pink shades her cheeks. “I haven’t met her yet. Apparently my wonderful father felt the need to abandon more than just one kid.”
Oh. “Bitter much?”
“About my dad? No. I won’t let him have that kind of power. He’s nothing to me.”
I get that. “So, how old is she?”
“Five. Her name’s Cassie.”
*
By the time lunch is over, Mo seems more relaxed, less ready to bolt if I say the wrong thing; at least I hope that’s the case.
We step into the sun and I hook her pinky with mine. “So, what are you off to do?”
“I’m going to the shelter. I help out with the kids sometimes.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She stops short, shaking her head. “Maybe not such a great idea.”
I smooth the crease between her brows with my thumb. “Why not? I can volunteer too, the shelter is run by my dad’s ministry. Honestly, I probably should’ve volunteered before now.”
She tosses me a skeptical look. “No. Not seeing it.”
Really? “You don’t think I’d do something nice for someone else?”
“I just think taking you there would be—not the most judicious thing. I mean, these women, some of them have been through a lot—with men. Others, well, they have issues. And, sorry, Danny, but you’re you. You kinda go through girls like frat boys go through bottles of beer. One after another. The last thing we should do is take you to a brewery.”
Well, that explains a lot about the way she sees me.
I throw my hand over my heart. “Wow. You really know how to hurt a guy.”
She shrugs. “Just sayin’.”
I lean in close and drop a kiss on her temple. “Tell you what—let me hang out with you and the kids, and I’ll show you I’m capable of not flirting with any of the ladies.”
She narrows her eyes, and her mouth hardens. “I don’t care if you do want to get back at your dad; you embarrass me, Jennings, and I’ll have your ass.”
*
I’m not really sure how I thought it’d be, but the shelter isn’t what I expected. I guess I’m surprised it’s not more run down, more desperate. But of course, Dad couldn’t have anything like that connected with his name.
Once I’m checked in, they have a copy of my driver’s license, and I’ve been given the whole you aren’t allowed to work with the kids until your background check comes through spiel—apparently it doesn’t matter who my dad is—I follow Mo down a corridor.
The hall is lined with photos of the ministry’s benefactors and those who support the shelter. Right smack in the middle of the wall is a huge painting of Jesus. Parked next to it hangs an equally large photo of my dad. His hair perfectly combed to the side, his wolfish grin concealed behind the million dollar smile he gives to the world. His teeth gleam as much as the white linoleum squares lining the hallway, reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead. Makes me sick. My gaze flits to my shoes.