So Bad (Bad Boy Next Door #1)(44)

Her expression crumples. “I can’t believe this.”

Mom covers her face as she runs from the room.

He drops into her abandoned chair. “Are you happy now? You’ve destroyed your mother.”

“I destroyed her? Oh, hell no. I didn’t do this. You did, you filthy bastard.”

The door stands wide open. Somewhere in the house another slams.





Slade tosses me a pack of crackers and a pillow as my phone rings for probably the thirtieth time today. “For Pete’s sake, shut your ringer off.”

Yesterday was worse. I flip the tiny switch to silence the phone. “Sorry. Look, I appreciate your letting me stay here until I find a place. You’re an angel.”

He raises his beer in salute. “Yeah. That’s me. Saint Slade. Just don’t forget to tell Rach how amazing I am.”

His eyes are still bruised. When we got back to his apartment the other evening, he had to straighten his nose. The crack was possibly the worst sound I’ve ever heard.

He props his feet up on the scarred up coffee table between his chair and the sofa. “I haven’t said much about it, but you do know that boy loves you, right?”

I cover my face. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change what he did. I still don’t get it. Is that something guys do these days? I mean, would you hide a camera somewhere like that?”

“Hell, no. But are you sure he did? He said he didn’t.”

I yank my hands away from my face. “And conspiracy theorists say there was never a man on the moon.”

“Has he lied to you before?”

I sit up straighter. Has he lied? Well—“He once acted like we’d had sex when we hadn’t. But I knew the truth. Other than that—I guess not.”

Slade cocks his head and squints. “So, why do you think he’s lying about this?”

Eye roll. “He said it was his freaking dad. You do know who their dad is, don’t you?”

He lets out a huff. “The illustrious David Jennings? Of course, I know. Televangelist extraordinaire. Why do you think I worry so much about asking Rachel out? A dad like that? She’s never going to look twice at me. I’m a mess.”

“Did you see her brother?”

If anyone’s got issues, it’s Danny.





I push the blanket into the floor and grab my phone from Slade’s coffee table. Two-twenty-six. Oh, well, sleep’s overrated anyway.

I stare at the text Danny sent. One each day. They all say the same thing.

I love you.

He’s only shown up at Slade’s once, on the morning after I got here. I barely caught a glimpse of his disheveled hair over Slade’s shoulder when he answered the door and stepped outside. Their voices were too muffled to understand.

Slade came in and shut the door with a grimace. “He has important shit to tell you. You should give him a chance to explain.”

But I can’t.

Even if Danny didn’t put the camera there and even if he does love me—and I’m not convinced he even knows what real love is…lust? Yes, but love? There’s no way I can just take up where we left off; I have too much to figure out.

I can’t let him close to me. If he touches me, I’ll forget the things I should remember about him. Things like the fact that he doesn’t do relationships even though he keeps trying to convince me he’s changed.

It’s important that I keep in mind the kind of guy I need—not just the one I want—and I’ve got to decide what I’m going to do about the baby.

I fall back to the pillow, my mind spinning in thirty directions with all the things I need to get done: A place to live. School. Should I give notice at the shelter? Then again, Danny’s probably already quit; that’s one thing that may not have to change.





Stepping from my car into the blazing heat, I check the paper in my hand before I scan the brass numbers stuck to the gray siding. I prepare to meet my sister.

I tuck the stuffed bear under my arm and follow the sidewalk to the correct apartment building. Each step up brings me closer to another child abandoned by my father. Mr. Wrong for my mom and for this Samantha lady. Another reason I can’t open my heart to Danny. No matter how bad it’s crushing me.

I rub my palms on my back pockets and knock. I’ll give them thirty seconds. If no one answers in thirty sec—

The door opens. My own eyes stare up from under a mop of platinum curls.

Two dimples deepen as Cassie throws the door open. It crashes against the wall as she yells, “It’s her. She’s here. She’s here!”

A beautiful, dark-haired woman steps into the small entry, her brown eyes reflecting the nerves trembling in my fingers. “Hi. You must be Mona Lisa.”