So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2)(10)

Shit. I’m supposed to meet the lady at the temp agency in less than an hour. And why do I have to cart Sadie around anyway?

Actually, Sadie’s not that bad. She’s always treated me like I’m real family, and not just an honorary niece, who was taken in for a few months after my world shattered, while I finished high school and waited to start college.

Of course, I decided to blow this podunk town and see the world, knowing I’d never leave behind my past as long as I lived here. I’d also never rid myself of the mantle of depression weighing on my shoulders when Buck walked away that last morning, saying goodbye as if I should be happy to see him go.

I shake off the clingy hands of memories that push so close to the surface these days, waiting to climb from the hole I’ve crammed them into. Not today.

I squirt toothpaste onto my toothbrush and stuff it into my mouth while I turn on the shower. As I pull away from the faucet, I knock all four of my travel sized bottles onto the floor. They roll to the side of the tub.

I grab the shampoo. “What the hell?”

Warm air seeps in from the seam where the tub meets the floor. I get to my hands and knees, sliding the tips of my fingers along the edge of the linoleum. It’s pulled away from the place where it should be attached. I bend to inspect what surely can’t be right.

I peel back the linoleum. The wood beneath is soft and squishy, the edge of the tub sinking into it so much that the particle board is fraying. The subfloor’s coming apart. This whole house is falling apart at the seams.

I drop to my ass, rubbing the ache between my eyes.

Nice. Really fucking nice.

I forgo the shower. Falling through the floor would put a crimp in my plans for the day. A job is a top priority, rather than just helping clear things out and clean up. I need to make some money to help fix this house before it falls apart around Aunt Delores’s ears.

I hurry through my abbreviated morning routine. I grab the list of places I need to stop today, shoving it into the side pocket of my tote bag. Hiking it over my shoulder, I head to the kitchen.

With one shoe on and the other in my hand, I slosh some coffee into a cup. As I slip the other ballet flat onto my foot, Sadie shakes her head and covers her mouth, not at all concealing her giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

Sadie points at me. “Think you forgot something, Cuz.”

“Ah, fucking hell.”

I drop the tote on the counter and rush to my suitcase. I dig until I find the one piece of clothing I have that never wrinkles. The job search might take a strange turn if I do it with no bottoms on. I wiggle into the black skirt as I slide back into the kitchen.

Sadie drinks the milk from her cereal bowl. She plops it on the table with a thud and wipes her white mustache with the corner of the tablecloth.

I frown. “Really?”

She smoothes the edge of the cloth. “It worked, didn’t it? I can’t be going out in public with that shit dribbling down my chin.”

“The word napkin mean anything to you?”

She crosses her eyes and pushes the end of her nose up, her snarl dissolving into another giggle.

Good Lord. Was I ever that ridiculous at eighteen? A flash of a memory of Buck and I rolling on the ground, arms over our bellies, laughing our asses off at some stupid thing one of us said reminds me that I was just that silly.

“Aunt Delores still sleeping?”

Sadie hops up from her chair. “Yup. You finally ready?”

As I turn the key in the ignition, Sadie flips the visor down and glosses her lips.

“So…”

I wait for her to finish, but after a few seconds I prompt, “So?”

“Buck’s home. You know, I was only like thirteen the last time I saw him. You think you could introduce me?”

“Introduce you? Why?”

“Because he’s fucking gorgeous, and famous, and I want him to autograph my tits so I can show them off to my friends.”

Her tits? Oh, good Lord.

Of course she wants him to sign her boobs. He’s famous—not as famous as some, but definitely getting there.

“Do you ever go see his movies? Is that just the weirdest thing? You know, seeing him kiss other girls?”

My fingers flex on the wheel.

“I’ve seen a couple of his movies.” All of them, but I won’t tell Sadie that, or anyone else.

“And no, it doesn’t bother me. We haven’t dated in years. So what if he kisses other women?” Lots of other women.

I’m not just going to hell for all the lying I’ve done since I got home—I’m driving the fucking liar-liar bus straight to the fiery gates.

Time to change the subject.

“I’ll be out most of the day. Are you going to need a ride home?”