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"Don't sleep with her," I plead. "Don't sleep with Karissa."
"Why?" His hazel eyes scan my face.
"Because," I place a hand on his arm. "You might be the fun guy, but we both know you're worth more than a dinner reservation."
Wilder stands perfectly still as I run my hand down his arm and grab his fingers. I move them off my car and slip into the driver's seat.
Wordlessly, he closes my door behind me, walks around the car, opens the passenger door, and gets in.
We both look over at each other as I turn on the ignition, a strange surge of electricity crackling between us.
I'm not the good guy, Blondie. I'm not the guy who does the right thing all the time. I'm a lot of fun, though.
But what if he is? What if he's the good guy? What if he's just confused and lost and traumatized?
"Let's go, Blondie."
I glance in the rearview mirror and pull out of the parking spot, my heart a conflicted mess.
Chapter 9
The Fanny Show
My boobs hurt, there's gigantic zit on my forehead that's pulsating, and I'm bloaty. By my calculations, in 1-3 days Aunt Flow will arrive. Hooray. I love getting my period while already being an emotional wreck.
I roll over and stare at my alarm clock. I got a part-time job at the waxing salon for the summer. I'll be answering phones for Loretta Van Buskirk while she takes her extended lunch from 11-2, Monday through Friday. Pierre, her nephew, will be filling in while Loretta socializes with the girls over cocktails and couscous at Bordin's, the fanciest restaurant in town. Come to think of it, I should probably schedule a Brazilian. With Loretta—not Pierre. Pierre gives me the creeps. But I'm not having sex because Cash dumped me and he's in Europe. So, what's the point?
Skinny dip at the lake.
Oh, right. Bucket list item #4. I guess I should probably get that part of me waxed before Wilder *gulp* sees me *gulp, gulp* naked.
Unless we skinny dip at night. Then, I wouldn't have to worry about buzzing the bush. Honestly, sometimes being a girl is exhausting. I think I'll put Brazilian wax on the back burner for now. We'll see how things go.
My phone starts vibrating on my bedside table. I grab it and see Mom calling. "Hello?"
"Ingrid?" Mom whispers on the other end. I have no idea why she's being weird, but this is just a typical Thursday for the Winthrops.
I hobble out of bed and open my bedroom door, peering up and down the hallway. "What?"
"We need to talk to you," she says quietly into the phone. "Come downstairs."
Oh, joy. Another family meeting. And because I know Isla snuck Frank the Fornicator into her bedroom last night, I'm sure he'll grace us with his gross presence this morning at breakfast. There goes my appetite. I really need to get my own place.
I don't bother changing out of my Fleetwood Mac tee and oversized pajama bottoms as I take the stairs two at a time.
I find Mom in the kitchen, rubbing her hands together nervously.
"What's up?" I ask.
Mom glances over my head and places a finger to her lips. "Shhh!"
"Okay," I frown.
She motions for me to follow her into the laundry room. When we get there, Dad shuts the door behind us and puts his weight against it.
"Are we being robbed?" I scratch the side of my face. "Are we under attack?"
"Frank's here," Dad grits his teeth. "I have a job interview and I don't want him to know."
