Page 95 of Bad Cruz


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“Mind if I have a private word with your mother?”

“You’re not going to be mean to her, are you?” Bear’s hand halted on the door handle in the backseat. He looked between both of us, acutely protective of me.

My heart lurched.

“Scout’s honor.” Cruz lifted up two fingers.

I liked how he didn’t call Bear buddy or pal like Wyatt did. In a patronizing way I found irksome.

Bear nodded, and Cruz extended his hand to offer him a fist bump, which Bear reciprocated.

“You sure you’re gonna let me play in your game room?” Bear asked again, skeptically.

“And order us some pizza. Send me a text. I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

This conversation definitely shouldn’t have made my panties melt, but it did.

“I’ll be right in, Care Bear.”

“’Kay, Mom.”

Bear exited the car, rounding it to pop the trunk open and take out our suitcases.

Cruz turned to me. “I want to see you this weekend.”

“You see me every week.”

Play it cool. Play it cool.

“Don’t be cute.”

“I’m not being cute, I’m being a practical person. Whatever happened to you not wanting me to tarnish your name with my reputation and me not wanting to get on my family’s last nerve?”

Cruz opened his mouth to answer, but a rap on the passenger window made me jump in my seat. I rolled it down to find Bear’s thunderous frown staring down at me.

I’d never seen him so openly mad. Bear was the chillest kid on planet Earth.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s here.”

“Who’s he?”

Bear jerked his chin toward our front door.

I whipped my head to find Rob sitting on the stair leading up to our porch. He stood up when he saw that we’d noticed him, offering a lame, uncertain wave in our direction.

He looked a little better than he had the first time he came over about three weeks ago. The cast was gone now, and he was freshly shaved and sporting a suit.

“Cruz?” Rob’s face brightened, and he momentarily forgot he’d come here for the family he left behind. “Holy shit, man. Costello?”

“Rob!” Cruz put on his I’m-on-a-horse, Old Spice-handsome smile and slipped outside his car, rushing toward Rob.

The two men did the whole clap-on-the-back hug thing and laughed, circling each other, aging backward as they spoke. I didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Cruz hadn’t spoken about Rob fondly—or at all—during the cruise. After a while, I’d naturally assumed he was Team Tennessee.

“Aw, Uncle Cruz is friends with this creeper.” Bear snapped me out of my reverie, opening the passenger door for me and helping me out.

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