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“Your family has a good reputation, right?” she asks, and something about Sage mentioning my family makes me slightly uncomfortable. Swallowing that discomfort, I nod.
“Yes.”
“That’s what gives Brett all his power.”
My forehead creases even more as I lean in. “I don’t follow.”
She sits back in her chair as she tries to recompose her argument. “If everyone knew how slimy the Goode boys are, no one would be surprised to hear that Truett himself owns a sex club. And if no one would be surprised, then Brett has nothing to hold over your dad’s head. And if Brett has nothing to hold over his head, he never gets the deed back, and it’s out of his hands forever.”
A heavy breath passes my lips as I stare at her. At that moment, the waitress delivers our plates to the table, but neither of us moves to eat. The space between us lingers in silence as her words hang in the air.
I replay them, briefly wondering if Sage is entirely out of her mind or a manipulative genius.
When a few moments have passed, and I’m still mulling over what I think is a major reach in conclusions, I grab the bottle of ketchup from the tray by the wall.
As I pass it to her, I mumble, “Did you just call the Goode boys…slimy?”
At that moment, I can’t help but compare this meal with the last one I shared with a woman, the day Lucy came to dinner. It’s wildly unfair how there’s somethingherewhere there really shouldn’t be.
“Hypothetically,” she replies, taking the bottle and immediately dousing her eggs with the sugary red mess.
“My brothers are not slimy,” I reply as I cover my waffles in syrup.
“It sort of doesn’t matter. If only one of the Goode boys is in the public eye…”
“And that would be me?” I say, finishing her sentence.
With a mouthful of biscuit, she nods. “Mm-hmm.”
“You want me to…be publicly slimy in order to tarnish my family’s reputation, therefore exposing my father for the snake he is and…I got lost at the end there.”
Her shoulders slump in disappointment. “Okay, it’s a reach. I know.”
When I chuckle, lifting my coffee cup to my lips, I watch for a hint of a smile on her face. As she glances back up at me, I catch a tiny flinch in the corner of her mouth.
“What should I do first?” I ask, teasing her. “Rob a bank? Mug a nun? Sell drugs on the corner? It’s a valiant concept, but I don’t think any of those things are going to hit your boyfriend where it hurts.”
“Ex,” she corrects me. “And you’re right. None of those things would.”
When she takes another bite of her breakfast, I get the lingering suspicion that she has some idea of whatwouldhit her boyfriend where it hurts.
I don’t say a word as she chews and swallows, chasing it down with her coffee. “I’m waiting,” I say with a smirk.
“For?” she teases back.
“Whatwouldwork. You have an idea, don’t you?”
My eyes get caught on the delicate movement of her fingers again, especially as she sweeps her pink waves out of her face and places her chin in her hand, resting her elbow on the table.
“Oh, that’s where I come in.”
I fight a smile again, watching the way her full lips pout theatrically.
“Go on,” I reply, sitting back and crossing my arms, doing my best to keep my expression stern and serious.
“Well…what would upset your family’s squeaky-clean reputation more than me?”
A scoff bursts through my lips.
