do it for you.
He and Miranda kept up a steady stream of banter as they settled into a booth and waited for their food to arrive. She was so much easier to be around than most girls, neither boring nor demanding, just… there. Like one of the guys, only with a better ass.
“You sure you don’t want some?” he asked, waving a spoonful of ice cream under her nose.
“You’re a growing boy, Kane-I can’t take food out of your mouth.”
He shrugged and swallowed another mouthful of the flavorless vanilla.
“Not quite Ben & Jerry’s?” she asked, grinning wryly at his expression.
She was okay, he supposed-physically, probably even a seven, thanks to her long, slim legs and model’s body. The chest was a little flat for his tastes, but she compensated for it with a tight ass. Her long, thin face wasn’t complemented by the long, thin hair-but it wasn’t bad. It was the rest of her that brought the total package down to a five: the way she never quite looked you in the eye, the plain white T-shirts, boxy jeans, the fight-or-flight reflex on overdrive, and, most problematically, the way she seemed so content to fade into the background.
She was a fixer-upper, basically. The raw materials were all there. It would just take some effort-a project best saved for a rainy day.
Beth, on the other hand, was fully formed, and a perfect ten. She’d have to be, for Kane to be giving her a second thought. As Miranda longingly eyed the milk shake he had insisted she order-and from which she’d yet to take a sip-he eyed Beth. Her long, blond hair was pinned back from her face, and her full lips glistened with a see- through gloss.
He still wanted her, he realized. Despite everything, he missed her.
It only made him more determined to wash her out of his system for good.
“Waitress,” he called loudly, “we need you over here.” He’d sat in this section deliberately, knowing how much she hated to be watched at work. That was the thing about being in a relationship, he’d discovered:You learned people’s weaknesses.
It was why he planned never to get ensnared in one again.
“What are you doing?” Miranda hissed, as Beth approached. She clucked her tongue. “Play nice.”
“Do you need something else?” Beth asked thinly. “Or just the check.”
“I need you to clean up this spill.”
“What spill?”
True, the table was clean. He’d have to remedy that. Kane took a sip of his Coke, and then, with a slow and deliberate turn of the wrist, dumped it out all over the table. The sticky brown liquid spread across the metallic tabletop, spattering onto her white sneakers. “Oops.”
Beth took a deep breath, then tossed a filthy dish towel in his face. “Clean it yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
“Kane, drop it,” Miranda said sharply.
He glanced at her in surprise, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
“Can you, just for once, not be an asshole?” Miranda asked, as if genuinely curious to hear the answer.
“Now, where’s the fun in that?” he drawled, waiting for the inevitable smile.
But Miranda’s face was indecipherable, her lip twitching slightly, as if choosing between potential expressions. Finally, she settled on a scowl. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she announced, standing up and throwing down her napkin. “I’ll be back, maybe. Try to behave yourself.”
She hadn’t walked out on him, Kane thought with pleasure; he disliked melodrama of all kinds, unless he’d created it himself. But she hadn’t egged him on, either, or sat there with an adoring look the way the bimbos all did, chastising him with their words while rewarding him with their eyes. No, the original go-along-to-get-along girl, Miss Gumby herself, had actually taken a stand-of sorts.
He could apologize later; for now, Beth still stood over him, fuming, and he found that he couldn’t stop himself from pushing just a little harder.
“I know this isn’t the finest of dining establishments,” he drawled, “but didn’t they bother to teach you that the customer is always right?”
“I guess you’re the exception that proves the rule,” Beth snapped. “I always knew you were special.”
“Oh Beth, just give it up,” he said, suddenly raising his voice to ensure that it would carry to the table of eavesdropping juniors a few feet away. “We’re
“What?”
She was so smart in some ways’and so pathetically dumb in others.
“I’m glad it was good for you,” he continued loudly, “but it just wasn’t for me. I’m sorry-you’re just… not very good.”
“Shut up.” Her pale face was turning a bright red. “Stop.”
“You keep saying that, and yet you just keep coming back. It’s a little embarrassing.”
What a snappy comeback.
Kane smiled serenely and handed back the dish towel, now sopping with Coke.
“I’m serious about one thing,” he said more softly. “Stop pretending this is all some game you can win.”
“I thought everything was a game to you.”
“That’s because I know how to play.” He gestured toward the giggling juniors who kept sneaking looks before turning back to their huddle and bursting into laughter. “As you can see. When you’re a born loser, it’s better to just stay out of the game altogether. Just a helpful piece of advice, from me to you.”
“You-I can’t-what-”
“Spit it out,” he sneered, trying to convince himself he was having fun.
“Go to hell.” And she picked up Miranda’s untouched milk shake, gave him her sweetest Beth smile, and dumped it over his head.
It was juvenile, but effective-and very, very cold.
He smeared a finger across the icy goop sliding down his cheek, stuck it in his mouth, and sucked, hard.
It was sweet, but not as sweet as what came next. An overweight, under-showered man lumbered up behind Beth and, in a voice choked with anger, uttered the three little words that every bitter, milk shake-covered ex wants to hear:
“Manning? You’re fired!”
Kaia hadn’t known where to look, not at first. She didn’t even know where he lived, she realized. It was just one of the many things she didn’t know about him.
It should have been a warning, she thought now, disgusted with herself. She’d been so eager to believe in Reed that she’d ignored the possibility that his sleazy, pothead, criminal-in-training exterior wasn’t just a veneer.
She still couldn’t quite believe that someone who’d kissed her the way he did could have tormented the way he had. How had he touched her so gently, and then branded her a whore? It didn’t seem possible, but the evidence didn’t lie. They’d found the paint in his locker: two cans, both red, like blood.
As soon as she’d heard the truth, she’d gone looking for him. She’d searched the dingy Lost and Found, his father’s garage, and Guido’s Pizza, but had no luck at any of them.
Then she realized that she knew exactly where he’d be.
She drove slowly down the highway, savoring the roar of the BMW’s engine and the clatter of the gravel kicked up by her tires, trying to enjoy the dusty billboards:
AIRSTREAM TRAILERS FOR SALE!
GET MARRIED QUICK-GET DIVORCED QUICKER!
LIVE! NUDE! GIRLS!
She was dreading the encounter, yet hungry for it, eager to finally have an end to the uncertainty and an outlet for her rage. She arrived at the mines, and his truck was pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, just as she’d expected. Reed was standing at the mouth of the abandoned mine as if wondering whether to disregard the fading DANGER signs and step inside.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, keeping a few feet of distance between them.
