Bad Cruz

I slipped into one of the outfits he’d bought for me during our shopping spree—a knee-length dramatic black dress with a sweetheart neckline and satin ruffles around the hem—and strappy, camel-hued sandals.

Instead of making my hair big enough it could be recognized from Mars, I opted to let it fall down, allowing it to cascade in natural waves past my shoulder blades.

And, in the same spirit of trying to ease tensions, because I genuinely felt bad about the entire situation, I opted for minimal makeup, determined not to embarrass him as a companion by sticking out more than I already had.

Some blush, mascara, and lip gloss. No eyeshadow, contouring, and using the bronzer as a weapon of mass destruction.

After I was done, I stared in the hallway mirror and hardly recognized myself. I looked like a grown-up. A pretty grown-up. One with a sensible job. In insurance or medical equipment. Maybe even a teacher. But somehow, younger, too.

My fingertips fluttered over my ribcage, floating up to my lips.

I looked good.

I felt good.

And that was dangerous.

Hope was a very dangerous thing.

“You are, and always will be, the most beautiful girl in Fairhope, North Carolina.”

I let out a little gasp of surprise.

The words made me turn around.

Cruz stood, hands shoved deep into his front pockets, his shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, staring at me with unabashed hunger.

There was something so unbelievably sexy about him, with his dark wheat hair slicked back, his perfectly groomed mustache and carved-in-marble body.

He wore a navy dress shirt, designer jeans, and a pair of pointy loafers that made men look extra rich. He smelled woodsy and earthy and clean, his scent seeping into my nostrils even from across the room.

I threw him a mischievous grin. “Don’t let Gabriella Holland hear you say that.”

Or Fiona Sandford.

Or Mariah Navarro.

Or Alyssa Williams.

Funny, how I was the harlot while he was the one who slept around with half the town. Double standards and all.

Sometimes it truly sucked being a woman.

“Gabriella must know. That’s why she dislikes you.”

My heart did a violent flip. Did he just realign his alliances and move over to Team Nessy?

Unlikely, but a girl could dream.

“You’re breaking my heart here, Cruz. I thought she could be my best friend.”

“You don’t have any friends.”

“That’s because I’m a liability.”

“It’s because you are too beautiful, and no woman in their right mind wants to stand next to you. Now, can I buy you dinner?”

I flipped my hair, which felt a lot lighter without three pounds of hairspray on it.