“I’ll show you pictures sometime. Taller and skinnier than everyone. Big buck teeth. Crazy red hair. Can I blame assaulting a seven-year-old on my hair color? I’ve always flown off the handle kind of easily. Or like”—her lips roll together—“I don’t get mad easy, but when I do it’s really, really bad. And Bunny sucks. Eye-fucking you like that at a child’s party.”

I blink at her, frantically explaining herself like she’s in trouble with me when she’s not. The only people in trouble are the assholes who picked on her. I don’t care if it’s been a decade. I want names and addresses so I can set them straight.

She carries on, oblivious to the way I’m looking at her and the hard-on growing in my pants. Oblivious to the way her fingers absently stroke my chest.

“I know there’s this whole weird, small-town vibe happening where everyone knows everyone else’s business. And that bottle-blonde bitch was spitting mad. I imagine I’d be mad if I found out my kid was a raging loser too. But I don’t really care what she thinks of me, you know? So if you need to blame it on me to save face as the town’s grumpy prince, that’s fine. I won’t hold it against you.”

I just stare at her. She must think I’m a real dick if she’s assuming I wouldn’t come to her defense on this.

Her tongue darts out over her lips, wetting the full bottom one and making it shimmer in a way that I can’t peel my eyes away from.

“God. Why do you have to wear a backward cap too?” Her voice is softer now. Raspier. Breathier.

I swear she’s leaning closer.

“What?” She’s a confusing woman, talking a mile a minute. We’ve gone from a scolding to teenaged trauma to small-town drama to my hat in under a minute.

She really is kind of insane.

“The cowboy hat.” She groans and lets her eyes roll back in her head. “Is so good. I mean, I feel like I’m living in some made-for-TV movie with a hot cowboy. But then you clean up and style your hair, and you give these hot, debonair older-man vibes.”

I’m so confused.

“Sorry?”

Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, and I feel the scrape of her nails against my chest. I love the way it looks; her pale skin gripping at the black fabric. I imagine lying her down in my bed, getting lost between her pretty milky thighs, and making her come so hard that her fingers curl in the same way.