Good To Be Bad (Good Love #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,19

to bolt. It hurts to listen to him. My chest aches, and I feel stupid.

So stupid.

I liked him. Dammit. One night, and I already liked the man.

I gird myself with my best tough-as-nails attitude.

Chin all the way up.

“I don’t want your explanations,” I call back. “And I no longer wish to spend my morning with you. I’m going to see my grandmother, a woman who appreciates pie and has never lied to anyone. Ever. In her entire life.”

“I wasn’t lying, love.” He has the nerve to grin, like he can flirt his way out of this as easily as he flirted his way into my bed. But I am much more protective of my pie shop than I am my pussy. Hurt my pussy, and only I suffer. Hurt my shop, and you endanger my entire family legacy.

“Let’s go back to your place,” he says. “Talk this out.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Please be gone by then,” I say. “And don’t bother texting. I won’t read them.”

And with that, I spin on my heel and head for the subway entrance on the other side of the traffic circle. He calls after me, something about “not being ridiculous” that only stiffens my resolve.

I am not ridiculous! I’m in charge of my family’s business. I’m in control of the entire kit and caboodle. Everything is riding on me, and I can’t afford to make mistakes right now. I can’t sleep with the enemy, even if he is the very best at both spanking and pulling hair.

Sob. Thank God I got extra pieces of pie so West could try a variety of flavors. A morning like this calls for Gram girl-talk and serious pie therapy.

Gram used to say pie may not cure heartbreak, but it certainly makes it easier to swallow.

Everything goes down better with a slice of Chocolate Dream.

And she’s right.

I stab my fork into a slice, chew, then chase it with coffee.

Strong, black coffee that fuels me.

“Trying to poke a hole through Gram’s good china?” my brother, Harrison, asks, arching a perfectly plucked brow at my pie plate.

I got a two-fer, since my brother is at Gram’s house for their Sunday morning poker game. Gram already cleaned up—she was scooping fifty bucks in chips into her hot little hands when I swept into her Brooklyn townhouse in a cloud of righteous fury.

I wrap my arm lovingly around the dessert plate with the kitschy dancing chipmunk illustration. As Gram says—why eat on plates with vines when you can eat with dancing chipmunks?

“I would never wound such a beautiful thing. I love beautiful things. I love this plate and this sweet little fork. And I love you,” I say to my brother, who accepts my love with an affectionate roll of his ice-blue eyes.

I turn to Gram, my growing-old-gracefully idol with her starburst smile lines and Helen Mirren grace, “And I love you.” I inhale deeply, then gesture to the feline in her lap. “I love Joan too, even though she detests me.”

“She detests everyone, sweetie pie. She’s a cat.”

“But I do not even like that man,” I continue, “I mean, really. Who chooses to peddle tea when there’s coffee to be had?”

“Tea lovers,” Harrison offers, so deadpan he should deliver the weekend updates on Saturday Night Live.

“Gag.” I dig into the pie, devouring another forkful before I add, “Tea lovers are the new men with parrots. But never fear. I have plans. Plans to hate him for all eternity. Mark my words.”

Harrison’s arched brow asks, are you sure you can pull that off, little sis? His brows have their own language, and I am fluent in it.

“Yes, I can pull it off,” I answer.

He snorts. “And how exactly do you plan to do that, Miss I Love Everything and Want to Give the World A Hug? And a piece of pie?”

I huff. “I do not love everything.” Though I admit he’s right about the pie. There are people going hungry every day. They deserve pie. For sustenance and solace in their times of trial.

Gram chuckles as she strokes the gigantic cat’s head, and Joan emits an appreciative purr, one that I believe translates as I permit you three more strokes of my royal fur before I leap off you, retreat to a window, and fastidiously lick the spot you touched. With her free hand, Gram scoops out a slice of grapefruit. “Says the girl who just expressed her love for plates and forks and everyone in this room, including