The Bad Boy Kissed Me *ON HOLD*

Cliff

I haven't gone shopping with friends in a long time. The last time I did, I had just reached the age where Mom wasn't picking every outfit out for me. Yes, I was already thirteen, but that was when my mother still thought I could be molded into being her mini-clone. I had no idea who I was yet, so I let her since she was better at it than I ever could be.

I remember, though, feeling so awkward shopping without her. My friends had known how to do everything, even using their parents' credit cards, or they used their phones to pay with whatever amount their parents had set up for them to use. I'd been given forty dollars in cash. Everyone laughed when I walked away without my change after buying a single shirt, and they were purchasing whole outfits.

That had been one of the days I'd realized my friends didn't like me as much as I'd thought. They'd only asked me to come because my mom could give us a ride, and they thought she was pretty, so they wouldn't be embarrassed when we were dropped off and picked up.

Apparently, having a mom who looked like she'd had and raised children was an embarrassment for my friends. My mom has always been gorgeous, and as I was an easy baby up until I started wearing baggy clothes, she didn't have all the stress many moms had. Plus, she had my dad, and he always stepped up to do things to make her day easier.

So when I overheard my friends talking about how she looked like an older sister and that if any cute guys saw her, they'd want to speak to be able to talk to her, I pretended I never heard them. I'm just glad it wasn't Becca who'd talked that day. It was my former best friend.

"Here," Becca puts a pair of shorts and a skirt in my hands. "And these." She adds a variety of tank tops and tees.

Liliana walks closer, her fingers trailing over the stacks of jeans as she smiles at her phone. "I swear this boy can't function without me or his mama."

"Where are they?" I ask, grunting when Becca adds more clothes to the pile I'm holding.

"Food court," she answers, putting her phone in her pocket. "He's such a fool. He asked me what he eats at the Chinese food restaurant."

Becca frowns. "He doesn't know what he eats?"

Liliana rolls her eyes. "I usually order because asking him to order food means I will get the opposite of what I ask him for, so he thought it was just called Chinese food—the dummy. The cashier kept asking him what he wanted, and he kept answering Chinese food. Gabe is probably laughing so hard right now."

I would laugh, but I remember thinking the meal my mom got me from the local cafe was called the cafe's name. What? My mom would ask me if I wanted Cocina Silverheim, the cafe's name, so I'd done as Roman had when I ordered by myself for the first time. I asked for the Cocina Silverheim and was stared at like I was a moron.

"It's kind of cute," Becca says. "But I don't want a man who can't function without me."

Liliana shrugs. "I like taking care of him. He works hard, and I don't have to. I mean, I could, but I help my dad a lot."

It's hard not to let my smile be one of pity. Liliana had explained her father had suffered a traumatic brain injury during a boating accident where his friend, who'd been drinking and controlling the boat, ran aground. The driver had died after drowning when he was thrown overboard from the collision. Her dad had hit his head and also went overboard, but he'd thankfully been wearing a life jacket.

After hearing it, I recalled the incident because there had been many similar collisions. People didn't consider the drought conditions lowering lake levels or the current, especially if they were drinking.

"You could ask his rehab people about the type of schooling they needed to become therapists," Becca says. "That way, you could work and learn more about how to help your dad."