“Nice is a big word.” We were edging closer to the intersection that had been blocked. I looked left and right, frantically trying to spot Grams. “I’m just not a complete piece of shit to you. Guess it throws you off-kilter.”

“People aren’t shitty to me,” I protested.

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

“If you’re talkin’ about Reign and the girls you were with the other night, it’s on them, not on me.”

“It’s on them that they’re assholes. It’s on you that you roll over and play dead.”

“I don’t remember you bein’ so cordial either.”

“No,” he agreed, not a trace of apology in his voice. “Next time, you have my permission to pour slushie over my head and kick Reign in the nuts.”

I was about to answer him when I spotted Grams. She was hard to miss, in her full, blue and red sequined evening gown, bright pink lipstick, and heels.

She had her hair fluffed and sprayed—the higher the hair, the closer to God—and she was holding the little clutch she carried to church every Sunday back when we still went. She crossed the road, on her way to the diner.

“Stop!” I shrieked.

He did, coming to a halt without slowing down. Mud sprayed around us, and I lurched forward, my chest colliding with his back. West snaked an arm around me awkwardly, catching me by the waist.

“Found her,” I said breathlessly, dismounting from the bike. My legs were shaking. “Thank you. She’s the one in the Diana Ross gown across the street. I’ll get her home right away.” I took the helmet off, knowing I must’ve left traces of foundation inside it, and planted it in his hands. I screwed my ball cap back on my head. “Have a good night now, West.”

I ran across the road, nearly tackling Grams to the ground. She spun slowly at the thuds of my feet, the smile on her face collapsing into a frown when she spotted my approaching figure.

“Well, I’ll be damned. What are ya doin’ here, Gracie-Mae? You should be in bed. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

Grams swatted her purse against her thigh. Her forehead was damp from the long walk on the dirt road, her shoes caked with mud.

How old does she think I am?

“Just wanted to tag along.” I came to a halt, an angelic smile plastered on my face.

“Sugar, I’ve got a date with your grandpa. Can’t we do somethin’ tomorrow?”

I shook my head violently. The smile on my face was as painful as a wound and just as tight. She thought Grandpa was still alive.

“Please. I really want to join you, Grams.”

She opened her mouth, about to scold me again, when her eyes widened, lighting up at something behind me. I turned on my heel. My face immediately fell.

Please, Lord, no.

“Good evenin’, Mrs. Shaw. How’re we doin’ tonight?” West swaggered toward us, a candy cane clasped between his perfect teeth, his bastard smirk on full display. The crinkles behind his shamrock eyes reminded me of Scott Eastwood.

I wondered what the deal was with the old-school candy. He’d always favored the same green apple flavor. “Fine weather, no?”

“Lovely.” She fluffed her sprayed do, which remained as stiff as a rock. “I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

Grandma Savvy extended an arm in West’s direction. He plucked it, bowing his head and brushing her knuckles with his lips, temporarily removing the candy from his mouth.

“We haven’t, much to my dismay. West St. Claire. I work with Grace.”

“Why, she hasn’t mentioned you, I’m afraid.”

The look he shot me nearly made me giggle. He looked genuinely surprised. I had a feeling this was the first time a woman he knew didn’t make him the center of her universe.

“That so?” He narrowed his eyes at me, sticking the candy back into his mouth, biting it until it crunched. I shrugged.

“Would you and Gracie-Mae like to join Freddie and me for a bite?” Grams asked.

It was half past eleven, and she looked a mess. Her feet must’ve hurt bad; she wasn’t used to walking much. Besides, I really didn’t want Sheridan University’s baddest bad boy to spend one-on-one time with my chaotic grandmomma, no matter how shallow and ungrateful that made me feel.

“No!” I yelped at the same time West said easily, “Now, that’s a plan.”

Grams looked between us, raising an eyebrow.

“You kids need a minute to decide?”

My cheeks felt so hot I was surprised my head didn’t combust. Dying of embarrassment would be cruel, but also welcome at this point.

“West just got off a shift. I’m sure he wants to go home.”

“West can think for himself, and what he wants is a steak and good company.” West pushed me aside crudely, rolling the candy stick in his mouth seductively, flashing a rakish, well-practiced smirk my grandmomma’s way.

“Where’re your manners, Gracie-Mae? The man’s hungry, and he is asking to tag along, nice and proper. I raised her better than this, I swear.”

“Don’t doubt it for a second, ma’am.”

West opened the diner’s door for us. Grams strutted in first. He wiggled his brows at me, a taunting sneer on his face.

“Ladies first.”

“What is wrong with you?” I bared my teeth.

He let out a long-suffering sigh.

“How much time have you got, kid?”

I punched his arm as I dragged my feet past the door.

He laughed.

He actually laughed.

Like the idea of me inflicting any kind of harm on him was ludicrous.

“Did you lose a bet?” I whisper-shouted as we fell into step together.

“Did you lose your fucking mind?” he countered, sizzling of quiet danger I couldn’t understand how Grams didn’t pick on. “It’s just a meal, and your ass is not even on the menu.”

“Don’t tell me it’s not weird that you want to spend time with me and my grandmomma.”

I was Toastie, and she was a couple sandwiches shy of a picnic. Everybody knew that. Even if he hadn’t, the last ten minutes had brought him up to speed, surely. Why was he going out of his way to befriend me?

“Not everything is about you, Texas. In fact, very few things are. It’s a blessing and a curse, really. Knowing the world doesn’t revolve around your sassy little ass. Sometimes a guy just wants a steak.”

“I—”

He cut me off briskly. “Hungry. Outta my way. Now.” He jerked his head, signaling me to move along.

Grams slipped into a red horseshoe-shaped booth, and we followed suit. A middle-aged waitress materialized to take our orders. She had a pink uniform with a black and white checkered collar and bleached hair.

Ronda’s Roost was a twenty-four hour joint, catering mainly to truckers who passed by. There were only a handful of customers nursing filter coffee and cobbler. Grams asked for iced tea and chili, while West went for the Rajun Cajun club with double fries, milkshake, and an extra rare steak I would later learn was carved out of half a cow. I asked for fountain Diet Pepsi and a miracle. The waitress snapped her gum, cackling at my joke.

“Rough night, kiddo?”

“You could say that,” I mumbled, narrowing my eyes at West across the table. He smiled easily, the stubborn glint in his eyes reassuring me he didn’t mind my hostility one bit.