Never Kiss the Bad Boy (Never Say Never #4) Read Online Lauren Landish

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, Billionaire, Contemporary, Funny Tags Authors: Series: Never Say Never Series by Lauren Landish
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Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
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This is one of the reasons I’m a bad friend. Family always comes first, no matter what.

Hey! Can I raincheck for tonight? I unexpectedly need to take dinner to my parents.

I wait, staring at the screen even though I know he might not see the message for a while if he’s working.

But I quickly get back… Everything ok?

With them? Yeah, Mama said she was tired, but fine.

As soon as Mama said she was tired, I’d been struck by worry. She’s not the type to admit to exhaustion, ever. She could go days without sleep, working sunup to sundown and taking care of everyone and everything before she’d admit to a weakness like that, so I’m afraid she’s sick or is doing too much. She’s not old, but she’s had a hard life, and that takes a toll.

Good. How about with you? You okay?

Am I? I don’t know. I’ve been replaying last night in my head, feeling the way my whole body is looser and more relaxed today. I’ve also been thinking about the teasing Kyle did this morning and what he promised tonight, and I’m disappointed to cancel on him. But maybe a little breathing room is good for us both. I mean, friends don’t see each other every day, right?

Well, I see Nessa every day, but that’s different because she’s dropping off my groceries, but an actual hang out? Definitely not a daily thing.

So yeah, this might be a good thing. It’s not like I won’t see Kyle tomorrow, anyway.

Yeah, I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow?

I hit send and then freak out and add… I mean, when you’re working at Kathy’s. Not because I’m assuming you’re coming over.

There, that’s better. But wait… Unless you want to come over, because that’s okay too.

I’ll see you tomorrow, Dani. He sends a grinning emoji too, and I can virtually imagine his cocky smile at my triple-text.

A second later, he sends… Save me that sweet rollito.

And then… Oh, shit, I had to Google how to spell that and am only now realizing it’s not exactly what I thought. In my head, I pictured a cinnamon roll and was imagining licking the frosting from all the nooks and crannies. I’m seeing now that a rollito is more…” After the dots, there’s an eggplant emoji.

I laugh at Kyle trying to sound out the word that rolls off my tongue and resorting to Googling it just to send me a flirty text, then his imagery of what he wants to do to me makes my clit throb in time to my heartbeat, but that eggplant has me grinning again.

I hold up the cinnamon-sugar treat I already set aside for him, stick my tongue out sideways like I’m gonna lick it, and snap a selfie. Before I can second-guess myself, I hit Send and then put my phone down.

I’ve got to get back to work because I’ve got to finish these dishes, close up my kitchen, and apparently, shower before I take dinner to Mama and Papa.

“Mama! Papa! Estoy aqui!” I call out as I use my hip to nudge open the side door to my parents’ house. I’d use my hands, but they’re full with a baking tray of enchiladas. I don’t think they’ll notice the difference in the sauce from the usual recipe, but I whipped it up in a special batch after Mama called. It’s got a dash less salt because Papa’s doctor told him that his blood pressure was high last time he went in. It’s not a big change, but every little bit helps.

“Daniela!” Mama greets me, coming out of the living room. Seeing my tray, she takes it from me and gives me a hug. “Shh, your father’s sleeping. You know how it is.”

I do, unfortunately. Since the cancer, my father’s developed COPD, and even with oxygen supplementation, he’s struggling. Naps have become a daily thing for him, sometimes fifteen minutes, sometimes more. It all depends on what his lungs allow him to do that day.

“Physio?” I ask Mama as she sets the tray on the counter. “The doctor says he needs to get out every day.” She’s well aware, of course, but the reminders feel like the only way we can support one another sometimes. By using the language of the caregivers, we show we’re on the same team.

“I know, I know, but you know how he gets,” she says dismissively, and I bite back a comment. Yes, I know how my father’s gotten. Too proud to admit that he’s not the virile man he was a few years ago, he’d rather slowly rot, sitting in front of the television and barely moving except around the house, than get himself better.

I get it, I read all the data on his cancer-related COPD. Even if he goes out and does an hour of cardio a day, he’s not going to have the same stamina as he once had. What the cancer didn’t affect, the surgeries and the chemotherapy did. He’ll always have a raspy voice, and he’ll always get tired more easily than a man his age should.


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