Dirty Bad Boy Read online

  Dirty Bad Boy

  A Fake Fiance Romance

  Mira Lyn Kelly

  DIRTY BAD BOY written and published by Mira Lyn Kelly

  * * *

  © 2018 by Mira Lyn Kelly

  Cover design by Mira Lyn Kelly

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About DIRTY BAD BOY

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Also by Mira Lyn Kelly

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For Helene Cuji

  About DIRTY BAD BOY

  I'm not a total dick…

  Most days, I'm a damned decent guy. Just not around my buddy's sister.

  She's sexy as sin, sharp as hell, and she's also the lush little harpy who's been rubbing me wrong since we were kids.

  * * *

  I don't want to do her a favor…

  If it had been any other damsel in distress looking to shake some unwanted attention, I'd have been the perfect fake boyfriend for all of five minutes.

  But Laurel brings out the bastard in me, and five minutes hardly seemed enough time to make her squirm.

  * * *

  She wants to one-up me, and I want to win.

  * * *

  But maybe I need a favor too...

  1

  Laurel

  This is what I get for lying.

  “Um… you want to meet him?” I wheeze, hazarding a glance at Clarence Grossman, my boss’s son and the guy whose bumbling advances I’ve been dodging with vague references to a boyfriend I don’t have since “C-man” transferred back from the San Jose office two months ago.

  “Why not?” He looks smug, like he knows he’s got me. “I mean, talk about a coincidence that we both have plans at the same bar.”

  A warm breeze tosses a few thin strands of his hair around, briefly giving him the appearance of being electrocuted cartoon style. Only I’m the one with the current of panic charging through my veins.

  He may not be sharp enough to stop perpetuating the use of that horrific nickname, but C-man is on to me. And I walked right into his trap when he asked if I had plans tonight.

  I didn’t hesitate. The answer is always yes, a date.

  But then he asked what we were doing, and I grabbed at the first thing that popped into my head. Belfast. The bar I’d been to the week before with my bestie, Margo. And go figure, C-man was meeting friends there too.

  Liar.

  Not that I’m one to talk.

  He’s watching me closely. “Unless there’s some reason you don’t want me to meet him?”

  A reason? Like the boyfriend doesn’t exist? Yeah, that would be a good one. But after months of feeding this lie, I’m in too deep to give it up. I’m up for a promotion to database manager at the staffing firm where I’ve been working for six years, and, while Clarence is basically harmless, I don’t want to risk even a whisper of drama around my name.

  “No way.” I shake my head and offer up a flap of my hand like I haven’t a care in the world. We’ll go in. Wait a few minutes. And then I’ll fake like my boyfriend from the Niagara Falls area had to bail and promise a meet some other time. Or maybe I’ll luck out and run into one of my brother’s buddies chivalrous enough to play the part of my boyfriend for five minutes. Really, any single guy I know well enough to get his name right will do. “This will be great. I’m sure he’ll be happy to put a face with the name.”

  Half of Chicago calls Belfast their favorite bar, and there’s already a good crowd. But two-thirds of the way through the main room and I don’t know a soul. How is that possible?

  “Let me guess,” Clarence offers, sounding a little too smug and a little too close. “He’s not here.”

  I jump from face to face, searching as my stomach turns. He knows. It doesn’t matter that I’ll deny it with my dying breath. Unless I find a guy who—

  Click.

  Recognition in the form of: Oh no. No. Not him. Anyone but him.

  But it’s definitely him.

  I recognize the blade-straight nose, the chiseled cheekbones over a square-cut jaw. And that mouth. Soft and full, it shouldn’t fit with a face as masculine as his, but those lips have been distracting my girlfriends and making my classmates swoony since the seventh grade.

  There’s a leanness to the strong angles of his face that wasn’t there in high school, and as much as I hate to admit it, it looks good.

  Jack Hastings. Bane of my existence. It would have to be him. And, of course, he’s single. This I know because, while I haven’t seen the guy since high school, my brother keeps up with him and mentioned it at dinner last week.

  Steely-gray eyes clash with mine, and the air leaks from my lungs on an F-bomb my parents would call classless.

  Clarence is saying something behind me, but all I can do is take one last desperate look around the bar. Anyone else—anyone—but it’s Jack or bust.

  The guy hates me. It’s there in his eyes, just the way it’s been since we were six years old. But I know for a fact he can hide it so well that there was a time when, briefly, even I didn’t know better.

  I start across the bar, my smile straining at maniacal proportions. He’s sitting with Hank and Abby Wagner, Greg Baxter, and Julia Wesley. We all went to high school in Bearings together, and I’m relieved because, despite their inexplicable attachment to Jack, they’re awesome people. And more than that, their celebrity status is going to work to distract Clarence, who seems completely starstruck as we head toward the table.

  “Hi, guys,” I sing out, giving everyone a cursory wave as I close in on Jack, whose obvious confusion would be spectacular if the whole point of this charade wasn’t to sell my coworker on a relationship that doesn’t exist.

  Reaching his side, I press in close, then closer still, so my arm is looped around his broad shoulders. “Jack, sweetie, didn’t see you at first.” Shooting him a pleading look, I motion behind me. “Remember me telling you about Clarence from work?”

  Jack’s one of the smartest guys I know. But the blank look I’m getting back from him makes me want to whack the side of his head to shake something loose. Instead I give him a pointed look, praying he’ll throw me a bone. “He was starting to think I’d made you up!”

  The lights turn on in his eyes, and the hard line of his mouth falls into a slant that probably ought to concern me. So far as I know, Jack has never passed up on an opportunity to make me squirm. Not that I have either. But he’s a good friend to my brother, Law. So I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

  I don’t have to wait long, because then he’s wrapping his arm around my waist, cinching it tight. The look he g
ives me is one-hundred-percent saccharine, and I can’t help but laugh at the way he’s turned it on.

  I’m going to owe him big, and he’ll never let me forget it, but keeping Clarence off my back without having to involve his parents or HR will be more than worth it.

  “Babe, why didn’t you tell me I was finally gonna meet him?” Jack offers his hand and waits for Clarence to drag his attention from Julia, who happens to be one of the hottest sports reporters in the country right now. She’s also engaged to Greg, star center for the Slayers, Chicago’s newest hockey team. And Hank, heck, the guy makes Elon Musk look like a member of the Geek Squad.

  I’m giving it another thirty seconds before Clarence asks everyone to sign his shirt. And after that, he’ll step back to give us our space. He’ll be out of my hair. I’ll apologize to my old classmates and put some much-needed distance between my hip and Jack’s thigh. As hard as it’s going to be, I’ll say something nice to him, and—

  “Clarence, man, pull up a chair.” Jack’s arm turns to steel around my waist as I stiffen. Because what… the… hell?

  Jack flashes me a wink. “Join us.”

  Oh, I’m going to kill him.

  Jack

  I shouldn’t be getting off on the undiluted murder in Laurel Matthews’s eyes, but—well, hell—that’s the kind of history we’ve got. It’s been forever since I’ve seen her, and that one look when she walked in was confirmation enough that ten years later… nothing’s changed.

  Except maybe she’s even prettier than she was at eighteen… at sixteen, twelve… six. I’ve seen pictures of her at Law’s apartment and on his Instagram feed. But in person, it’s even more obvious. Not that I’m susceptible to her looks.

  Hell no.

  She could peel off her little summer work blouse and narrow skirt and stand in front of me wearing nothing but the peachy lace bra I caught a glimpse of when she stepped into my space, and it wouldn’t get a rise out of me. Because beneath all the smooth skin and soft curves, there’s a prickly wet blanket that’s been getting under my skin since the sixth grade.

  Shit. I can still see that bit of lacy strap at her shoulder. Fine, she gets a rise out of me. But it’s strictly physical.

  “Jack, honey,” she starts, drilling me with those threat-filled eyes. “Clarence is meeting some friends. We should let him—”

  The piece of work who followed her into the bar clears his throat. “Hey, actually, I don’t see my friends here yet.”

  Funny, because I’m pretty sure the only time his eyes left Laurel were when they bugged, locking on to Julia’s rack. If he’d managed to look up long enough to realize her fiancé was about to flip the table over that tactless bullshit, he probably wouldn’t be so quick to give up his excuse to get out of here.

  All the better for tormenting Laurel. It’s been too long and she’s way too easy.

  “Great! See, baby, he’s good.”

  I’m pretty sure Laurel isn’t breathing. Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture. Her eyes bulge, slowly cranking around to glare at me, and so I pull her in for a selfie too. What’s she going to do about it?

  “Oh fuck!” I cough out as pain explodes in my thigh. A glance confirms it’s Laurel’s knuckle digging into that pressure point she always had a knack for finding.

  “Oooh, baby,” she purrs, pouting at me. “Is it that old LARP injury again?”

  Hank coughs into his hand, trying to cover his laugh. Dick.

  Brushing her dark hair back from her face, Abby gives Hank the look that echoes what I’m thinking: What the fuck is LARP?

  “Live-action role play, Abs,” he says, leaning in to his wife. “You know, um… when Jack dresses up like one of those guys from Medieval Times”—his voice cracks—“to act out his game.”

  Right, of course.

  Laurel flashes me a wink, one side of her full mouth tipped at an evil—kind of sexy—slant. Then, turning back to Clarence, she adds, “There was this incident with a lance. Jack was the court fool and got in the way.”

  Greg’s finishing his beer and ends up spitting half of it back in the mug. Perfect.

  Julia leans into Laurel, an adoring look on her face as she reaches for her hand. “We don’t hang out enough.”

  Traitors. All of them.

  No surprise Hank’s the one whose head kicks in first. Rapping his knuckles over the tabletop between us, he stands. “About time for Abby and I to get out of here. We’ve got adoption meetings tomorrow. Greg, Julia? You guys staying?”

  Julia’s head starts to bob, but Greg’s already pulling her chair out. “Nah, we’re out of here too. Jules, you can catch up with these lovesick fools another time.”

  Snuggling in closer, Laurel waves goodbye, promising the girls she’ll meet them for lunch soon. But tonight, she’s mine. And that LARP business is going to cost her.

  Court fool, my ass.

  2

  Laurel

  “He is such a relentless dick.”

  I’m pacing back and forth through my best friend’s office at lunch the next day, venting the past eighteen hours of building resentment to the one woman I really ought to know better than to think would be on my side about this.

  “He’s hot,” Margo says, studying her phone and the photo of Jack Hastings she found from an old Trib article. Peering up at me through a fringe of lashes even thicker than her wild spray of ebony curls, she clucks her tongue. “Like, criminally hot.”

  I stop walking and gape at her. “Did you hear anything I said?”

  Grinning, she taps a blunt nail over the screen. “Did you see this broody thing he’s got going? That scowl.”

  She taps again, and I roll my eyes. But yeah, I walk over to her desk and check out the shot of Jack squinting into the sun. His hair is neat, his suit immaculately cut, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other against his chest. It’s a candid shot capturing a conversation with another man, but Jack looks more like a model than the third-generation real-estate mogul he is.

  “Fine, the scowly thing is sort of hot.” Not that there’s ever been a question about that. Jack is good looking on a David Gandy level. And he’ll be the first to point it out.

  Funny thing is, that scowl isn’t really him. Yeah, he’s a total jerk, but I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him looking so hardened as this.

  In my mind’s eye, the man wears his perpetual smirk as easily as he wears that gorgeous suit.

  Pushing the phone aside, Margo leans back in her chair. “You should give him a whirl.”

  I blink, wishing I could pretend I’d heard her wrong.

  “Oh don’t look at me like that. He’s hot, and based on Law still being friends with him, he can’t be all bad. Besides, you need a man with some spine.”

  “Spine? Margo, I’ve told you about him. Jack is the worst. He’s spent most of his life going out of his way to make me suffer.” Not that I wasn’t trying to make him suffer worse.

  “At least he’s the sort to go out of his way for something. The guys you’ve been picking wouldn’t go out of their way for a blowjob.”

  Sheesh. “The guys I date are respectful. Polite.”

  “Bland. Passive.” She cuts me a pointed look. “Limp.”

  I cough out a laugh. “Where do you even get this?”

  Shaking her head, she pushes back from her desk and meets me by the window. Arms crossed, she drums her fingers. “You’re right. I can’t say whether they were limp or not… since not one of these Dutch-paying, meet-you-at-the-restaurant guys you’ve dated in the last two years has made it past your bra. If they’ve even gotten that far.”

  They haven’t. And it’s been more like three years, if we’re being honest. Which we aren’t, because instead of correcting her, I’m studiously checking my nails. “Whatever. I’m not giving Jack a whirl or anything else.”

  “Why not? Maybe you two can hash out your differences.” There’s a filthy gleam in her eyes as she vees her first fingers on both hands and st
arts banging them together in a way that makes me think I’ll never hashtag another post without feeling like a perv.

  “Oh, dear God, please stop.”

  She twists her hand around so her vees are back to front.

  Great. And now she’s moaning and panting.

  Another twist and she nods with a wink. “Reverse cowgirl.”

  The laugh I’ve been hoping I was too mature to succumb to bursts free. “Enough!” I desperately grab her fingers. “Margo, unless Law decides to hang up his all-access pass to Chicago’s female population and gets married, I’ll probably never see Jack again.”

  Eyes twinkling, she smiles. “You sure about that? I mean, seems like he kinda digs pulling your pigtails.”

  Jack

  “Get your head in the game,” Harry Bajorek grumbles at me, giving the knocker on the massive Gold Coast home a solid rap. There’s movement beyond the stained-glass window, and Harry adjusts his tie, shooting me a scathing look, so very him that I can’t help but laugh. The old guy is one salty SOB. He’s also my godfather and my lawyer. And he’s right.

  I’m distracted.

  Laurel Matthews has always had a knack for holding more of my attention than I mean to let her. And after ten years—damn, she still gets to me.

  “I’m good.”