Dirty Bad Boy Read online

  I cross the room, getting more torqued by the touch… her wrist… her arm… her elbow. I’m not interested in seeing where he plans to go from there.

  Coming up behind her, I drop my hand at her waist and flash a smile at the guy before nuzzling into her neck. “Hey, sweetheart, sorry that took so long.”

  “No problem, honey,” she says, snuggling deeper into my hold. “I was just talking with… Ron here.”

  The guy’s smile tightens, his eyes dropping to the spot where my fingers wrap around the curve of her waist. “Um, Rod, actually.”

  Whatever.

  Giving Laurel a last squeeze, I smile at her. “You ready to get out of here?”

  Her smile spreads. “Whenever you are.”

  I duck my head closer to her ear. “Here’s your fair warning.”

  She turns into my hold. “What, really?”

  Nuzzling into her hair, I murmur, “Porn-stache has pushed me past my limit.”

  Her breathy laugh warms my neck, sending the wrong signals firing through my system.

  “Sure it’s not this poor, misunderstood dress causing problems again?”

  “Take your pick. Either way, my inner caveman is about to have a tantrum.”

  “Fine.” She sighs softly, fighting a smile as I bring my mouth to hers in a barely there graze of contact that’s light and lingering. Just long enough for me to catch a bit of her hair between my fingers, testing the silky texture before forcing myself to let it go. Laurel’s thick lashes flutter open, and for a moment, all I can do is stare, getting a little lost in the deep brown of her eyes.

  She’s beautiful.

  And once upon a time, when I looked at her like this—

  “Take me home, Jack?”

  The sultry fake invitation yanks my brain back online, and I nod.

  Turning to Rod, who looks like someone just changed the lock code on his phone, I grin. “Have a good night, man.”

  Better luck next time.

  9

  Laurel

  The rest of the weekend goes by uneventfully. I hit Whole Foods and a movie with Margo on Saturday. Clean the bathroom Sunday morning and then meet Law for dinner Sunday night, where he grills me for details about going out with Jack. The poor guy is desperate to hear about the bloodshed and ends up pouting through his tiramisu when I tell him we’re actually getting along pretty well.

  It’s the kind of easy weekend I always look forward to, but I can’t shake this off feeling. It’s like my skin’s too tight. I’m antsy.

  I keep looking at my phone and then reminding myself that I’m not going to hear from Jack. We don’t have another “date” on the books for almost two weeks, so aside from lugging this gorgeous ring around with me, I’m off duty. It’ll be a nice break. Nice not to have to wonder if Jack’s going to kiss me again… how he’ll do it… if I’ll still be thinking about it four days after the fact… because yeah. Much as I’d like to deny it and don’t really understand it, I can’t quite get Jack’s almost-kisses off my mind.

  I can’t quite shake this sort of shiver and hum that runs through me every time my mind slips back to his fingers teasing through my hair and that beat of lingering eye contact. None of it was real, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t just a little effective anyway.

  Heck, I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to understand why Jack would have cause to worry about a woman forgetting the fake part of this kind of arrangement. I won’t. But I might forget all the reasons we’ve never been friends, or at least try to put them behind us.

  I’m at work on Wednesday, grabbing my yogurt from the break room fridge, when Stephanie from accounting walks past the doorway, backtracks, and then rushes over with an excited squeal that has my guilt kicking in again.

  “Let me see it, let me see it!”

  I hold up my hand for her, giving my finger the requisite flex to catch the light, though this ring should only be shown in the ladies’ room on three. I don’t know what it is about the light in there, but damn.

  Stephanie and I have always been friendly, easily chatting about anything that comes up at work, but it’s no surprise when she tells me she didn’t even realize I was dating someone. It is, however, when she throws her arms around me and gives me a bone-crushing hug.

  “Hey, I’m slammed today, so I’ve gotta run,” she says, already backing toward the door. “But Jazzy and I are having people over Friday night. Bring your man so we can meet him.”

  I’m on the bus home, mentally composing my excuse for why we’ll have to decline—wedding stuff sounding as legit as anything else—when Jack calls.

  That tingly warmth in my chest is totally about friendship. He’s fun to talk to. It makes sense I’d be excited to hear from him.

  “So C-man just texted me about a party Friday night.”

  Jack

  “I still can’t believe you were going to pass on this opportunity,” I say, pulling out of my spot in front of Laurel’s place. Traffic’s not too bad, so we ought to make it up north by eight if we take the Drive.

  Laurel shakes her head, looking out the window. She’s wearing a paisley dress that shows off her bare shoulders and toned legs, and her hair is pulled into a loose ponytail I am not going to play with. At least not until we get to the party.

  “I know. It’s a good idea to go. And I really appreciate that you were willing to change your plans.” She’s still hesitant, though. I can tell something’s eating at her.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Guilt. I feel bad for lying to everyone. All these really sweet people are so excited for me, for us, and it’s not real. It’s not fair.” Nose crinkling, she gives me an apologetic look. “I know it’s different for you. I know in your case, the more people who hear about us, the better, but for me, all I really needed was to be unavailable. Just a temporary label to keep Clarence from becoming an issue while this promotion is out there.”

  My fingers tighten on the wheel. “Laurel, is he giving you a hard time?”

  It was clear the guy had a crush, and if he was my employee, I’d sure as hell make sure to have HR speak to him. But Laurel said he was harmless.

  “No, he’s fine. Whatever infatuation he had with me, I believe it’s been fully transferred to you.”

  “It happens,” I deadpan, hoping it will earn me a little more of her smile. But I can’t stop thinking about the tender heart she just showed me.

  When we arrive at the party, I help her out of the car and, because it seems like the right thing to do, keep hold of her hand as we walk. “Laurel, I’m sorry about you having to lie to your friends. But it means a lot to have you helping me out.”

  “Do you get the sense your being single would actually have been an issue otherwise?”

  Rubbing a hand over my chest, I groan. I feel like an ass admitting it, but there’s no doubt in my mind this was the right play. “Edith asked for a meeting down at the property earlier this week, and I ended up needing Harry to cover for me at the last minute. When he got there, Cecile was the only other person to show up. I guess it was clear he wasn’t who she expected to see there, and it was a little awkward when it turned out she needed a ride home afterward.”

  She bows her head forward, turning in an exaggerated arc. “You’re serious?”

  “Unfortunately. On the upside, Harry made sure to apologize for my absence—citing wedding planning as the excuse. So I wouldn’t anticipate it happening again.”

  Laurel lets out a girly “humph,” and this time it’s my head swinging around. Because if I’m not mistaken, she looks a little put out.

  “I hope not. Because fake relationship or not, my inner cavewoman doesn’t appreciate poachers.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Noted.”

  It’s a welcoming crowd inside the second-floor Sheridan apartment with the bay window overlooking the Lee Street beach. Once I get past C-man and the walloping back claps and fist bumps and brief but awkward staring, introductions are made to th
e rest of the group and more congratulations offered. On the surface, this mirrors our night last weekend, but it doesn’t take more than a minute to see how different it is. These people genuinely care about Laurel, and when they ask about our plans and how we met, it’s not just a bunch of society small talk. It’s real interest and excitement. And within minutes and probably twenty hugs, I pull Laurel into my side. “Okay, and now I feel like a total jerk too.”

  Her big brown eyes cut up to mine, half amused and half serious. “I know, right?”

  “Well, how about we do our best to give them the closest thing to the truth as we can?”

  I get a little lost in the smile she gives me, and when she leads us back to the kitchen where Stephanie’s girlfriend is tending bar, I follow.

  The people Laurel works with can’t get enough details about our wedding plans, and suddenly, I’m beyond grateful for my mother’s insanity as I pull out my phone and, keeping one hand in a loose hold with Laurel’s, share what’s been nailed down.

  No one can believe I’ve known Laurel since she was a girl, and when I tell them about falling for her that first day in kindergarten, she doesn’t believe me either.

  “It’s true! There you were, with those big brown eyes and that silky-smooth, long hair.”

  “You told me I looked like a horse’s butt,” she scoffs, her smile wide. Accusing. So very Laurel. So very pretty.

  “I did, but—” I press a finger to her lips. “First, what I meant was that your hair was so long and straight, it reminded me of a horse’s tail. And second, I thought horses were beautiful.”

  There’s laughter all around us, but it’s Laurel’s I hear. It’s hers I want.

  Christ, being with her like this feels so fucking good.

  It feels right.

  She shakes her head, announcing that she’s going to get a couple more drinks. Our fingers start to slip apart as she steps away, but at the last second, I tug her back, pressing a quick peck to her lips. “I’ll grab the drinks, Elle.”

  I’m halfway to the kitchen before I realize what I just did.

  10

  Laurel

  I don’t try to sleep in that often, but after Jack dropped me back at my apartment last night—inside the apartment, without another kiss and no mention of that little zinger he stole earlier in the night—I was up for hours.

  I was hoping for a few more Zs. But the intercom started buzzing a couple of minutes ago… buzzing and buzzing and buzzing in a very we-mean-business kind of way that I might expect from Margo if she didn’t share Jack’s uncanny ability to get past the security door without being buzzed up.

  Turns out mild-mannered Abby Wagner and Julia Wesley are as obnoxious as the rest of my friends when there’s dirt to be had.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror by the door and cringe. All the tossing and turning from the night before seems to have charged my hair with enough static that there’s a dark halo surrounding my head. Getting it wet might work, but I can’t muster enough energy to do more than bind it in a knot on top of my head. It’s only a marginal improvement, but I’m glad I made it when Julia bounces into my apartment looking like she just walked off the set—with the exception of, or maybe including, Greg’s Slayers jersey. I can’t remember which sport she’s covering this time of year. Abby at least has the good grace to look like she hasn’t entirely woken up yet and is wearing a pair of mismatched men’s socks with her yoga pants and bookworm T-shirt with some kind of hobo bag across her chest.

  “Hey, girls,” I greet, rubbing my eyes as I close the door behind me. “What brings you by this morning?”

  Julia makes a face. “Sorry, did we wake you? Between all the wedding nerves and shooting at weird times the last few weeks, my schedule is all upside down.”

  Abby is nodding, still looking bleary-eyed. “She made me come.”

  “Hey! I drove all the way out to Bearings to pick you up.” Julia throws up the hand not holding the tray of coffees I’ve just registered. “You slept in the car the whole way.”

  I inch closer, taking a deep drag of the java-laced air. “One of those for me?”

  Handing off a steaming cup with a nod, Julia crosses to the windows. “Jack said this place was awesome. What a great neighborhood.”

  “Thanks, Julia.” I didn’t want to care what he thought of my place that first time he followed me up here, but that warmth sliding through me says I did. I do.

  Covering my smile, I take a sip.

  Oh, it’s good. Really good.

  “So that’s the rock, huh?”

  I choke, sputtering as I realize I slept in Jack’s ring. It’s one thing to wear it during the day, but I’ve been taking it off as soon as I get home most nights. Last night, though—I wasn’t totally myself after that not-quite-kiss, which, while not a panty-melter by any stretch, somehow seemed more real than all the others.

  Why can’t I stop thinking about it?

  “Sorry, too strong? I had them put an extra shot of espresso in.”

  I wave Julia off, still coughing a bit, and head into the kitchen to blot the coffee from my chest. When I return, Abby’s got the paper spread out over the coffee table and Julia’s kneeling on the carpet beside it.

  “I can’t believe you put an announcement in the paper.” Abby pulls at a bit of her ponytail, rolling it around her fingers in a way that reminds me of Jack.

  He’s always finding a way to get a hold of my hair.

  “It’s such a Jack thing to do,” Julia adds with a smile. “Taking things too far just for fun.”

  Yeah, I guess that’s true sometimes. But… “This wasn’t Jack. Believe it or not, our mothers have been running around the city planning a wedding they both know full well isn’t going to happen.”

  Abby perks up. “No way.”

  “Way.” I drop down at the other end of the coffee table, tucking my knees to the side. “Congratulations, by the way, to both of you. I wanted to say something at Belfast, but I’d kind of gotten myself into a pinch.”

  We start talking about Julia’s very real wedding just two weeks from today, and I assure her it’s on our list of agreed-upon dates as well as the rehearsal dinner next Friday. She shows me a picture of her dress—a stunning Vera Wang—and Abby pulls up a couple of snaps of bridesmaid dresses and floral arrangements, teasing that we might pass a few ideas on to the moms.

  Pretty soon I’m making another pot of coffee none of us need, and it feels so great catching up with my old friends that I don’t even realize we’ve been chatting for close to two hours.

  Abby’s just finished recounting another story about Jack’s over-the-top and oddly well-intentioned antics that’s had us all laughing to the point of tears. She slumps back against the couch and, using her toe, points to the paper.

  “So there’s really nothing more going on with you and Jack? This is all pretend?”

  I lean back. “Sorry to disappoint. I mean, I think we’re becoming friends, which is something I couldn’t have imagined happening in a million years before all this.”

  It makes me smile to think about. But yeah, that’s what’s been going on with us, and it’s a good thing.

  Julia tips back her travel mug and frowns finding it empty. “Have to admit, I kind of wondered myself when I saw that photo. You got my hopes up!”

  “Really?” The picture Jack ended up sending to his mother was nice. Casual to the extreme, but the vibe definitely fell toward friendly. Though maybe that was because of the filters he added to the copy he sent me. I was given a Goth makeover, while Jack had donned kitty ears and bulging, tear-filled eyes. God, he made me laugh.

  “Gotta say, I was impressed you guys got Ralph Mooney to do your shoot.”

  “What?” I sit forward. If the paper is listing Jack’s selfie with a photo credit from one of the city’s most sought-after photographers, it can’t be good.

  “Yeah, I’ve got friends who had to wait a year for an opening in his schedule.”

&nb
sp; Crawling forward, I pull the paper toward me and actually look at the photo Jack most definitely didn’t take. My heart skips as I blink, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Ralph must have snapped a couple shots before we realized he was back in the room and then sent the file directly to Mrs. Hastings. It’s Jack and me, but not in any way I’ve seen before. He’s looking down at me, while I smile at something in the distance, and the look in his eyes is… “He looks like—”

  Abby leans forward, wrinkling her nose. “He looks like he loves you.”

  Laurel

  “He looks like he wants to bone you. Bad,” Margo says, sitting in the same spot Abby occupied only hours before.

  I scrunch deeper into the opposite chair. “Seriously? I’m starting to think that you’re the one who needs to get boned. Your head is in the gutter.”

  “You might be right. But even so… Forget the picture and let’s look at his actions. Laurel, how many times has Jack kissed you now?”

  I bite my lip and fiddle with my phone, not wanting to answer.

  “Okay, let’s lay it out. First, the engagement kiss… also known as the bust knuckles plus kiss.”

  I roll my eyes. “Jack was right about that one. It would have looked weird not to kiss.”

  “Please, he could have hugged you, pressed his cheek against yours… kissed your hand. There were options.”

  I don’t know.

  “Second, the party. What did he call that guy?”

  “Porn-stache,” I supply with a snicker.

  “That’s right. The Porn-stache kiss. Wouldn’t it have been equally as effective to just leave together? Or heck, find another spot in the bar?”

  I make a noncommittal sound.

  “Exactly. Thank you. And three, last night.”