Bossy Bastard: A Hero Club Novel

by J. L. Perry

  “Check out the tit’s on that one in the red.”

  His comment makes my jaw tick. “Put your eyes back in your head, asshole.” My gaze snaps to him when he laughs. “I’m serious.”

  “She obviously wants people to look, she’s got them out on display for the entire world to see.”

  He’s right, and that pisses me off more than I care to admit. I have a good mind to go over there and demand she put on my jacket. “Just stop looking at her like that, all right?”

  Grayson looks at me like I have two heads. “Wow. When did you become so possessive of a woman?”

  “Just drop it, okay?”

  “Do you know her?” I lift my beer to my mouth taking a long chug and shrugging my shoulders. When my eyes dart back to him, he’s smiling. “Jesus, you do. Who is she, Barclay?”

  “None of your business, Edwards.”

  He goes to stand. “Maybe I should go over there and introduce myself, then.”

  “Sit the fuck down.” I reach for his arm, but he chuckles ignoring my request.

  “I want to meet the woman that’s got your nuts on a platter.”

  “I mean it, Gray. Don’t force me to hit you.”

  “All right, lover boy, settle down.” He retakes his seat.

  “Lover boy,” I scoff. “As if.”

  Grayson slaps me on the back. “Keep telling yourself that, buddy. I’ve never seen you like this before…” He pauses for a moment. “Well, not for a long time, anyway.”

  His statement makes me cringe, and I give him a silent plea with my eyes not to go there. Not tonight. It’s been a long day, and I just want to chill.

  “Would you really punch me if I went over there?”

  “Damn straight.”

  He throws back his head and laughs. “I think every guy in this club has eye-fucked her tonight. Are you going to take us all on?”

  “If I have to,” I grumble.

  He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ll be fucking damned, this one’s got you good.”

  I scrub my hand over my face. What in the hell is wrong with me?

  You can’t save her Barclay, she’s not Anastasia.

  I can see him staring at me through my peripheral vision. “Sweet baby Jesus. Who is the woman?”

  “If you must know, I met her this morning. But that’s all you’re getting.”

  I want to tell him about the scars on her wrists, but I don’t. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I know he’ll tell me to stay the fuck away from her, which is wise and the kind of advice I should be taking on board, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to.

  The fucked-up part of me.

  Grayson Edwards knows me better than anyone, he’s been by my side through it all. The highs and the lows. Especially the lows. He’s the one person who helped me keep it together after Anastasia. Christ knows where I would’ve ended up if it weren’t for him. We’ve been best friends since elementary school. We’re also business partners, so even now, as grown men, we see each other daily.

  “The girl she’s with is pretty hot,” Grayson says, flicking his head in their direction. “Those tattoos are smokin’. Damn, I’d tap her.”

  I chuckle, I’m not going there. “You’d tap anything that moves.”

  “Hey, I have standards.”

  “Sure you do,” I say, mocking him. I get a kick out of riling him up, he bites every time.

  I’m still watching sweet-thing as she grabs her girly frou-frou drink, taking a sip before heading toward a booth at the other side of the club.

  Is it wrong that my dick wishes it was that straw?

  My eyes are glued to her ass as she sashays across the room. I may not be interested, but I’m not dead. That short dress she’s wearing barely covers her backside, her cheeks are like two perfectly round peaches just waiting to be squeezed or bitten. I’d happily do both.

  But it’s those damn legs of hers that rile me up the most. Christ. That tiny scrap of material only makes them appear longer. I’d like to feel them wrapped around me.

  No, I wouldn’t.

  Who am I kidding, of course, I would.

  I place my hand in my lap, adjusting my crotch.

  My eyes move around the room once she and her friend take their seats. I’m not going to let her distract me a moment longer. I came here tonight to get a bit of action, someone to help me blow off some steam. And as much as I’d like to see that little sinner beneath me, that’s not going to happen tonight or any other night for that matter.

  What little I do know about her is way too close to home for me. I’d never willingly put myself in that position again. I barely got away from the last one intact.

  Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair as I push those thoughts from my mind.

  Dinner at my parents’ house hasn’t helped my mood any. It was excruciating. Willow Henderson kept making googly-eyes at me across the table while my mother rambled on endlessly about me. In the end, I placed my phone under the table while the guests were distracted by the servants, texting Grayson for help. He called a few minutes later and said there was an emergency with our company.

  He always has my back.

  Willow walked me to the door, handing over her phone number before I left, asking me to call her sometime while batting her eyelids. I’m surprised I didn’t lose an eye in the process. There’s long lashes and then there’s ridiculously fucking long ones. The fake kind, which she has. It looked like two butterflies were held captive on her face. Everything about her is pretty much fake—her demeanor, her tits, her lips—they’re pumped so full of Botox she has a permanent duck face.

  I nodded politely but threw her number in the trash can on my way to the car. She’s beautiful in her own right, but I’m not stupid enough to ever get involved with another woman whose only goal in life is to trap some poor rich bastard into marriage.

  It doesn’t take long for my traitorous eyes to end up back where they shouldn’t. I watch from the shadows as sweet-thing and her friend take turns returning to the bar to buy more drinks.

  At one point, a guy approaches her, getting up in her personal space. My knuckles turn white as the grip on my beer bottle intensifies. I feel somewhat relieved when she turns down his advances. But it is Sinful-Saturday after all, and the night’s still young. She’s definitely dressed for it, and that thought makes my stomach churn.

  A while later, two women approach us. One of them moves in between Grayson and me, slinking her arm over my shoulder. My eyes dart to her. She’s a pretty blonde. Her tits rub against my side as she leans in, whispering in my ear, “Do you want to dance, handsome?”

  “No.” My answer comes out more forceful than I intended. Usually, I’d be all over this, but not tonight. This is what I came here for after all, but I’m suddenly no longer in the mood.

  Fuck my life.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” she coaxes, running her long nails through the side of my hair.

  “Go away,” I snap, shrugging her off me.

  “Wow. No need to be so rude.” She takes a step back. “Bastard.”

  It’s the second time today someone’s called me that.

  If the shoe fits, I guess.

  I hear Grayson snicker from beside me. “Move along, ladies, someone’s on their period tonight.”

  “Fuck off,” I snap.

  “Just because your head’s all wrapped up in the babe in red with the killer rack and the mile-long legs, it doesn’t mean you have to ruin my chances of getting laid tonight.”

  I grit my teeth. “Stop talking about her rack and fucking legs.”

  He throws back his head and laughs, and I know he added in those parts to goad me.

  I chug down the rest of my beer, slamming the bottle on the bar. “I’m going to get out of here, you coming?” I need to split before I do something stupid, like go over there.

  “Fuck,” he grumbles as he downs his drink. “Guess I’ll be taking care of myself tonight.”

&nb
sp; “You say that like it’s foreign to you.” There’s humor in my voice as I speak. “I shared a dorm room with you, remember? Considering how many times you’ve manhandled yourself, I’m surprised your dick hasn’t fallen off.”

  “Very funny, asshole.”

  We both stand, and Grayson flicks his head toward the dance floor as we start moving toward the exit. “Your girl’s got all the moves,” he says, smirking.

  “She’s not my girl.”

  “Right. So, you wouldn’t mind if I went over there and ground my big cock against that shapely ass of hers?”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “She’s so your girl.”

  “Remind me again why we’re friends.”

  He pulls me into a headlock, ruffling my hair. I hate it when he does that. “Because you love me, Ashton Barclay.”

  “Yeah, like a hole in the head.”

  I’m so engrossed in watching her dance as we leave, I don’t even realize Grayson has stopped walking until I bump into his back.

  “Shit’s about to get real,” I hear him say as some douche approaches sweet-thing from behind, running his filthy hands over her outer thighs. That one movement has adrenalin coursing through my veins.

  What was she thinking wearing a dress like that? It was only going to attract trouble, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to simply stand here and watch some fucker touch her in that way.

  His hands snake around her tiny waist, but she manages to free herself from his grip before he takes a firm hold. I grin when she turns around and pushes on his chest. There’s a scowl on her face, and it reminds me of the one I got when I knocked the donut from her hand this morning. I can’t hear what she’s saying from here, but by the movement of her lips, I’m pretty sure she told him to keep his hands off.

  The fucker’s obviously hard of hearing because he grabs hold of her arm, yanking her body flush with his, and I see red.

  Literally.

  “I’ve got your back, bro,” I hear Grayson say from behind me as I stalk across the dance floor.

  Gripping the collar of his shirt, I drag him backward. The sudden movement makes him stumble, and he falls, landing on the wooden floor with a thud. His angry eyes lock with mine as he gets to his feet then charges at me.

  It’s going to be like that, is it?

  Bring it on, buddy.

  I’m not the type of guy who goes looking for a fight, but someone needs to teach this prick some manners.

  I anchor my feet to the floor as he comes in low, his shoulder striking me in the gut. I stagger back a few steps from the impact. It knocks the wind out of me, but I’m too fired up to care. I swoop toward him, my fists already balled. He swings a punch in my direction, but I lean back enough for it not to connect. My right hook hits him in the side of the face before he even sees it coming and is followed by an uppercut with my left which lands square on his jaw.

  I hear some of the ladies around us scream as a few bystanders get in between us to break it up before it escalates. I stand there for a moment, breathing rapidly. My blood is pumping through my body at an alarming rate.

  Swinging around, I face sweet-thing.

  Her eyes are wide as they lock with mine.

  The crowd around us goes back to dancing as I close the distance separating us. I reach for her hand, leading her off the dance floor. She doesn’t protest or try to free herself from my death grip. I’m thankful because I’m in no mood for her shit. If I had to throw her over my damn shoulder, I would have. But then her ass would’ve been on display for the entire club to see.

  When we’re away from the noise, I push her up against the wall, caging her in with my arms. “What the hell were you thinking wearing that dress here?” I scowl.

  It’s the first time I’ve gotten a close look at her face. She’s wearing makeup. She wasn’t wearing any this morning, and she looks good—different, sexy—but I think I prefer her without it. She has a natural beauty and doesn’t need to wear that shit to look beautiful.

  Her long hair is down, cascading over her shoulders in soft curls, her plump lips are painted a deep red matching her dress. I ache to taste them and hate myself for wanting to.

  Remember your rules, Barclay.

  No kissing on the mouth.

  “What the hell was I thinking?” she says, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You just attacked my… my date.”

  “Your date?” I scoff, raising an eyebrow. I know damn well he isn’t her date. She came here with her friend, just the two of them.

  “Yes,” she retorts, squaring her shoulders. “Thanks a lot. I never picked you for a cock-blocker.”

  I chuckle. I can’t help but be amused by her comment. “He wasn’t your date, sweet-thing. Don’t lie to me.”

  After a brief pause, she blows out a frustrated breath. “Okay, so maybe he wasn’t, but he could’ve been. For all I know, you just scared away my future husband.”

  “His hands were all over you, and we both know you can get a whole lot better than him.”

  “So, why do you even care?”

  “I don’t care, but you’re only asking for trouble coming here dressed like that.”

  “How I dress is none of your business, Mr. Bossy-boots.”

  She’s right, it isn’t.

  I shrug out of my jacket, passing it to her. “Put this on.” My request comes out more like a demand.

  “No!” She shoves it back into my chest.

  “Don’t push me, sweet-thing.”

  “My name is Emma… not sweet-thing, and not sweetheart, or babe for that matter.”

  Emma, it’s a pretty name. It suits her.

  “Don’t push me, Em,” I repeat, giving her a look that dares her to defy me.

  Huffing, she begrudgingly slides one of her arms into my jacket, followed by the other.

  Good girl.

  When she dips her head though, she mumbles something under her breath

  I tip her chin, raising her eyes back to mine. “I missed that, Em. Did you say something?”

  “I said, you’re an asshole. Who died and made you my keeper?” She has no idea how significant that statement is. “And it’s Emma, not Em. Only my friends get to call me Em, and we’re definitely not friends.”

  “We could be.”

  “Not happening. Ever!”

  “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

  “And you’re an ass. An annoying, bossy ass.” Her palms flatten against my chest as she tries to push me back, but I stand strong.

  “Admit it, it turns you on. You like me bossing you around, don’t you?”

  “You’re wrong,” she says, glaring at me.

  “Your eyes may say that,” I reply as my gaze darts to her chest, “but your hardened nipples tell me something entirely different.”

  She gasps, grabbing the lapels of my jacket, crossing them over her chest. She has no idea how entertaining she is.

  I inch my face closer to hers.

  She draws her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes dart to my mouth. Oh, I know that look well.

  Be careful what you wish for, sweet-thing.

  Her sugary vanilla scent invades all my senses, and my cock starts to harden just from our closeness. My heart thumps against my ribcage, and I can hear her breaths coming in short, sporadic spurts.

  Run, Barclay, run!

  But I can’t.

  Like her, my head is saying one thing, but my body doesn’t seem to be cooperating. Before it even registers, I press my lips to hers, our mouths softly touching. She doesn’t give me an inch, not with her tongue or a move to pull me closer. I don’t budge nevertheless. We remain unmoving, neither of us breaking the connection.

  She makes my body feel alive like there’s damn live wires under my skin. It feels so right, yet overwhelmingly wrong at the same time.

  I’m playing with fire, but fuck me at this moment if I don’t want to get burned.

  Chapter Four

  EMMA
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  He draws back slightly, and I immediately miss the contact. I’ve never wanted to kiss somebody so much in my life, and it took every ounce of restraint I have not to take it further.

  Every ounce of restraint.

  His pupils are dilated, making his sparkly blue eyes appear almost black. That look alone should scare me, but for some reason, it doesn’t. The desire I see within them sends tingles coursing down my spine.

  “Kiss me back, sweet-thing,” he whispers.

  My head screams no, but the reality is I want this more than I need my next breath.

  He looks down at his watch. “It’s eleven-fifty-two, give me the last eight minutes of Sinful-Saturday.” There’s almost a pleading tone to his voice.

  I straighten my spine. Eight minutes isn’t much to ask for in the grand scheme of things, but still, my body hesitates.

  Good, listen to your body, Emma.

  I can’t do this.

  He’s hot, arrogant, dangerous, and did I mention hot? I’m way out of his league. This is a sick twisted game for him, I remind myself. Last time I allowed myself to believe I was good enough for a guy like him, it almost cost me my damn life.

  “I don’t kiss strange men.”

  “We’re not strangers, Em.” I hate that l like the way he says my name. It’s all breathy and sexy. Gah!

  “I barely know you.”

  “Barely being the operative word here.” I roll my eyes, and his smile grows. “So, let me get this straight, you don’t kiss strange men, but you have no qualms deep throating their appendages… I mean thumbs.”

  I feel my face flush.

  When I recounted my run-in with him to Carla this morning, I left that part out. On purpose. I don’t even know what came over me. It’s not something I’ve ever done or am likely to do again. Although it was kind of erotic and may have turned me on just a smidgen. I bow my head as shame fills me. I’m starting to wonder if I have serious mental issues.

  He probably thinks I’m a hussy.

  I certainly acted like one.

  Why does this man make me want to embrace my inner slut?