Bossy Bastard: A Hero Club Novel

by J. L. Perry

  “A beer sounds perfect.”

  Why does she have beer in her fridge? I saw the frou-frou drinks she had the other night at the club. Are they reserved for her gentlemen company? Does she have men here often? Why does that thought make me livid?

  My eyes are glued to her luscious round ass as she sashays toward the kitchen. Images of the bottom half of her exposed cheeks protruding from those simple, yet skimpy panties she wore yesterday flash through my mind. I get a semi just thinking about it. I jacked off twice last night and again in the shower this morning to that exact visual.

  I want to bite those damn cheeks.

  Taking a few steps, I place the bags I’m holding just inside the door, closing it behind me.

  My foyer at home is larger than her entire apartment. She only has to take a few steps to reach her kitchen. I’m no snob, but I hate that she lives here.

  Opening the fridge, she bends over to retrieve the drinks. I have an overwhelming urge to walk up behind her and grind my cock into her sweet ass. Instead, I shove my hands into my pockets and gaze around her space. The kitchen, living, and dining are all jam-packed into this one tiny area. It’s neat and tidy with minimal furnishings, but I guess that’s warranted since she lives in a damn shoebox.

  She places two beers on the countertop, grabbing a bottle cap remover from the top drawer. She drinks beer? Maybe I overreacted about the fact that she keeps beer in her refrigerator for her male company. It appears she’s going to be joining me in one. I like that. She’s unlike any other woman I’ve met before.

  Women in my circle don’t drink beer.

  Or know anything about tools.

  I take a few steps further into the room, meeting her halfway. “Thanks,” I say when she hands it to me.

  Holding it up in front of my face, I read the label—Budweiser Select 55.

  “It’s light beer… low carbs, low calories,” she says.

  I definitely overreacted.

  Low carb beer isn’t a man’s drink, it’s for pussies.

  I don’t want to appear rude, so I bring it to my mouth, taking a long draw. It tastes better than I expected, but I stand by my claim. She wraps her lips around the head of her bottle, and I find myself wishing it was the head of my cock.

  Fuck.

  I clear my throat as I try to push those images from my mind.

  Get your head out of the gutter, Barclay.

  My eyes rake down her body once more while hers watch my every move.

  “You don’t look like you need to worry about your calorie intake.” A blush permeates her cheeks before she dips her head.

  “Unfortunately, not everyone is blessed with the perfect metabolism. It takes a lot of time and effort for me to stay in shape.”

  There’s a story there, but when she doesn’t offer any more, I don’t pry.

  “You’re definitely in shape. Your body is faultless, Emma.” I see the ghost of a smile tug at her lips. She lifts her arms, wrapping them protectively around herself. My sweet-thing is self-conscious, and I find that endearing. She has no clue how desirable she is.

  We both fall quiet. If it were up to me, I could stand here all day and look at her. I take another swig of my beer before placing it down on the small table. Sliding out of my jacket, I drape it over the back of the chair. Her eyes widen.

  Does she think I’m about to give her a striptease?

  I’m down for it as long as she gives me one in return.

  “I guess I should get to work on your locks,” I say, removing my tie and placing it on top of the jacket.

  She clears her throat. “Of course.”

  Unfastening my cufflinks, I shove them into my pocket before rolling up my sleeves to my elbows. She’s trying hard not to watch me, but I see her stealing glances here and there.

  Yep, she digs me.

  “Do you want to be my helper again?” I ask. “Since you’re such a gun with the tools.” That little fact both surprised and turned me the fuck on yesterday.

  “Okay.” Her face lights up, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst.

  Maybe drinking that low carb beer has made me soft.

  “Let me help you clean up,” I say, rising from the table.

  “Don’t be silly, it’s the least I can do. You’ve already done enough.”

  I’ve been here for almost three hours. After we finished installing the new locks, she offered to cook us dinner, whipping up a beef stir-fry in no time. I was impressed with her culinary skills. She chopped the ingredients like a trained chef. It made me wonder where she learned to do that.

  This girl can cook.

  And I, of course, jumped at the chance to stay longer. I wasn’t ready to leave. She’s so easy to be around and also beautiful, smart, witty, and incredibly sweet. She makes me feel different. I kind of like the person I am when I with her.

  She has me bewitched.

  As the evening wore on, she let her guard down, allowing me to see a whole other side to her. I almost feel bad for allowing her to get closer. She deserves way more than I can offer, but I’m a selfish prick.

  I pick up my plate, walking it over to the sink. “No dishwasher?” I ask as she takes it from me and rinses it under the water before stacking it on top of the other dirty dishes.

  “I wish. Not that you’d be able to fit one in this tiny kitchen, though.” She releases a small laugh, and it’s such a beautiful sound. “I don’t mind. I didn’t have one growing up, so I’m used to doing the dishes by hand. I guess you can’t miss what you’ve never had.”

  I love how unspoiled she is. It’s refreshing.

  “Have you ever thought about getting a bigger place?”

  Something safer and not so rundown.

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m happy enough here. It’s plenty of room for me. Plus, I have Carla next door, and it’s close to my work.”

  “Surely your wage as a psychologist would afford you something a little more opulent.”

  Although her back is to me, I see her body stiffen.

  Shit.

  “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  “I’ve never been materialistic. I don’t need a flashy place to make me feel good. I came from humble beginnings, growing up on a small property with my dad, in a house he built with his own two hands. We didn’t have much, but I was happy. I was rich with love if nothing else. Living here is no hardship. I have a roof over my head, food to eat, and a job I love. I consider myself very fortunate.” She picks up a dish towel and wipes her hands on it as she turns to face me. “I’m sorry if my place is beneath you, Mr. Fancy Pants, but nobody asked you to come here.”

  Ouch!

  “Em…”

  Christ. All the progress we made tonight is royally screwed now. And to say I feel like shit would be an understatement.

  Maybe I am a snob?

  “Save it,” she says, holding up her hand. “How much do I owe you for the locks? It’s getting late, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed. I have to work tomorrow.” She turns to walk away from me, but I reach out, gently wrapping my hand around her wrist. My comment hurt her, and that wasn’t my intention.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you or your place. I… I just want you to be safe. You, living alone in this neighborhood… well, it concerns me.”

  She sighs, dropping her gaze to the floor. I hate that she won’t look at me. Closing the small distance between us, I turn her. When I tip her chin, raising her gaze to meet mine, I see tears brimming in her eyes. It makes me feel like shit, especially knowing I’m the one who put them there.

  “I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was upset you.”

  Emma squeezes her eyes shut causing a lone tear to escape. I feel like an ass. Reaching up, the pad of my thumb softly glides across her cheek, and she instinctively leans into my touch.

  She intakes a sharp breath when my hand cups her face. She’s just as affected by me as I am her. Her eyelids slowly open as I inch my face forwa
rd. The pull between us is too strong to deny.

  My mouth covers hers, and I’m relieved when she doesn’t jerk away.

  “Em,” I whisper against her lips as my other arm snakes around her waist, drawing her closer. Her body melts into mine, and I take that as a sign, deepening the kiss.

  This kiss isn’t as feverish as the last one we shared, it’s softer but equally as addictive. She makes me feel something I haven’t felt in over six years.

  Alive!

  Chapter Eight

  EMMA

  Stepping out of the shower, I reach for a towel, wrapping it around my body. It’s Friday afternoon, and tonight, Carla and I have planned a pizza and movie night. I’m looking forward to having a few wines and chilling with my bestie.

  It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen or heard from Ashton. I know it’s for the best, things between us would never have worked. We’re too different. There’s a small part of me that’s missed him, though.

  I was naïve enough to believe we could be friends. Ashton even managed to knock down some of the walls I’d erected—that is until he insulted me and made me feel like I was beneath him.

  He made me feel inferior.

  Worthless.

  Jerk!

  Rich people don’t get it. There’s more to life than money and fancy things.

  I shouldn’t have allowed him to kiss me either, but the truth is I wanted it. He makes me weak, and that’s dangerous. I eventually found the strength to pull away, asking him to leave. Ashton didn’t fight me, but I saw the disappointment on his face before he turned, collected his things, and walked out the door. The second it closed behind him, I cradled my head in my hands and cried.

  Whatever this thing is between us, it can’t go any further. He makes me want things I can never have.

  After drying off, I wrap the towel around my damp hair, twisting it into a knot on the top of my head. I’m naked as I exit the bathroom and pad across the hallway toward my room—one of the perks of living alone.

  I slide my underwear up my legs before slipping into a pink and white cotton Hello Kitty onesie that Carla bought me for Christmas. The word MEOW is printed in large bold letters across my ass. It’s super comfy and cute.

  Carla’s bringing the wine, and we’ll order the pizza in. I’ve cut back on my calories today, so I can indulge tonight.

  We always watch the same movies, Grease, Dirty Dancing, or Footloose. We alternate between the three, virtually knowing them word for word since we’ve seen them so many times. They’re cheesy, but we love them.

  Our girly nights make up for things we both missed out on growing up. I was the quiet and shy type, a bit of a loner, and was never invited to parties or sleepovers. Carla, on the other hand, had a completely different childhood. Her father went to prison when she was three, and her mother battled alcohol and substance abuse. She was forced to grow up way beyond her years and far too quickly. Carla doesn’t talk about her past much, but what little I do know breaks my heart. I’m immensely proud of the kick-ass woman she’s become despite all the obstacles she’s faced, and I’m thankful she never let the circumstances of her life drag her down.

  She’s an inspiration.

  I glance at the clock on my bedside table when I hear a knock at the door. It’s just after six, but I’m not expecting Carla until seven.

  Rushing out of my room, I head to the front door. I use the safety latch that Ashton installed just in case it isn’t her. It’s surprising how much safer I feel with it.

  “Ugh, Grayson.”

  “Don’t act so happy to see me, Red.” He chuckles, seemingly amused with my less-than-stellar greeting.

  “Are you looking for Carla?” I peer at him through the small crack in the door.

  “Yeah, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and say hello.” He diverts his eyes as he speaks, burying his fingers in his thick light brown hair.

  “She’s still at work but should be home soon. I can tell her you stopped by if you want.” I’m certainly not inviting him in to wait for her.

  “Sure. I’d appreciate it.”

  “Okay. Well, bye.”

  “Hold on, Red,” he says before I close the door. “Have you got a minute to chat?”

  “About?” I ask. If he wants to talk about Ashton, I’m not interested.

  “Stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?” I ask, skeptically.

  “Are you going to open the door, or are we going to converse through the crack?”

  I blow out a puff of air. “I guess.”

  Closing the door, I slide the metal latch out of the runner. Grayson seems like a nice guy, and I know Carla’s pretty taken with him, but I’m still angry he brought Ashton to the shelter and gave him my address without asking me first.

  Grayson’s eyes meet mine when I open the door fully. He takes me in for a moment before his gaze makes its way down my body. When I see a smile tug at his lips, I feel my face flush. Only Carla was supposed to see me dressed like this.

  “What do you want, Grayson?” I ask, folding my hands over my chest.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” I step back, allowing him to enter.

  He stops just inside the door, and after closing it behind him, I turn and walk toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  I hear him chuckle, and when I glance at him over my shoulder, I find his eyes fixed on my ass.

  MEOW.

  Shit.

  “Cute, Red.”

  Ignoring him, I repeat my question. “Drink?”

  “No, I’m good. But thanks for offering.”

  “So, what do you want to talk to me about?”

  “I was wondering if you knew what was going on with Ashton?”

  “No idea.” I’m curious to know what he means by ‘going on’ but don’t ask. The least I know about that man, the better.

  “He hasn’t been himself lately, and I thought you may be able to shine some light as to why.”

  I pour myself a glass of water, taking a small sip. “I haven’t seen him since he came here a few weeks ago. You know… when you gave him my address without my permission.”

  Grayson shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, gazing down at my carpet. “I’m worried about him, Em,” he says, disregarding what I just said. “Did something happen between you two?”

  “Like I said, I haven’t seen or heard from him. So, whatever’s going on with him, it has nothing to do with me. You’re his best friend, ask him.”

  “Did you two have a fight or something?”

  “Or something,” I say, placing my glass on the sink with a sigh.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “As I said, ask him.”

  “I did, and he almost bit my head off.”

  “That sounds like normal behavior for him. I can’t see why you’re so concerned.”

  He chuckles. “Listen, Em, I’m having a small get-together at my place tomorrow night, will you come? Carla’s going.”

  “Is he going to be there?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’ve invited him, but he hasn’t committed yet. Apart from work, he hasn’t been getting out much.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Grayson.”

  “Will you at least think about it?”

  “I guess, but I doubt I’ll change my mind.”

  “I’ve invited Chance and Aubrey, too. So you’ll have plenty of friends there.” He gives me an optimistic smile before turning and heading toward the door. “I’ll see you around, Red.”

  I shove a handful of freshly made popcorn—minus the salt and butter—in my mouth when Carla walks through the door. It’s not the best comfort food, but a healthier option for me.

  “How do I look?” she asks, giving me a little twirl.

  “Hot, seriously hot. But, I’m pretty sure you’d look amazing in a paper bag, Car.”

  “Look who’s talking. You somehow even managed to make
those granny-pants look sexy,” she says, pointing at my crotch.

  “They’re not granny-pants,” I say, laughing as I uncross my legs. I place my feet on the floor before pulling the hem of my T-shirt lower, covering my pink cotton underwear that’s splattered with tiny red hearts. They’re cute, not granny-ish.

  “Well, they’re certainly not sexy, but you still rock them.”

  Unlike her, I don’t own sexy underwear. I did once, a pair of white satin panties that had a trimming of delicate pink lace. I wore them to my prom. It was the first and last time. I bought them just in case things with Kyle Sanders—the hottest guy in school and also my prom date—ended up going to the next level.

  I’d heard stories of how girls lost their virginity after prom, and although the prospect of that scared the ever-loving-shit out of me, I wanted to be prepared. It was no secret that Kyle wasn’t a virgin. Every girl in school lusted over him, including me. Little did I know, Kyle-if-I-could-kick-you-in-the-nuts-right-now-I-would-Sanders, wouldn’t be the only person to see my satin and lace.

  Once he took my virtue and my underwear, he proudly displayed them like a trophy to everyone in attendance that night. To add to my humiliation, the following Monday when I arrived at school, they were hanging atop the flag pole, flapping in the wind like a sail on a goddamn boat.

  I bow my head as the shame takes over. Even after all these years, it’s still there as strong as ever. A girl’s prom night should be one of the highlights of her life, something to look back on and savor in the years that follow. But for me, it was a night I’d give anything to forget. I’d even consider selling my soul to the devil to erase those memories. That night turned out to be the beginning of my downfall.

  I watch Carla as she checks out her reflection in the kitchen window.

  “You look beautiful,” I say because she does.

  She’s wearing a pair of tiny black, high-waisted shorts, a white button-down top that she’s tied at the front, showing off a hint of her toned stomach. The sleeves are rolled up around her elbows, exposing some of her ink. Red patent leather heels adorn her feet, which match her lipstick, and the red and white bandanna that’s wrapped around her head and tied in a bow on top, frame her signature curls. She looks amazing. She pulls off the look effortlessly.