The Bad Boys

by Sosie Frost

  “West?”

  “California.”

  My stomach dropped, condensing two pounds of buttercream frosting and cake into a ticking time bomb. I really wished the baby didn’t hold the detonator.

  “That’s…very west.”

  He flipped open a menu, tapping on a couple of his premium brews. “I locally source a lot of my ingredients, and I could make more of a variety in California. I figure it’ll get me away from my family, let me hang out on the coast, get some sun. Have fun.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I found a spot in Santa Barbara to check out next month. If I like it, I might put in an offer.”

  “And you’d want to live out there?”

  “Don’t get worried.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  I lied. I was terrified.

  “I’ll be back for the wedding. Wouldn’t miss that—Lindsey would kill me.” He winked. “But I can’t skip out on this chance. I’ve wanted to get away and build something of my own since Arrogance took off.”

  Oh God. He had plans. A whole life of pseudo-vagrancy and craftsmanship ahead of him.

  He had no idea I was pregnant, never even considered it a possibility, and I had to tell him he couldn’t pursue his life’s dream?

  Hell no. I wasn’t telling him about the baby now. I couldn’t.

  Not yet. Not until I knew how I’d manage it.

  That took time and planning, and I would have to survive until the wedding when I could finally get a clear enough head and schedule to focus on what to do.

  And I still didn’t know how he’d take the news. Would he be angry? Would he get upset?

  If I hadn’t figured out how to deal with it yet, how could I help him through it?

  “I’m serious about the date,” he said.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “About taking you out. You want to be wined and dined before I take you to bed. I think I can handle that.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Mandy, I don’t chase girls.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Yeah,” Nate said, his voice low. “Me too. I don’t do this. I don’t make an idiot out of myself begging a pretty girl for her company. But there’s something about you I can’t get out of my head.”

  “Nate—”

  “I always thought wanting someone was painful—an ache or a throbbing need. This isn’t agony. This is pleasure. I want to see you, talk with you. I hope to God I might be able to kiss you once before you push me away.”

  “We can’t.”

  “I won’t ask for another night with you, not when I know I’d be back in this torture the instant you left my bed.”

  He reached for me, and I let his hand graze my cheek.

  It’d be so easy to say yes. He’d ease the ache inside me; take away the worry for a few minutes. We fit together so perfectly before. Maybe it would be worth it? I could test it. See if we had any hope of duct taping the fragments of this fairy tale into some sort of happily-ever-after.

  But that was foolish. And dangerous. I couldn’t let myself get crushed by my crush, not when he already wielded so much power over me.

  How the hell could I explain what I wanted, needed, had to deal with, confused me, ripped through me, kept me up at night, burned inside of me…

  I had to get out of here.

  “You’re smooth,” I said. “Very convincing.”

  “It’s the truth. Not many girls get that from me.” His voice lowered. “Why don’t you start telling me the truth too?”

  My heart thudded a little too hard. I would tell him the truth. Eventually. Once I figured it out for myself. But the words stuck in my throat, and nothing I did could force them out.

  I shook my head. “I have to go. We’re supposed to go shoe shopping, and Lindsey wants me to wear her heels to stretch them out before the wedding—”

  “At some point, you might have to tell your family no.”

  I had a whole lot more to tell them, and right now yes was the easiest and caused the least trouble. I shrugged.

  “Thanks for letting us use your pub.”

  “You can repay me. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.”

  He was relentless. I smiled. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “The invitation’s on the table.”

  “And here I thought it was in the bed.”

  “There’s a variety of invitations, and you’re welcomed to take any or all of them.”

  “Good to know.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Wear something sexy.”

  “Garters and high heels.” I laughed. “With little tassels for my nipples.”

  “It would make a statement.” He winked. “But your tits are perfect without decorations.”

  “Thanks, I think.” I turned to the door but couldn’t help myself. “And thanks for what you said earlier.”

  “About what?”

  I swallowed. “That we’re…friends. I could use a friend right now.”

  “You could use more than that.”

  Probably, but for now, I needed to know I had someone in my corner, even if he didn’t know why we hid there.

  My life was about to change, dramatically, overwhelmingly, and so was his. I’d protect both of us for a little while longer. Once the wedding was done and I neared my second trimester, I’d reveal the truth.

  Until then? I had to guard myself from his advances.

  I was already in over my head. I didn’t want to be over my heels too.

  4

  Nate

  Why was I doing this?

  I parked outside Mandy’s house and waited for my semi-hard mistake to pump some blood back into my brain.

  Christ, I was like a teenager again. Whenever I thought of Mandy, every synapse in my head fired directly for my crotch.

  And for what? Mandy didn’t understand that she was the only woman who ever made me want more. My cock had a mind of its own, and somehow it convinced the rest of me that it was a good idea to pursue her.

  Mandy flipped between hot and cold, but even at her craziest, she never turned frigid. She refused to admit it, but every word she had spoken to me was layered with desire. She might have thought our night together was wrong or just this once, but I knew the instant I took her, everything had changed.

  That revelation should have scared the piss out of me, but it only got me harder. Convenience and persistence brought us together that first time, but I’d take her again.

  It didn’t make sense to walk away from something so…amazing.

  Shadows walked the path to Mandy’s house. I recognized his limp.

  I hoped Dad didn’t visit the Prescotts because he saw me parked in the driveway. He stopped before the steps to their front porch and waited for me.

  I swore. He didn’t flinch when I slammed my car door shut.

  “Nathan.”

  My father clutched his favorite bible. The dark leather wore down under his fingers, leaving lighter, tan streaks against the book. That didn’t make him a martyr, and the black clothes didn’t make him any holier.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” Dad said.

  “You either, Pastor.”

  “The Prescotts invited me to their home to help…mediate.”

  Mediate?

  I glanced over my shoulder. The SUV. Right. I was so used to seeing Conrad’s vehicle in the driveway that I forgot it no longer belonged.

  “A shame about their separation,” my father said. “But perhaps with my intervention, they might see their daughter’s joy with her upcoming marriage and remember their own happiness.”

  “Or maybe you shouldn’t get involved?”

  His hair had greyed, but he didn’t act like it. He shoved his barrel chest into everyone’s business. “I go where I’m needed. These people are in pain.”

  He was so full of shit I didn’t want to stand downwind of him. The Prescotts didn’t need a minister; th
ey should have called an exorcist. They fought viciously and loudly, and when I was growing up I usually heard them from my house down the street. No one could repair what they’d fucked up, least of all my father.

  Or my mother.

  She hurried across the sidewalk, dressed in a new suit and skirt. Pressed to perfection, as always. Her hair piled high on her head, and she clutched some brand name purse I didn’t recognize. Doubted Dad did either, but as long as the price tag matched the image he wanted to project, it wouldn’t matter. Our family wouldn’t squeeze through the eye of a needle, but at least we’d look respectable.

  She nearly stumbled in her heels as she hurried to my father.

  “Your ankle still bad?” I asked.

  Mom’s eyes widened as she saw me, but she smiled and kissed my cheek.

  “You shouldn’t be in heels,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s healing. Just a little tight sometimes.” Mom didn’t look at Dad. “I was in too much of a hurry leaving the house.”

  “I told you to be ready for eight,” Dad said.

  Mom apologized, her natural state. “I couldn’t find my necklace, and I wanted to make sure I looked perfect.”

  “No one is perfect,” Dad said. “Only the good Lord.”

  And him. He wouldn’t say it, but Dad thought he was as good as Jesus H. Christ, and damn anyone who said otherwise, including Mom.

  It wouldn’t have killed him to give her a nice compliment once in a while.

  “What are you doing here, son?” Dad’s stare was about as welcoming as a punch to my cheek. “I doubt you’re offering the Prescotts counsel.”

  “I’m not convinced you are either.”

  “Nathan.” Mom’s warning came with a smile. “You know your father cares very deeply for his parishioners.”

  He cared more about being the man others confided in during times of crisis.

  Dad raised his chin. “There’s still time, son. The good Lord calls…but he doesn’t hang up.”

  “You couldn’t get me within ten miles of a seminary school.”

  “No matter how much you needed it.”

  They wouldn’t have taken me anyway. Minsters weren’t supposed to sleep around as much as I did, and it wasn’t acceptable for them to drink as much as I liked. And I refused to end up like a carbon copy of my family. My parents worked to create the ideal marriage, meaning I was supposed to go to seminary, find a parish, marry some virgin, then start knocking her up like a brood mare to create a family of suburbanite perfection.

  No thanks.

  Dad didn’t hide his disappointment. “I know why he’s here. Nathan is after the Prescott girl.”

  Jesus, she had a name. He didn’t always have to sound so damned sanctimonious, especially when we were neighbors with the Prescott girl.

  “I’m a groomsman in the wedding,” I said. “I got things to go over with the Maid of Honor.”

  “You leave that girl alone.”

  “I’m not doing anything to that girl.” At least, not yet.

  “Amanda Prescott deserves a nice man.”

  “Who says I’m not nice?” I shrugged. “And who says I’m even after Mandy?”

  “Oh good.” Mom patted a flat hand over her heart. “I was worried.”

  I frowned. “About…?”

  “Well, the Prescotts are…and you’re…”

  Were they serious? Somehow time warped me into a conversation better suited for 1962.

  “That’s great,” I said. “Who would Jesus date, right?”

  My mom protested, but I ignored her, taking the steps to the house two at a time. I hated that it looked like we planned to come together. I’d been out of the family and away from my dad’s expectations since I was eighteen. Five minutes in his presence and I was outraged again.

  I knocked. Mom licked her thumb and tried to rub an invisible smudge of dirt off my cheek.

  Fantastic.

  Mandy opened the door, her mouth dropping open as she looked from me to my parents. I gave a little shrug. It confused me too. She didn’t care.

  “Pastor Kensington, Kathy, thank you so much for coming.” Mandy nearly leapt into my father’s arms. He offered a hand to shake, but she used it to haul him inside. “I hoped we wouldn’t need you to intervene, but…”

  “I understand,” Dad said. “Some families require a little spiritual intervention to focus on what’s important. I’m here to give advice and guidance during this time.”

  Mandy nodded. “Yeah, you aren’t wearing a flak jacket by any chance, are you?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Can I get you some coffee?”

  My parents always did love Mandy, though apparently, not as much as I thought. They smiled as she led them inside, practically ripping their arms out of their coats to play hostess.

  I followed her to the kitchen. I wasn’t about to witness my father witnessing to the Prescotts. Not sure why he insisted we pretend to be so perfect when every other family greeted him with puckered asses and false sincerity. My dad’s ideal world was some Leave it to Beaver bullshit…until the oldest child disrespected the father’s wishes, got the hell out of the house, and became a stain on their good name.

  The American way.

  Mandy leaned over the sink. She sipped the running water with her hand only to spit it out. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she took a breath deep enough to twist her inside out.

  “It can’t be going that bad,” I said.

  She yelped and spun to face me. I avoided the towel she pitched at my head.

  “You should warn someone before you sneak up on them.”

  “You’re right.” I grinned. “Bend over the sink again. I’ll make my presence known.”

  “Very funny. What are you doing here?”

  So she was playing it cold tonight. Good to know. But I wasn’t going to beg to get another chance with her. Luckily, Mandy wasn’t cruel enough to get off on that.

  “You wanted to go out tonight,” I said.

  “Oh my God, you were serious?”

  “You weren’t?”

  “I never thought you’d actually show up.”

  Ah, a vote of confidence. Great. “Well, here I am. You ready to go?”

  “Are you kidding?” Mandy pointed to the living room. “It’s Thunderdome in there. I can’t leave.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my dad’s here, trying to figure out his half of the wedding costs while Mom is trying to flip him upside down and collect the change that falls out of his pockets.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “She’s telling him to mortgage his company to pay for the string quartet. Lindsey’s cried four times. Bryce looks ready to walk. The Washingtons are terrified, and I’m trying to sneak them out through the first floor bathroom window like this wedding’s underground railroad.” Mandy groaned. “And somehow this is my fault because I bought a turkey sandwich ring instead of the ham. If I could just get a simple dinner order right, hell, maybe Mom would be renewing her vows with Dad at this very moment.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked how her eye twitched. It was time to get her the hell out of here.

  “I’m taking you out,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  “Are you listening? I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Let your sister and parents sort out her wedding. You don’t need to be so involved.”

  “Yes, I do. I have to keep everyone happy.”

  “Says who?”

  Mandy didn’t have an answer. “It’s…someone should play peace-keeper.”

  “So send in the UN. You don’t have to be in the middle of this.”

  She distracted herself by smacking the coffeepot, teasing the last few drops out. “I’m always in the middle, Nate.”

  “By choice.”

  “And what would you know about it?” She moved too quick and coffee grounds flew everywhere. “Not all of us can leave home, open a brewery, and fall out of the family tree.”

&nbs
p; I offered her the towel and grinned when she grabbed it. I tugged it and her close. “You should take a lesson from me. I’m getting out of Thanksgiving this year. If I have it my way, I’ll only visit for Easter and Christmas.”

  “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

  Mandy pulled away and poured two mugs of coffee. She loaded the tray with creamer and sugar, but swore. She turned to brew a pot of tea as well. I shifted out of her way as she headed into the living room.

  Mandy was a gallon of crazy in a pint-sized container, but that was nothing compared to the psych ward convening in the living room.

  Lindsey cradled a box of tissues and forced Bryce to fan her forehead. She rested on the couch, feet up and head nestled against a bag of frozen peas. Sandra sniffled and held my mom’s hand, crying into a handkerchief. Conrad frantically apologized to his wife, his daughter, and baby Jesus.

  The radio blared gospel music, the TV blasted pre-recorded wedding-themed reality shows, and Bryce’s iPad had been commandeered to slideshow different floral arrangements, decorations, and color schemes.

  If we caged a lion and featured a trio of trapeze artists with spandex creeping up their asses, the Prescotts could have charged admission for this circus and paid for the honeymoon.

  In the corner, Bryce’s parents huddled on a loveseat. Darla clutched her coat, prepared to bolt. Pretty sure Marcus was listening to a college football game through the earbud he tried to conceal.

  Mandy set the tray on the table and offered my parents their coffee. She knelt at her mom’s side, handing her the tea.

  “Made your favorite,” she said. “Can I get you another tissue?”

  Sandra glanced at her mug and the cups of coffee in my parents’ hands. She made a face. “You’re supposed to serve what the guests are drinking.”

  “But—”

  “Mandy, I have no idea where you learned your manners.” Sandra glared at Conrad. “But I have a good idea.”

  “Okay, enough,” Conrad said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying I don’t want centerpieces—”

  “Yes, you are, Daddy!” Lindsey kicked. The iPad flew from Bryce’s lap. He dove to catch it, nearly crashing head first into the television. “You didn’t like any of the vases I picked out!”