Heartbreaker (Rascals Book 3)

by Katie McCoy

  A headache started in my temple, and I closed my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I listened to my mom tell me how it wasn’t her fault and Hank was being so unfair and wouldn’t even answer her calls.

  “He just left all of my things out on the front porch. All night. Someone could have stolen them,” she was saying in between sobs.

  “How long were they out on the porch for?”

  She paused, and I could sense that we were going to get into the truth behind why Hank had kicked her out.

  “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I might have forgotten to come home for a few nights.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Mom,” I said slowly. “Why did you forget to go home?”

  I knew the answer. The answer was always the same.

  “I lost track of time,” she said, now sounding defensive. “You know how it is at casinos—it’s hard to tell what the time is, and then you get on a winning streak and things are going really well, and they give you a room to stay at and you stay for a night, or two, and then some bitch comes and steals your machine, so of course you have to report her, and the casino took her side and I tried another machine, but all my good luck was gone at that point and I lost everything.”

  “How much is everything?” I didn’t really want to know.

  “It was only a few thousand dollars,” she told me. “I told Hank I’d pay him back, but he wouldn’t even let me in to explain about the woman who stole my machine.”

  “Did you tell him you were going to the casino?” I wanted to know.

  She paused, and I knew the answer. But it was pretty likely that what had happened to Hank had happened to me dozens of times over my childhood—where my mother would say she was running out for groceries or some other errands, or even head to work, and then she wouldn’t come home for several days. Back then, she’d either return with money or with a new boyfriend. Neither would last very long.

  “Did you tell your work that you were at the casino?” I asked, my headache getting worse by the moment.

  My mother was silent. “I just need a little bit of money to get by,” she said, her voice quiet and girlish.

  Because she was the child, and I was the parent. It’s the way it had always been, even when I was a literal child. A child that needed his parent around so that he could have money to buy groceries or pay bills. I’d spent plenty of winters in a home without heat to know that I was never, ever going to put myself in a situation like that again.

  My mother had yet to learn that lesson. And I kept bailing her out. Because what else was I going to do? It wasn’t like I couldn’t afford it. And if I was honest with myself, I knew that part of the reason I worked so hard to make the money I made was so I could take care of my mother when she needed it. I practically had a separate emergency account just for her. Not that I would ever just give her cash. I’d done that a few times and she had taken it directly to the casino. Her plan was to double it and pay me back.

  “What’s the money for?” I asked her.

  “An apartment,” she told me, sounding indignant.

  I ignored her tone. “Send me the information, and I’ll send your landlord the money.”

  “You could just send it to me,” she said quietly.

  “Mom,” I told her, my voice firm. “You know I’m not going to do that.”

  “I know, sweetie,” she said sadly. “But if you did, I might be able to pay you back sooner.”

  “You don’t have to pay me back,” I told her. “Remember? This is a gift.”

  “You’re so good to me.” Her voice was teary again.

  “Don’t cry, Mom,” I said, knowing I sounded a bit like a jerk. “Everything will be fine. Just send me your landlord’s information and we’ll get you set up in a new place.”

  She promised to send me the information, and then we hung up. I stood there in the marina parking lot, feeling frustrated and annoyed, the way I always did after a phone call with my mother. I was always torn between wanting to help her and knowing that giving her money was not the way to help her in the long run.

  I had suggested Gamblers Anonymous on more than one occasion, but she was insistent that she didn’t have a problem. “I just like to have a good time once in a while,” she’d say. “Since when is that a crime?”

  I looked across the parking lot and saw Juliet sitting in my car, waiting patiently, looking at something on her phone. Just the sight of her drained some of my tension away. Something about her made me feel better. Maybe it was the hot chemistry between us, or maybe it was just that I liked her. As a person. I liked spending time with her.

  She looked up as I got into the car, her smile fading as she saw my expression, which was probably still pretty stormy. I hadn’t been able to fake a grin when I climbed into the car.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, concern written all over her face.

  “It’s nothing,” I told her, because the last thing I wanted to do was talk about my mother.

  In fact, what I wanted to do was get back to my apartment with Juliet so we could just get lost in each other for the rest of the evening. I started the car and we got on the road.

  Juliet didn’t say anything as I drove, but I could sense her looking at me. I didn’t blame her for her curiosity, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk. Our day out on Lake Michigan had started out great, but a single call from my mother always had the tendency to bring my mood way down. I was grumpy and annoyed and hated being both, especially when I had a beautiful woman sitting next to me.

  I was about to get on 90 East when Juliet put her hand on my knee.

  “I’ve got an idea,” she said, giving me a smile.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Let’s go to Hobart.” She pointed to a sign that said we were near a town with that name.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You’ll see.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll direct you.”

  “Why don’t I trust you?” I asked, but I followed her instructions.

  “That’s something you’re going to have to work out on your own,” Juliet said with a cheeky wink. “Because I’m very trustworthy.”

  I wasn’t sure if I believed that when thirty minutes later, we pulled up in front of a giant building that was half a Victorian-style house and half a giant concrete block, which had ALBANESE CANDY FACTORY on a big, colorful, oval sign on its front.

  “What is this?” I pulled off my sunglasses.

  “We’re going on a candy factory tour.” Juliet pointed at her phone. “I checked the website and you can do a self-guided tour on the weekends. Free gummies and chocolate at the end.”

  I was dubious about this additional activity, and it apparently showed on my face.

  “You’re clearly stressed about something,” Juliet pointed out. “And it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but you need to blow off steam.”

  It was a little unnerving how well she read me. But I still resisted a little more.

  “I don’t even like candy,” I told Juliet as she practically pulled me out of the car. “It’s too sweet.”

  “Sure, you do,” she reassured me with a grin. “You like me, and I’m sweet as candy.”

  Well, I couldn’t really argue with that. So I didn’t. Instead, I decided to leave my issues with my mother in the car and follow Juliet’s lead. After all, she might have done some pretty impulsive things since I’d know her, but they all seemed to work out in my favor.

  The factory smelled like sugar when we walked in. Everyone was friendly and smiling, and it was hard to hold on to my grumpiness when we were getting offered free gummy bears and chocolate treats. I hadn’t been lying when I told Juliet I wasn’t a fan of candy, but I was definitely a fan of watching her enjoy herself. She was so happy, observing the factory with wide eyes and asking the people in the shop tons of questions. She was so excited that it was hard not to smile.

  “Isn’t this cool?” she asked, looking around. “My paren
ts took me to the Hershey Factory once, and I just remember feeling so lucky that I was in the same room where my favorite chocolate was getting made.” She glanced over at me. “You really don’t like candy?”

  I shrugged. “Wasn’t really part of my childhood,” I told her.

  “Not even on Halloween?” she wanted to know. “Didn’t you go trick-or-treating?”

  I shook my head. “My mom wasn’t really that kind of mom.”

  Juliet didn’t say anything, just nodded and looked at me expectantly. It was clear that if I wanted to talk, she was ready to listen.

  I took a deep breath. “It was my mom on the phone before,” I confessed.

  “I assumed,” she said. “Or someone else you care deeply about. No one can stress us out more than our loved ones.”

  It was an astute observation, and I was struck—not for the first time—by how clever and intuitive Juliet was. Not that I ever thought she wasn’t smart, but I knew I could be a damn snob about higher education. I appreciated her proving me wrong on those assumptions over and over again.

  “You seem to have a complicated relationship with your mom,” Juliet said as we walked through the candy factory.

  I laughed—the sound was flat and bitter. “Complicated is a generous way to put it,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Just thinking about my mom made my headache return. “She’s a complicated woman.”

  Juliet didn’t say anything, just reached out and took my hand.

  “She’s got a gambling addiction,” I said.

  It wasn’t something I told people. Out of my friends, only Sawyer knew the true reason I kept needing to bail out my mom. I told the other guys that she just made bad decisions and needed help once in a while. Sawyer was the only one who had met her and the only one who knew the full extent of her problems.

  “That must be very difficult to navigate,” Juliet said gently.

  “It’s not fucking easy, that’s for sure,” I responded, hating that I was so angry about it.

  It didn’t make sense. My mother’s problem wasn’t a surprise—it was part of our lives. I had grown up with it, and I had survived that. Now I didn’t even live in the same state as her, and she couldn’t do anything that would put me in a vulnerable place like when she would leave me home alone for days without food. So why couldn’t I just let it go now? I was an adult, and I was in control of my life. I was in control of everything.

  Wasn’t I?

  “I know a little bit about things you can’t control,” Juliet told me, practically reading my mind. “And I know how frustrating that can be. How angry it can make you.”

  Of course Juliet understood. I could still remember how she had reacted when we went to the ballet. How she had told me about her accident. How she missed dancing. And I had told her that it was OK to be angry. That anger could give you drive. Could give you focus.

  “I just want to help her,” I admitted to Juliet.

  “I’m sure you do,” she said, squeezing my hand. “But sometimes you can’t.”

  Wasn’t that the damn truth.

  Too many times, well-meaning friends or co-workers would tell me that there was a reason for everything. That everything would work out. Even though none of them knew all of the story, it still felt like I was being told I couldn’t be upset. Juliet didn’t make me feel that way at all. She made me feel like it was OK to feel frustrated and angry.

  Even though she insisted she didn’t want anything from the candy store, I made sure to buy Juliet a bag of everything she had sampled and liked. It was the least I could do for diffusing the frustration that always accompanied a call from my mother. Besides, there was something about Juliet that made me want to spoil her. Maybe it was because she never asked for anything, and always seemed to be surprised when I gave her anything. She gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek when I gave the bag to her, her gratitude brimming over.

  But all I cared about was the way her body felt pressed up against mine. Even though we’d had a pretty sexy moment out on the water today, it wasn’t nearly enough to satiate my unending need for her. And that need was back with a vengeance as we walked out of the factory. All I could think about was how much I wanted her.

  So much so that when Juliet offered to drive, I let her. Just so I could stare at her while we headed back to the city. Her profile was caught in the light of the setting sun, but I could still make out the freckles that had appeared on her nose and cheeks from a little too much time in the sun that day. Her hair was sexy and tousled from our time in the ocean, and I couldn’t stop staring at where her dress was tied at her hip, knowing that a tug would have her sitting in my car in a black bikini and nothing else.

  We drove through Hobart, heading back to the highway. I’d never been to the small town before, despite being less than an hour away from Chicago and extremely close to where we always went out on Sawyer’s boat. It was very beautiful—the sidewalks lined with enormous weeping willows.

  I tried to just relax, to enjoy the scenery—both inside and outside the car—but I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother. About the pattern we found ourselves in over and over and over again. She messed up, and I bailed her out. What would happen if I stopped? Would she actually get help, or would she crash and burn? Could I let that happen, especially if it meant that she might try to make a change if she didn’t have me as a safety net anymore?

  It was starting to get dark when Juliet, without warning, pulled over to the side of the road. I didn’t know what she was doing as she maneuvered the car behind a wall of weeping willows, hiding us from the view of the road.

  “What’s going on?” I asked her, as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

  “Clearly the candy factory wasn’t enough to distract you.” She reached over and unbuckled my belt, her hand brushing my leg.

  Immediately my cock sprang to attention.

  “So I figured I’d have to find a different way to distract you,” Juliet told me, a naughty little smile on her face.

  Then she reached down and untied my swim trunks.

  “Juliet,” I warned, but she didn’t heed that warning at all.

  Instead she reached into my swim trunks, her soft, warm hand wrapping around my already hard cock. My head fell back against the car seat as she stroked me, pleasure spreading through my body.

  “Feeling a little better?” Juliet murmured, her thumb sliding over the top of my sensitive cock.

  “Mmhmm,” I managed, her hand squeezing me.

  “I don’t know,” she said, and I heard her shifting in her seat. “You still look pretty tense to me.”

  Then, before I knew what was happening, I felt her soft hair brush against my bare legs before she took me into her mouth. My hips nearly rose off the car seat as she wrapped her gorgeous lips around my cock and took me deep.

  “Fuck,” I groaned, my hands clutching the leather seat beneath me.

  Juliet let out a little hum of approval, and I nearly came right there. It was so hot. The car was dark, the remainder of the setting sun hidden by the trees, but it was light enough that when I opened my eyes, I could see Juliet’s dark hair spread across my thighs. She looked up at me as she dragged her tongue along my cock, and I was pretty sure I’d never seen anything sexier in my life.

  I was close, but I didn’t want to come. Not like this.

  “I want you,” I told her.

  She lifted her head, her mouth wet.

  “Get in the back seat,” I ordered, and she smiled.

  Somehow, we both scrambled into the back seat, clothes flying. My car was big, but it was still cramped, the two of us stretched out in the back seat. I made quick work of Juliet’s silky little wrap dress, tossing it into the front seat before untying her swimsuit top and helping her wriggle out of her bikini bottoms. When I touched her, I found that she was wet.

  “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” I told her, grabbing a condom out of my glove compartment. I’d grabbed some at the drugstore today, and n
ow I was thankful I’d planned ahead.

  “Me too,” she murmured, ripping open the foil packet and sliding the latex over my cock.

  I had never done anything so spontaneous or reckless in my entire life. We could get caught at any moment, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Juliet. Her touch, her taste, her. I wanted to lose myself in her. Wanted to numb my senses to everything by her. As if she could blot out the world, and all the shitty stuff in it.

  I kissed her. Hard.

  Juliet responded, her arms coming up to wrap around my neck, pulling me down on top of her, her legs open, making room for me. My cock found her opening. She was hot and wet, and I sank in deep.

  Both of us let out a groan as I slid inside her. It was what I had been waiting for all day—what I had wanted since picking her up outside her apartment this morning. She was irresistible. Intoxicating.

  I lost myself in the rhythm of my thrusts, in the sound of her moans as her hands tightened in my hair, as her hips bucked beneath mine.

  It was crowded and warm in the car, but I didn’t care. It might have not been the most comfortable place to have sex, but it was by far the sexiest option we had. And I didn’t care. All I cared about was Juliet. Giving her pleasure and then finding my own.

  I gripped her ass, pulling her hard against me. I wanted to focus on her and nothing else. On her breath, coming out in pants, and the way her eyes were squeezed shut, a gorgeous flush rising from her chest to her cheeks. Everything about her was beautiful and perfect, and when she came, her entire body tightening around me, her eyes flew open, and our gaze caught.

  Everything fell away. There was nothing in the universe but me and her. Then my own release found me, and I completely lost myself in her. It was perfect.

  16

  Juliet

  I woke up with a big, sexy man wrapped around me. Yesterday had been beyond amazing. A day out on Lake Michigan, followed by an impromptu tour of a candy factory and then an even more impromptu sexy rendezvous in a forest.

  I blushed, thinking about it. Because I had initiated all of it, and I had never been that kind of girl. Until I met Liam. Somehow, despite his own desire to maintain control and order, I had become even more spontaneous.