Protected by the Bad Boy
A Bad Boy Sweet Romance
Evangeline Kelly
Copyright © 2020 by Evangeline Kelly. All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book shall be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author. Protected by a Bad Boy is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. https://www.esv.org/resources/esv-global-study-bible/copyright-page/
Table of Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
Kayla
My heart crashed against my ribs as I stepped on the gas and my vehicle sped up. Every muscle in my body tensed. I might not make it. Oh, Lord, please, let me get there on time. Please. My breathing came quick and shallow, and I had to concentrate on inhaling and exhaling. Panic wove its way from my stomach to my chest. If I didn’t make it in time… Ugh. That would not be good.
Finally, the coffeehouse was in the distance, and I prepared myself to park and run inside. I hung a left into the driveway of the outdoor mini-mall and maneuvered my vehicle in one of the spaces next to the Busy Bean Coffeehouse. Throwing off my seatbelt, I nearly lost it right then, but I pulled myself together and managed to get out of the car.
Seconds later, I was racing through the front doors of the coffee establishment, my two braids flying behind me, with one thought in mind. The restroom.
I knew exactly where it was, thankfully, and wasted no time getting there. Except... When I placed my hand over the doorknob and turned, it didn’t budge. The only women’s bathroom in the place was locked because someone was already in there.
I could hear two people moving around, and a child was prattling on about something, her voice high pitched and sweet. I loved kids, but they were notoriously slow in the restroom, and that wasn’t a good thing at the moment. The child started singing, and it was so cute I had to smile, but I was dying here. Seriously dying. Squeezing my eyes shut, I leaned over and rested my hands on my knees, blowing out a breath. Hurry up, hurry up!
My bladder felt like it would explode any second if I didn’t get in there soon. I straightened and opened my eyes, feeling someone’s gaze on me. I glanced to the left, noticing a giant of a man wearing a white tank top that hung loosely on his muscled torso. He wasn’t a giant exactly, but he was head and shoulders above everyone else. He had to be at least six-foot-five.
Four others stood with him in line and two of them were looking at me as well, but his gaze was the one that caught my attention the most. A couple of moments were all I needed to take in the rest of him. Dark brown hair. Strong jaw. Five o’clock shadow. He was watching me with an intense expression, like I was the most ridiculous creature in the world, and I sure felt like it at this moment.
He was very good-looking. Very good-looking, indeed. Yep, I registered that even in the midst of my crisis, but it didn’t matter. I had no time for men, at least not in regard to romantic relationships.
Inside the restroom, the water turned on at the sink and there was movement as if someone was finishing up. The child asked a question, and a woman patiently answered but didn’t seem in any particular hurry.
This was so bad. I shuffled my feet from side-to-side, nearly hopping, and blew out another breath. Never again would I wait this long to use the bathroom. Here I was, a grown woman, making a spectacle of myself in a coffeehouse. Good thing I would probably never see these people again.
Involuntarily, my eyes moved back to the man, almost as if a magnet drew me to him. This time, he was staring at me in disgust, but not like I repulsed him, exactly. It was similar to the type of expression one mom gave another when a child threw a tantrum in the middle of Target—that knowing look with a hint of judgment. Why he was watching me like that… I had no idea. It was as if my needing to use the restroom was ruining his day in some way.
Just when I thought I was about to have an accident right there in Busy Bean, the door flew open and the woman walked out with a young child around three years old. She scolded the child for something, but the little girl was not listening. The child had her hand in the air as if trying to catch an imaginary butterfly, and it was almost comical, but laughing was the worst thing I could do at the moment. All my energy had to be directed at holding my bladder tight. The woman glanced at me apologetically and smiled. “Sorry. She got ahold of the toilet paper before I had a chance to stop her.”
“It’s okay. No worries.”
Once they’d cleared the doorway, I sailed inside and shut the door, locking it securely. There was toilet paper strewn all over the floor just as she’d said, but I didn’t care. Relief flooded through me as I practically ripped my zipper down and sat on the toilet seat. I breathed out slowly, and when I was done relieving myself, I shook my head. Wow. That was close. Way too close.
My friend, Verity, moved to Sacramento two weeks ago, but we’d stayed in touch over the phone. She would get a good laugh when I shared the details of my “little crisis,” especially when I told her about the dark-haired hunk watching me. She would probably scold me for not striking up a conversation with him. Which I planned not to do when I got out of the bathroom.
It had been four years since my husband, Daniel, passed away, and I was not ready to move on with someone new. The ache lingered like a tight knot in my stomach, and the way he died… The way it happened… I wasn’t over that either and never would be. It haunted me to this day and no amount of therapy would fix it.
At twenty-eight, I was still young and had time to find another life partner, but the thought only made me sad. If I were honest with myself, I would have to admit that the idea of falling in love again terrified me. The pain that came from losing a spouse was devastating, and I didn’t ever want to go through that again. I understood that it was inevitable that everyone died at some point, but I wasn’t ready to take a chance with someone else. At least, not now. I’d found my soulmate and lost him, and I would never find a love like that again.
I sighed and stood at the sink, washing my hands. Nope. I would definitely not talk to the hunky man waiting in line.
Chapter 2
Troy
The woman causing the ruckus earlier walked out of the restroom, and I had to turn away so she wouldn’t see me rolling my eyes. Okay, ruckus might be too strong of a word. Commotion might be a better fit.
She was clearly too old to be acting like an attention-getting teenager who wanted a way to make all the boys
look at her. She’d danced around like someone lit her pants on fire, and everyone in the room stared at her, including me. It would have been amusing except it just…wasn’t. I didn’t care for women who thrived on that kind of behavior, but that was a personal preference of mine.
Maybe I was being too harsh. My bad mood was probably coloring my judgment. I’d gotten a text from Dad ten minutes ago basically telling me not to screw up my job promotion. I got a raise and an opportunity to start a new division for Bad Boy Bodyguards, and what did I get back? Great job, Troy! Way to go! No, instead, he sent a text saying it was about time. Nice. Guess the black sheep of the family shouldn’t expect better than that.
Without meaning to, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Little Miss American Pie joining the end of the line as if nothing happened five minutes ago. She was the girl-next-door type, and if I had to bet, I’d say she was probably homecoming queen back in high school.
She could have been Rachel McAdams’ younger sister with her creamy skin and big blue eyes. Yep, she definitely had a wholesome vibe going on. Rosy lips and dimples that were actually kind of cute. Check. Light brown hair formed into braids, one on either side of her face. Check. Cut-off shorts, a red checkered blouse, and fire engine red cowboy boots. You couldn’t make this stuff up. All she needed was a cowboy hat to complete the outfit. Don’t get me wrong, she was pretty, but I had a rebellious streak and preferred edgier women. As a Christian, I still wanted someone who knew the Lord and had good values, but that didn’t mean she had to be Little Miss Perfect.
I was so absorbed with Miss American Pie back there that I was lost in thought when it was my turn to order.
The guy at the cash register, a teenage boy with spiky hair, repeated the question he’d asked seconds ago. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’ll take a black coffee.”
“Would you like cream or sugar?”
“No.” I stared him down, waiting for my response to register. I had assumed when one ordered their coffee black, it meant no cream or sugar, but that was just me. Boy, I was a grump today.
He took down my name and told me it would be ready in a few minutes. I made my way to the spot designated for customers to wait, and my gaze wandered over to the woman with the braids. She turned and caught me staring, and I quickly glanced away. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was checking her out. I was definitely not doing that.
Fine, I was checking her out a little, but only because I found her outfit slightly corny and over the top.
When it was her turn to step up to the counter, she ordered a non-fat latte with caramel drizzle and extra whipped cream. What was the purpose of asking for non-fat when the drink had loads of sugar? Who did that? Might as well make it full-fat at that point. I wasn’t normally that judgmental about what people drank, but for some reason, it just rubbed me the wrong way. One of the baristas called my name, and I got my coffee from her and sat down at a quiet table in the corner. Determining to have a better attitude, I decided it was best to ignore everyone in the room and concentrate on other things… Such as what I planned on saying to Dad in response to that text.
I took off the lid of my beverage so it would cool down and pulled out my cell. I typed in the password and lowered my phone to the table, glancing up to see where Miss Homecoming Queen was. Because I wasn’t paying attention, my phone crashed into my cup of coffee and hot liquid spilled across the table and dribbled to the floor. Gritting my teeth, I stood in one jerky movement, barely escaping the spilled coffee, and I glanced around for napkins to clean up the mess. There was a counter on the other side of the room that had supplies, so I strode over just as a certain someone was putting extra sugar into her non-fat latte. Whatever. I didn’t have time to contemplate her quirky behavior. I grabbed a handful of napkins and was about to head back to my table when I observed her mixing in artificial sweetener in addition to the three sugar packets she’d just dumped into the drink.
“Is that sweet enough for you?” The words spewed out of my mouth without a second thought.
She glanced up at me, her eyes widening like a baby deer. “What?”
“Your drink. Is it sweet enough for you?” I sounded more irritable than I actually was, but then again, I wasn’t feeling my best today.
“Uh… It is now.” She frowned. “Why all the hostility?”
I blinked. “I’m not hostile. I just don’t understand why someone would order a non-fat drink and then dump all that sugar in it.” I let out a laugh. “And then on top of that, add artificial sweetener. That’s gross.”
“It’s my drink. That means I’ll make it the way I want. Is that a hard concept for you to grasp?”
I ignored the question and decided to move on to something far more interesting. “What’s with the farm-girl ensemble? Do you get a lot of attention dressed like that?”
Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at me in disbelief. “Did you just call me a farm-girl?”
“Yeah, you have to admit—”
“Look, buddy, I saw you staring at me earlier, and the brooding bad boy thing is not doing it for me.” She scrutinized me up and down like I was a bug she wanted to squash between her fingers. “I’m married, so go away, please.”
She held up her left hand and a diamond band sparkled on her ring finger. For one quick second, a flash of disappointment spread through me, but I got over it pretty fast.
I glanced down, feeling ashamed for making a big deal out of nothing and then I noticed an interesting detail I hadn’t seen earlier. She had no clue she’d taken something out of the bathroom with her, and if I were more of a gentleman, I would discretely tell her in a way that wouldn’t call attention to the problem.
But since I didn’t want to make it that easy, and since she clearly enjoyed drama, I didn’t bother containing my smirk. “If you want to know why I was staring”—I pointed at her boots—“there you go.”
She glanced down and gasped. A piece of toilet paper had attached itself to the bottom of her right boot, most likely when she’d gone to the restroom earlier. She must have been walking around with it ever since.
She flushed bright red, with anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell. It was probably both. “Oh, wow. I had no idea.”
“Well, now you know.” I snickered and turned to leave, but not before glancing at her one last time. She was glaring at me like I was the biggest jerk alive, and I probably was at that moment.
Her eyes sparked with so much fire that I had the urge to pull her in and place a big fat kiss right on her mouth. Guess I wanted to know if that fire extended to other things as well. But I had a feeling that wouldn’t go over too nicely, and I’d already made her mad enough.
It wasn’t until I’d cleaned up my spilled coffee and was out the door that I felt a deep sense of regret.
No wonder I didn’t have a girlfriend.
I needed to learn to play nice.
Chapter 3
Kayla
I’d finally gotten an opportunity that would further my profession, and I was sicker than a dog. I had a slight temperature and mild body aches, but there was no way I would cancel. Not when my agent had pulled a few strings and gotten me the opportunity of a lifetime.
Well, it wasn’t the opportunity of a lifetime, but it would be good for my career, nonetheless. When Daniel died four years ago, the only thing that kept me going—besides God’s grace—was the desire to rise in the country music industry.
When I was a kid and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said I wanted to be a singer like Dolly Parton, without the big hair, and, yes, I really did add that part. Of course, that wasn’t possible for me since my hair was as straight as a board. Thankfully, a decent curling iron did a world of good.
Anyway, despite not feeling well, I had to make this work. I would be doing the opening show for Johnny Hill, a B-level singer from Nashville who had been kind enough to give me a chance. Not that I was completely without experience. I�
�d done plenty of shows in coffee houses, carnivals, and the like. But this evening would be my first real concert in a stadium able to seat thousands. One day, I hoped to be in a position where another musician had to open for me.
I was about to walk out my front door when someone knocked. Answering, I stared into the face of a delivery guy holding a huge bouquet of red roses.
“Are you Kayla Keller?”
“Yes, thank you.” I signed for the flowers and then hastily took them back inside. A note was attached from my friend, Robert, and I smiled. It said: Good luck tonight. Break a leg. Not really. But you know what I mean.
That was sweet of him. He didn’t have to do it, but then again, he didn’t have to do half the things he did. He was one of the kindest people I knew. He and Daniel worked together before…well…before my world fell apart. When Daniel died, Robert stepped up and was the one person besides my family who was there for me. He was a pillar of support. The kind of guy you didn’t deserve to have as a friend.
I put the roses in a vase and filled it with water and then headed out to my car. Twenty minutes later, I was at the stadium, pulling a small suitcase of items I needed. The outfit I was wearing was already in the dressing room, but I preferred to have my own toiletries so I didn’t have to worry about allergic reactions and such. I walked through the back door with Edmund, the stage manager, and he escorted me down a quiet hallway.
“You look a little flushed,” he said, eyeing me with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” I ran a hand through my long hair and let out a breath. “I’m just nervous.”
“You have nothing to worry about, sweetheart. You’ve got a voice like an angel. If you perform the way you did at the audition, you’ll have the crowd eating out of your hand.”
Protected By The Bad Boy (Bad Boy Bodyguards Book 1) Page 1
