Badd Kitty

by Jasinda Wilder

  “This isn’t exactly the kind of support I was expecting,” I said, standing up and pacing away.

  “Probably not,” Juneau said, from the couch. “But it was an opportunity to really get over Tom, which you desperately need to do.”

  “I am over Tom!”

  “You are not,” Izzy argued. “Have you slept with anyone since him?”

  I ducked my head. “One guy. And it was terrible, and I felt guilty.”

  “Felt guilty?” Izzy frowned, utterly puzzled. “About what?”

  “I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right. I mean, aside from the fact that he didn’t really offer much by way of foreplay, and I didn’t even get close to coming before he was done, and he didn’t offer to help me out afterward. It just…we went on a few dates, and you kept telling me the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, so I tried it, and it sucked, and I hated it, and I felt guilty because I didn’t even really like the guy all that much, I was just using him to try and get over Tom.”

  Izzy smacked her forehead. “Kitty—you dumbass, that’s not how it works. In order for getting under someone to work at getting you over someone, you have to want the person you’re hooking up with. Rebound sex one-oh-one, honey—it’s gotta be good, or it won’t work.”

  “How are you supposed to know beforehand whether it’ll be good?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “You just know. It’s a feeling. I mean, do you get the sense that if you had sex with Roman that it would be bad?”

  I felt my entire body tense and heat at the suggestion. “No. It wouldn’t be bad.”

  “What do you think it would be like?”

  I could barely manage a whisper. “It would be incredible.”

  “How incredible?”

  I didn’t answer for a long time. “Probably so incredible I’d never want to have sex with anyone else after him.”

  “Which is exactly what you’re afraid of!” Izzy shouted. “You’re scared he’ll ruin you for all other men.”

  Juneau had something to say, I could tell. She had that look.

  “Spit it out, June,” I sighed.

  “Just…I think maybe you’re also scared that it’s not just going to be good or amazing sex, you’re scared that it’ll end up being more than just amazing sex, and that he’ll make your relationship with Tom look…lame. Or…something.” She winced at me. “Sorry.”

  “I hate you both.” I sighed. “Plus, you really have no clue how arrogant and crude and jerky he can be.”

  “You only hate us because we’re right and you know it.” Izzy flipped open the lid of the pizza box that was still on the coffee table, removing a slice. “Oooh! Pepperoni and bacon. Awesome.” She eyed me as she ate. “Good news is, it’s not too late to fix things.”

  “What if I don’t want to fix things?” I moaned.

  Izzy rolled her eyes. “You’re trying to tell me you don’t want to have sex with Roman Badd?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Izzy pointed at me with the pizza. “Exactly. You do. So, now, you just have to eat a little crow, admit maybe you like him not just in spite of the fact that he’s an arrogant jerk, but even, maybe, a little bit because he’s an arrogant jerk.”

  I hate it when Izzy is right.

  6

  Roman

  * * *

  Of all the times for my stupid brothers to be gone, this was the shittiest. I needed them. They’d talk sense into me. Beat it into me, if necessary.

  I’d managed to kill two full days without thinking about Kitty, or what she’d said, or how she’d acted.

  The custom neon sign I’d ordered had arrived, so I hung it in the window. According to articles and wikis on Google, the next phase was to stock liquor, purchase pint glasses, shot glasses, and rocks glasses…and a new ice machine…and bar towels, and a special dishwasher for glasses to go under the bar, and…a huge list of things, all of which cost a shitload of money. We’d been approved for a loan we were assured would cover the total cost of buying, renovating, and reopening a bar, but it was…

  Well, it was a lot harder than I’d anticipated. Not that I’d ever admit that to Rem or Ram, who had laughed me out of the trailer when I first proposed the idea. I’d assured them it wouldn’t be all that hard, and that we could do it.

  Turns out, there’s a lot that goes into running a bar, and the amount of helpful information available on Google was…sadly, limited. I mean, I pulled up plenty of articles just by googling “how to open a bar,” but how did one go about trademarking the name and logo? And how do you even get a logo? We’d hired a real estate agent and an attorney to handle the actual purchase, which thankfully included the transfer of the liquor license, so at least that was done…but all the minor details were killing me. And I wasn’t a details kind of guy.

  Thankfully, the amount of work to do was so tremendous I was able to bury myself in it instead of dwelling on Kitty.

  Or on her words: “Please leave. And don’t come back until you can actually be different.”

  Okay, then. Fine. Whatthefuckever.

  She can go fuck herself. I don’t need her. I don’t even want her all that much. It was just the thrill of the chase. The novelty of a chick playing hard to get, and playing it well.

  A little too well, maybe.

  Or…god forbid—what if she wasn’t playing?

  She hadn’t sounded like it.

  I tried my damnedest not to think about it, but it was impossible.

  I mean, shit. That girl.

  That body. Those eyes.

  I’d washed my hands a million times, but I still smelled her on my fingers. I’d taken a dozen showers and brushed my teeth a dozen times, but I still tasted her—still felt her kiss on my lips. I blasted Pantera as loud as I could stand it while I was working, but I still heard her sweet, innocent, breathy little voice…

  I’d watched more porn than I cared to admit over the last forty-eight hours, but I still saw her. I saw her tits, big and round and tanned golden and shaking as she quaked from my touch. I still saw her pussy. Her mouth, open with a gasp, just begging for my cock.

  I watched my favorite porn star taking it hard, but my cock didn’t respond to that—only to the memory of Kitty’s tits in my hand, the taste and feel of her nipples in my mouth.

  God, god, god.

  Her.

  I wanted her. I fucking wanted that girl, and the taste I’d gotten wasn’t anywhere near enough.

  I never want to see you again.

  I’d heard that before, of course. But only after I’ve fucked the girl into next week. I only heard that particular phrase after I’d assured the girl, saying I was serious about not wanting to call her the next day, or ever. It was usually a retaliatory thing—yeah, well, I don’t ever want to see you again, either…because I’d already made it clear I’d gotten what I wanted and I was done.

  Fuck.

  I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding thoughts of her when instead of writing out a list of things I still needed to purchase for Badd Kitty, I was doodling her name, like a damned lovesick teenager. And yeah, there may have also been a few doodles of tits on the paper, which, considering I’m not in any way a sketch artist, did in fact resemble Kitty’s particular pair of breasts. Namely, big, round, tear-dropped, with quarter-sized areolae and nice plump little nipples.

  I wasn’t getting anything done.

  Fuck.

  I leaned back in the folding chair that was currently the only place to sit in the makeshift office of the bar; the metal chair creaked in protest under my weight. I tapped Ramsey’s number, letting it ring and ring—and go to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. Remington’s phone went right to voicemail, and I didn’t leave a message there either.

  “Do NOT go to her house, asshole,” I said to myself, out loud. “Don’t do it.”

  I was the owner of a bar, but we didn’t have any actual liquor yet, so I couldn’t even get drunk here. There were plenty of other bar options ava
ilable in the area, but somehow I ended up on foot, walking down the quiet sidewalks toward Badd’s, sometime around ten at night.

  The front door was propped open, live music pumping out—the twins, I assumed. I stood outside, peering in. Bast was behind the bar with Zane and Lucian, and Kitty was scurrying around with a tray full of drinks, and the twins were on stage with both of their wives or whatever up there with them, singing in four-part harmony. I saw another waitress I didn’t recognize and Bax, with a bus tub between his hand and hip, was tossing empties into it as he passed between tables.

  If I went in there, I’d make a scene.

  And for once, I wasn’t in the mood.

  Conceited pig.

  Why the hell did that sting so bad? It’s not like I haven’t been called worse. But for some reason, coming from Kitty, it just fucking stung.

  I walked past the entrance, turned right at the next block, and found an open liquor store. Like the lonely sop that I was, I bought a fifth of Maker’s, stuffed it into a paper bag, and took it with me toward the docks.

  I sat down and drank.

  Alone.

  Stewing.

  Remembering.

  Thinking.

  Why did I care what she thought? I shouldn’t. I didn’t.

  She was just some girl.

  Nobody.

  Not even that hot. Now, Lana, a local girl from Oklahoma I’d hooked up with just before heading up here, now she’d been hot. Stinger waist, HUGE tits, platinum blonde, perfect teeth, tiny hands. Nice twangy drawl in her speech, and a way of using her tongue that had me weeping for joy.

  Of course, she’d been the one to hightail it the second we were done, and she’d done it while I was in the bathroom cleaning up. I’d even brought her a warm washcloth, thinking it’d be courteous. Assuming we’d at least do some shots down at the bar and go back up for round two. But no. She was gone when I got out of the bathroom.

  Ugh. Even thoughts of Lana’s tits and the thing she’d done with her tongue wasn’t enough to distract me.

  I took another pull and capped it, realizing I’d gone through almost half the bottle already. I should find Kitty and tell her I wouldn’t bother seeing her again. No point. Why chase someone who don’t wanna be caught, right?

  Fuckit.

  Even that tight round ass of hers wasn’t worth the effort if she was gonna be that flat-out mean. Conceited pig, my ass. I knew what I had to offer, dammit. I knew what I looked like, and I knew how I could make a girl feel. Doesn’t make me a conceited pig, goddammit. Confident, sure. Even a little arrogant. I know that about myself. Jumpin’ outta airplanes into fires, you gotta be a little arrogant. That edge is what keeps you alive.

  I looked around, realizing I’d started walking again at some point, still carrying the half-empty fifth of whiskey. Or…more than half empty. I guess I’d started drinking again.

  There were a few tourists around, heading back to their hotels and cruise ships for the night, and the dock area was fairly quiet. Where the hell was I?

  Wait, I recognized that building.

  Goddammit. I was at Badd’s again. I was pretty toasted, which meant going there was a bad idea. A Badd idea, if you will. Haha. I’m so punny.

  I set the mostly empty fifth down on the sidewalk outside the bar, took a few deep breaths, and tried to convince myself one more time not to go in there.

  She’s not worth the drama.

  Fuck it, of course she was. Who was I kidding?

  I swaggered in, ready for trouble. Looking for Kitty.

  What I found was a mostly empty bar. The stage was empty except for a mic stand and an amp, and the only patrons were a trio of middle-aged ladies giggling together in a back booth, and a guy and girl making out in the hallway near the bathrooms. There was a massive stack of glasses on the bar waiting to be washed, and Bast was back there washing them and wiping down liquor bottles, while Zane counted cash at the register. Bax was pushing a broom around, and Lucian was carrying cases of beer out from a stockroom somewhere.

  “She went home already, asshole,” Bast said, not looking up at me.

  “Who?” I said, taking a seat at the bar.

  Bast turned to face me, a bottle of Tanqueray in his hand, a bar towel in the other. “Kitty. That’s who you’re looking for, I assume.”

  “So what if I am?”

  Bast just shook his head. “If you came looking for trouble, Roman, you came to the wrong place. Especially since you’re alone and drunk.”

  “Ain’t drunk.”

  Bast snorted. “Okay, buddy. Keep telling yourself that. But don’t think I’ll serve you. We have a strict policy against serving people who are clearly intoxicated.”

  “I’m your cousin, and you’re closed.”

  “And you’re hammered.”

  I shrugged, and nodded. “Maybe a little.”

  “What do you want, Roman?” Bast set the bottle on the bar and braced his forearms on the edge, leaning toward me. “For real. What do you want?”

  I shook my head. “Fuck if I know.”

  “How about some water?”

  I blew a raspberry at him. “Fuck water. Can’t drown the sorrows of rejection at the bottom of a glass of water. Beer me, bitch!”

  “If you’re thinking you can score an easy hookup with Kitty Quinn, you’re barking up the wrong tree. She’s not a hookup kind of girl.” Bast reached into a cooler behind him, twisted off the top of a bottle of Coors, and handed it to me. “Plus, she deserves better than you, frankly.”

  I took a swig and beer, and glared at him. “Fuck you, Bast. The fuck you know about me?”

  “I know enough to know it’s true, dickhead.” He twisted the top off a second and drank from it. “You think you’re the best thing to happen to women, and the world in general. You think you can just swoop in and scoop up whoever the fuck you want, do whatever the fuck you want, and there won’t be consequences. I’ve got a newsflash for you, bub—that ain’t how it works. You can go into any bar in the world, and I have no doubt you could have your pick of women.” He tapped himself on the chest. “Look who you’re talking to, fucker. Think I wasn’t the same way? Only, I didn’t even have to leave this place to have my pick. I could point, curl my finger, and get anyone I wanted.”

  “So? What’s your point?”

  He shrugged. “This is a gross generalization, but the kind of chicks who’ll let you pick ’em up at the bar and fuck ’em without even knowing each other’s name are not worth your time beyond a quick bang, man.”

  “Who says I want anything but a quick bang?”

  “Obviously that’s all you’re interested in. But my point is, Kitty ain’t that girl. She’s not a quick bang. She’s the real deal, man.” He took a long swig, and pointed at me with the bottle. “And from her perspective, you’re the male version of that same kind of person. The quick fuck. The easy pickings. If she wanted to sleep with you, she would. If all she wanted was something quick, she could have it. All she’d have to do is look at you sideways and you’d be all over that shit. But I guarantee you, if she wants something that means more than a few minutes of fun, she won’t be looking your way. So just don’t think you’ll get anywhere with her if that’s what you’re looking for, because Kitty Quinn is worth a hell of a lot more than a quick fuck. And she knows you’re not.”

  I shot to my feet. “Fuck you. You don’t know the last fucking thing about me, or what I want, or what kinda person I am.” I swayed, and sat down on the stool faster than I’d anticipated. “You’re lucky I’m drunk or I’d knock your fuckin’ block off for that shit.”

  “Welcome to try anytime, fuckface.”

  I felt a presence beside me. I twisted and glared up at Bax, who was standing behind me with my bottle of Maker’s in his hand.

  “The fuck you want?” I grumbled.

  He shook the bottle. “You gonna kill this?”

  I stared at him, trying to figure his angle. “What’s it to you?”

  He shr
ugged. “Shame to waste good whiskey is all.” He took a swig and re-capped it. “Hey, you ever have Blanton’s?”

  I shrugged. “Nah. Never got around to buying a bottle.”

  He waved a hand in a come-on gesture. “I’ve got a bottle back at my gym that I’ve been working on for a while. You can help me kill it.”

  I stared at him still, suspicious of his intentions. “What’s your angle, man?” I swayed in my seat, staring at him. “Why be nice to me?”

  He laughed, jerking a thumb at Bast. “Pay no attention to my brother. He suffers from a terminal condition called ‘grumpy asshole.’ His wife is on her period and not putting out, so he’s particularly cranky. Plus, he’s a little territorial. And, also, just a dick.” He grinned at me. “And unlike him, I know that if you’re a bottle into a bender meant to make you forget something, you can’t quit until you’re all the way gone. And I got no beef with you, so we may as well drink ourselves stupid.”

  “Don’t you have a wife to nag you about that shit too?”

  “Not married yet, and she’s on a girls’ trip with some of the others up to Anchorage for a spa day, so I’m a free man for now.” He grinned. “Plus, my lady is the shit, and wouldn’t get on my case even if she was here.”

  I drained the Coors, dug a five-dollar bill out of my pocket and tossed it on the bar in Bast’s direction. “There. Keep the change, dick.”

  “Thanks, cockhead.” The sarcasm in his voice was pure venom.

  I laughed, unsteadily following Bax outside and down the sidewalk. “I can’t decide whether I like him or want to break his face.”

  Bax laughed with me. “Welcome to being related to Bast, my friend. I’m his brother and I’ve felt that way my whole life. Still do, some days.” He waved a hand. “He’s a great dude. You just have to get past the crunchy, cranky asshole exterior in order to get to the nice guy nugget inside.”