Bad Boy

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  “Man…you just don’t understand. I can’t let those kids live the life I lived. I have to protect their childhood. I promised myself I’d give them that much. Lisa’s self-destructive. She’s already fucked them up bad enough.”

  “So you’re willing to lose a woman like Vivian over it?”

  “You don’t understand, man.” I want her. I need her. The feeling is more urgent than anything I’ve ever known. But I can’t betray these kids. They need me.

  Cruz stands and dabs his face with shaving foam then he picks up a fresh razor. Leaning into the mirror, he runs the blade over his chin. “You, my friend, are as angsty and hormonal as a teenaged boy band. Get over yourself and go talk to the girl.”

  “She won’t listen.”

  “Make her.”

  “How?”

  “Wear her down. Show her that you won’t leave her alone until she hears you out.”

  “I think that’s a felony. A little thing called stalking,” I say as he looks at his freshly-groomed face and grins. Such a damn pretty boy.

  He shrugs. “Sometimes, a little felony goes a long way.” He dusts his chin and blobs of hairy shaving foam fall to the counter.

  “Uh, yeah. Please remind me never to turn to you for legal advice.”

  He groans in frustration. “As usual, you’re missing the point.” My eyes move to the window and I see Vivian walking to her car, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. Fuck. Cruz watches her too before his gaze takes in my reaction. “You’ll figure it out. You just haven’t suffered enough yet. A few nights of blue balls and you’ll get your head out of your ass and go get your girl.” He claps me hard on the shoulder and grabs his jacket and his phone then strolls to the door. “See you when I see you, boss. I’ve got a hot date.”

  Chapter 31

  Vivian

  When I hear the knock at the door, I rise up from the couch and suck in a deep breath.

  Keep it together, Vivian. You’ve got this. You’re self-assured and poised and you’ve got this.

  With my spine straight and my head high, I swing the door open and give my sister a huge smile. “Hey, Reesie!” I say exuberantly. And maybe a little too loudly by the way she chafes and sticks a finger in her ear.

  “Hey?” she says hesitantly, eyeing me with suspicion.

  Throwing an arm around her, I pull her into the house. “Come in. Come in. Come in out of the cold.”

  As she shrugs out of her coat, she gives me a strange look. “Uh, have you been drinking?” She leans in and sniffs me not-so-discreetly.

  Well that’s just offensive.

  Backing out of her sniff radius, I grab her jacket and hang it on the coatrack. “No, I haven’t been drinking,” I say in irritation.

  She presses the back of her hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up. You have a fever.”

  “I don’t have a fever.” Okay, she needs to stop poking because now I’m getting prickly. Aside from the dull throb of the low-grade headache that’s been bothering me for a few days now, I’m perfectly fine.

  Physically.

  The way my mind is racing with anxiety, that’s whole different story. Still, I give my sister an over-sweetened smile. “Can’t I just be happy to see you?”

  She examines my face. “Well…no.”

  Folding my arms and angling my head, I peg her with a look.

  She giggles at my expression then spins me around and pushes me toward the kitchen, the way an annoying little sister would. “I know you,” she says wryly. “You’re upset about something. When you get upset, you put on this I’ve-got-it-all-sorted-out act as a diversion. I’m not falling for it.”

  Reese has hit the nail on the head. I am upset. I’m furious. I’m hurt. I’m heartbroken. I’ve been sick to the stomach for days. I’m so lovesick that I can barely sleep, I can barely think, I can barely keep any food down without roiling with nausea.

  I let myself fall headfirst for Clinton Alvarez. I bared my soul to him. I gave my body to him. And in return, all he did was keep secrets. He gave me no explanation, no justification. He requested that I trust him blindly, even though we both knew that he wasn’t being forthcoming with me. That doesn’t make any sense.

  “D’you wanna talk about it?” Reese asks quietly as she sets her purse down and takes a seat on a stool in front of the marble island.

  Sighing, I sit opposite her. I do want to talk about it, actually. “Clinton and I aren’t going to work out.” The sadness in my voice is almost deafening. The disappointment is so clear and raw.

  My sister watches me with compassionate eyes. “I’m so sorry, Viv. I know that you really liked him.”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement…”

  “You’re in love?” she asks softly.

  I nod, the lump in my throat forcing my words down. She reaches across the counter and holds my hand. The contact causes a dam of emotions to break loose. “I had this picture of my life, of the type of man I'd end up with, the type of house where we’d raise our kids. I’d drive a minivan and he’d coach little league. We’d have three kids—one son, one daughter and the third would be gender fluid because, y’know, it’s the twenty-first century and all.” Reese giggles a little as I wipe tears from my eyes. “Anyway, I started to think that Clinton Alvarez was that man. I fell in love with his tattoos and his scars and his rough demeanor. I fell in love with the man underneath it all and I thought that would be enough.” I press my eyes shut for a minute, just to absorb the pain. “Yet here I am, head over heels and alone and devastated at the reality that he doesn’t need me in all the ways I need him.”

  Reese rounds the counter and bundles me up in her arms. She whispers soothing things into my hair as I cry against her chest. “Oh, honey…I know this hurts…I’m so sorry…”

  I give myself permission to fall apart for a little while longer, then I straighten up. Reese’s arms fall from around me and I dry my eyes on a napkin. It takes me a few seconds to get myself together but before long, I’m back to myself, poise held up around me like a shield.

  “So…” I focus on my sister as she sinks back into her chair. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? Is it about our business account statement? Don’t worry, I saw the error, too. I’ll call the bank first thing in the morn—”

  “Remember how I said you’d be the first person I tell when I get pregnant?” My little sister watches me with nervous eyes, twisting her fingers on the tabletop in front of her.

  “Reese…”

  She shakes her head and glances down at her fingernails. “I know that I’ve probably chosen the worst imaginable time to tell you this, but I made you a promise. So, I’m keeping it. You’re the first person I’m telling. I just took, like three pregnancy tests in the bathroom at work and they all came back positive…I drove straight over here. Not even Leo knows…” Her eyes spring up to mine and her little voice shakes. “…So you’d better be happy for me.”

  I sit there for a half-second, completely frozen.

  Say something, Vivian. Say something. Say something!

  I spring out of my chair and pull her in for a big hug. “That’s amazing, Reese. It’s awesome!” Squeezing her tight, I hide my face hoping to god that the expression on my face matches up with my words. Of course I feel awful for being jealous right now. Because now isn’t the time to be jealous. Now is the time to be throwing a freaking party. My sister’s having a baby!

  My little sister is having a baby!

  “Are you okay?” she leans back and tries to examine my face but I duck out of her grasp.

  “Oh my god. Let me open a bottle of wine!” I swing the cabinet door open to conceal my face as I wipe away my remorseful tears. I quickly grab two glasses and as many bottles as I can hold in my arms and shut the door with my shoulder. “Should we do red or white? I have a bottle of zinfandel that you’d love. You just have to try…”

  She tilts her head to the side and pins me with a look.

  “Oh, right. You can’t d
rink…Because you’re pregnant.” Well, I certainly need a drink.

  I’m a few seconds into rummaging around for my wine opener when I remember that I broke it that first night when Clinton came over. Clinton…The thought of him has me even more nauseous than I was a few seconds ago.

  I snatch up a bottle without even checking the label. Hopping onto one foot, I pop off a shoe. Reese watches with a bewildered expression as set the bottom of the wine bottle into my flat, leather loafer and start banging away at the wall. This is how Clinton did it, isn’t it? Again, the thought of him causes a pang and I pound the bottle even harder. Reese is in the background, yelling at me to stop.

  The bottle slips from the shoe and clips the corner of the concrete wall as I whack at it. And right in my hands, it falls apart. My sister jumps out of her chair. “Oh my god, you lunatic. Are you okay?” With a hand on my shoulder, she steers me away from the mess of red wine pooled on the floor. Miraculously, I managed to not get cut. My beige flat-weave area rug is ruined, though. Darn!

  As Reese continues to fuss over me, the scent off the wine-soaked carpet hits my nose, causing my insides to tighten and churn. An overwhelming rush of sickness washes over me and I race to the sink just in time to hurl my guts into the stainless steel basin. The nausea just rolls on and on until I’m almost too weak to even stand. Straightening up, I drop my weight against the counter behind me and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. My chest heaves as my heartbeat struggles to adjust itself.

  Reese’s wide eyes stay on me as her trembling hand dips into her purse, pulls out a pregnancy test and hands it my way.

  Chapter 32

  Clinton

  Football highlights play on the television screen as Cruz stands in front of the mirror with a tweezer in hand, plucking hairs out of his nose.

  Gosh, I’ve never met a guy so into himself. I’m sure he’s got a mirror on his bedroom ceiling just so he can stare at himself until he falls asleep at night.

  He catches me rolling my eyes at him in the mirror. “Dude, I’ve got a date tonight with this chick who jumped on a plane to see me the minute she stepped off a runway in Paris. So, I’ve gotta look good.”

  “Excusez-moi.” I mock him sullenly without a hint of laughter in my tone. When does this guy not have a date?

  He turns around and watches me. “You got any plans for tonight?” he asks pointedly. I know exactly what he’s getting at.

  I drop my eyes to the straight edge razors that I’m sterilizing at my station. “Just gonna go home and get some rest, man,” I grit out, “I’m tired.” I try to act nonchalant but he’s not buying it.

  “You mean you’re tired of jerking yourself off every night when there’s a beautiful woman on the other side of this wall who’s in love with you?” He knocks his knuckles against the brick partition separating the barbershop from the bakery. “I get that.”

  “Shut your face.”

  “When are you just gonna man up and go talk to that girl? I saw her when I went in there earlier. She looks just as depressed as you do.”

  I blow a breath past my lips. The thought of Vivian sad over me makes my chest go tight. “She doesn’t want to talk to me. She fucking hates me. Again.” She was right to hate me to begin with. A woman like Vivian doesn’t belong with me. I’m just holding her back.

  “And you’re just gonna let that happen? You’re just gonna give her up, let her walk away into the arms of some cock-sucking insurance salesman or some stockbroker asshole?” He shakes his head in disgust. “I thought you were the kind of man who just takes what you want. Damn, I guess I was wrong.”

  His words get my blood boiling. My temper snaps. I rush at him, grabbing him by the collar. “Watch your mouth, asshole.” He smirks. That tells me that he’s just looking for a reaction out of me. “Fuck off,” I mutter, shoving him back.

  He adjusts his shirt as he strolls over to the row of coat hooks by the door. “You wanna spend your life in your dingy little basement-apartment, jerking off into an empty cookie box while some white collar asshole is making moves on your girl? Be my guest. All I know is I’m about to be balls deep in a chick who looks like she was made out of beeswax and pixie dust, licking frosting off of her surgically-enhanced tits.” He leans into the fridge and grabs the cupcake he bought for his date earlier today. “Have yourself a lovely night,” he mutters snarkily as he walks out.

  Through the front window, I watch as Cruz climbs into his car and tears out of the parking lot. I know he’s right. It would kill me to see Vivian on some other man’s arm. I’m in love with her. If she feels half as much as I feel for her, I should be able to tell her my secret. I should be able to trust her.

  It’s not that I don’t trust her. It’s just that the truth has the power to rock this town with scandal, to hurt some of the people I care so much about. But my love for her is stronger. And I’m counting on her love for me to help me get out on the other side all, in one piece.

  With newfound determination in my blood, I pull on my jacket and rush out of the shop with my keys in hand. When my feet hit the pavement, Vivian is outside of the bakery with her key in the lock.

  I lose my breath.

  She’s so gorgeous. Sad, but incredibly gorgeous. Today, she’s not all dolled up like a dream from out of the 1950s. She’s dressed casually in jeans, flat shoes and a leather jacket with her dark hair in a low ponytail. She looks at me and her throat quivers.

  “Hi…” I move toward her, barely reining in the urgency to have her in my arms.

  Her eyes fall to the sidewalk and she digs her toe into the concrete. “Hi…”

  “I really need to talk to you,” I tell her, dipping my face to catch her gaze.

  She looks up and our eyes catch. She sighs heavily. “Yes, I need to talk to you, too.”

  My pulse is erratic. I just want to touch her but her defenses are up. I don’t want to do anything that would make her withdraw completely. “You think we could go back to my place?” I see the instant hesitancy in her eyes. “Look—I just want some privacy because the things I’m gonna tell you…”

  She nods in understanding. “I get that.”

  She climbs into her car and idles at the curb until I’ve locked up the shop and then she follows me across town to my apartment. My body is buzzing with nervous energy as I let her in, my eyes scanning her gorgeous figure as she steps over the threshold and takes a seat on the couch.

  I open the fridge and pull out a bottle of wine. Some of the fancy stuff I bought for her before my secrets came back to haunt me and blow everything up in my face. I grab two glasses and head toward the couch. When she sees the alcohol, her face goes green. “No thanks,” she says quickly, practically recoiling.

  “You’re gonna need it, Vivian. To get through this conversation.”

  “I’m good. We just need to get this over with.”

  “Can you just trust me?” I say as I grab my new corkscrew and stab it into the top.

  She snorts a laugh. “Trust you? You want me to trust you? This time, you’re gonna have to earn that, I’m afraid.” She folds her arms over her chest.

  “Damn, you’re not gonna make this easy.” I laugh bitterly.

  She narrows her eyes at me as she rises from her seat and paces across the room. “I’m pissed. As I have every right to be.”

  Stalking after her, I grab her by the waist, turn her around and pin her to the wall. “This is really hard for me, Vivian. I’m terrified to share these things with you. It’ll fuck up that whole little world you’ve built for yourself, all the things you believe in. It’ll also put Lisa and her kids in a vulnerable position. So I have to trust that you’re strong enough to handle this. I’m willing to do that. Can you do the same for me?”

  Her brows are furrowed. Her mouth is pressed into a tight, flat line. I press my lips to the corner. I’m a selfish bastard but I just want to taste her. I just want her to stop talking and let me touch her. Because the things I’m trying to tell her, the words
are too hard to come.

  I pull back and watch her reaction. She watches me with venomous eyes but she doesn’t fight me, she doesn’t tell me to stop.

  I kiss her again.

  I press her into the wall and squeeze her soft breast in my hand while my lips find the curve of her neck. She hisses when my tongue slides over the sweet, salty flesh. I work my way across her chest, kissing along the neckline of her shirt.

  “So, you’re just gonna screw me?” she whispers breathlessly. “You’re gonna pin me to the wall and screw me. And then what? Is that supposed to fix things?”

  My hands fall away from her in defeat. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Taking her hand, I lead her to the couch. But as I’m deciding where the hell to start telling this fucked-up tale, the bane of my existence literally rolls up the driveway. His luxury car pulls right up to the garage door and it creaks open for him. The nerve of that man to show up here after what he did!