Bad Boy (Blue Collar Bachelors Book 3)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Slipping seamlessly into the role of the gracious hostess, I mingle with the crowd, dropping in on each conversation in turn. Cleo’s telling the story of the grumpy, new tenant who’ll be opening a barbershop next door to the bakery. Yippie! Can you feel my excitement?! Officer Riggs is talking about some crazy woman who tried to sweet talk him into opening a closed-off road for her during last winter's biggest snow storm. Meanwhile, Blythe Becker proudly touts the political platform of her husband who will be making a bid for mayor in the upcoming local elections.

  Charlie pulls me behind the cash register, making sure we’re out of earshot. He leans close to me and drops his voice. “I’m about to make it official…” A massive grin eats up half his face.

  “Make what official?”

  He furrows his brows at me like I’m dense. “Me and Nova. I’m gonna make it official…” He angles his head suggestively.

  “What?” He’s not saying what I think he’s saying, is he?

  His eyes leap to where Nova is chatting with the other guests and then he dips his hand into his pocket.

  My breath catches. “Charlie…”

  He’s still grinning as he pulls out a little velvet box. He flips it open and I just about swoon at the sight of the heart-shaped solitaire diamond on a thin gold band.

  The first thought in my mind bursts out of my mouth. “Is she pregnant?”

  Charlie’s shoulders drop and he glares. “No, she’s not pregnant, Vivian. I resent that. Can’t a guy just be in love with his girl?” He blows out an angry breath. “Sheesh! That’s why I waited till the last minute to tell you. You always think somebody’s pregnant.”

  He’s not even joking. My kid brother’s about to pop the question!

  My eyes dart back to Nova just as her gaze scans longingly over my brother from across the room. She looks like she’s in agony without him within a two-yard radius. And did I mention that the two of them bumped in here earlier, hand in hand, wearing matching head-to-toe black velour tracksuits and running shoes? Yes, they’re that in love.

  A smile spreads from one side of my face to the next. Wow—Charlie really has changed. If my slutty little brother can totally flip his attitude and become a one-woman man, maybe hope is not all lost for me, maybe one day I’ll be living a different life, too.

  “Ooooh! I’m so proud of you!” I squeal and pull him into a hug. “She’s going to say yes.”

  “I hope so.” He sounds nervous. That’s cute.

  I pull away and make a grab for the ring. “Okay, let me try it on.”

  He slaps my hand away and laughs. “Hell no!”

  As I make another attempt to snatch the diamond, the thundering roar of a motorcycle fills the air and pulls my attention to the window. A beast of a motorcycle pulls up to the curb, all big and black and shiny. And loud. Very loud. The man hunched low on the bike swings one leg over the side and climbs off of the mammoth vehicle in a smooth, fluid movement that's almost animalistic.

  He’s tall and lean with a beat-up leather jacket hugging his shoulders. And when he tucks his helmet under his arm and runs his long fingers through his dark, dishevelled hair, the hem of his T-shirt lifts ever-so-slightly. I hear a subtle gasp burst out of my mouth at the sight of his tight, inked midriff.

  His eyes are on the bike, inspecting it carefully. He crouches down beside it and runs a hand along its shiny chrome finish. I get a glimpse of his profile and—wow!

  This is not the type of man you see roaming the streets of Copper Heights. He's roguishly good-looking. His beauty is almost aggressive. Dark, stormy eyes. Hard, angular jaw. Firm set lips. An obvious knot on the blade of his thin nose. He's breathtakingly gruff. Every inch of him oozes sex and danger. Just one look at him, and I know. He's bad news. Every fiber of my being screams it. I wrap my arms around my torso, shivering even from behind the safety of the thick windowpane.

  As he rounds the motorcycle, his heel knocks against my signboard and the A-frame topples over on the concrete, causing several of the balloons to pop. The man pauses. Glaring down at the thing, a frown line creases the space between his brows. Oh, why is that so hot?

  But instead of bending down and setting it upright like any decent member of the human species, Mr. Dark and Mysterious just turns on his boot-covered heel and stomps off down the sidewalk.

  A bolt of indignation snaps in my chest. Oh, hell no!

  I throw a quick glance at my brother. “Hold that thought.” And before I can process what I’m doing, I’m pushing through the crowd, storming out the door and charging down the sidewalk after him.

  Chapter 2

  Clinton

  My motorcycle’s guttural rumble pierces the early morning silence as I merge onto Walnut Road. It’s cold. The nippy autumn breeze seeps through my leather jacket and cotton t-shirt, bleeding into my bones. I don’t mind the chill, though. It’s sort of nice to feel something besides the choking rage and violent resentment that I’m used to. It’s confirmation that after all the shit I’ve been through, I’m not completely dead to the human experience. At least a tiny part of me is still alive.

  I roll past Main Street and make a left. Swinging into the narrow parking lot of the little strip mall, I press down on my brake, letting the bike come to a stop on the curb out front. My gaze fixes on the newspaper covering the windows, concealing the layers of grime and chaos within. There’s a lot of work to do today especially if I want this barbershop up and running by the end of the week.

  I probably shouldn’t rush this. I should take my time. It’s not like I’m desperate for the money. I’ve got plenty of that. It’s just that I’m eager to take on the next phase of my life. I’m ready for a fresh start. I don't want to wait.

  Movement in the unit next door to my barbershop catches my attention. A sweet and fragrant aroma tickles my nose. It makes my stomach grumble. A small group of happy-faced people mill about inside, holding little coffee mugs and shoving food into their jaws as they talk and laugh like they’re the best of friends.

  Friends…

  I don’t have any of those. I don’t expect to make any in a place like this, either. An all-American town, with its gingerbread houses and its chirpy people who look like they were plucked out of a fucking snow globe. I can’t stand it but I have no choice at this point. I have to be here. I promised myself that I’d build a different kind of life now. I’ve put the motorcycle club behind me. And I’ve got to get this damn barbershop open.

  Pulling off my helmet, I descend onto the curb and take a step back to admire the beautiful beast in front of me. Her smooth curves, her glimmering chrome, her glossy black paint, all pretty and tarted up. I crouch in front of her and run my fingers along her dusty finish. This motorcycle is more than a means of transportation, it’s a relic of the life I left behind, it’s a reminder of my freedom. This is my shot at a do-over. My chance to finally do the right thing.

  Rising to my feet, I point my keys in her direction and press the button. She winks at me. Such a good girl. I give her a tap on the ass, assuring her that I'll have an eye on her all day.

  Tucking my helmet under my arm, I twirl my key ring around my pointer. As I head off down the sidewalk, my foot catches on something. The chalkboard sign makes a cracking noise that echoes down the quiet street as it hits the pavement. Several colorful balloons pop in the process.

  What the fuck?!

  It really pisses me off that people do inconsiderate shit like that. You want to advertise your business? Take out an ad in the newspaper. Don’t drop your dumbass message board into the middle of a sidewalk, cluttering the passageway where other people are supposed to walk.

  I glare down at the message. Cupcake of the week: Pumpkin-Maple. Grab your free sample during opening week.

  Who the fuck cares?

  My instincts are screaming at me to stomp my boot into the thing, just to hear the satisfying crunch of the board cracking down the middle. I resist that urge and instead, I look away and continue my trek to the ba
rbershop’s front door.

  This is me being the bigger person.

  "Excuse me! Excuse me!" I hear a woman’s panicked voice and heels clicking hurriedly on the pavement behind me. I don't turn around because there's no reason for whoever it is to be talking to me. But the voice rings out again. "Hello?"

  I growl on the inside. I’d like to keep my contact with the people of this town to a minimum. Not sure how that’s gonna work since I’m opening a business. Without slowing my pace, I throw a glance over my shoulder. A pair of huge, black eyes are staring right at me.

  My steps falter. Whoa! I’d be lying if I said that the sight of her didn’t catch me off guard. Eyes like that…

  I turn and give her my full attention. My gaze sweeps over her from head to toe. Her eyes are definitely not the only pretty part of the package. She’s got ridiculously smooth skin. Annoyingly smooth skin. And perky breasts with nipples pebbled from the cold under her white button-up top. She has on a boring flowy skirt covered in sunflowers. She stands in a straight posture, with her shoulders back. She looks a lot like a spoiled brat. Some classy chick who’s never had a rough day in her life. She'd probably consider a broken nail to be a hardship. All prissy and put together. Just looking at her makes me mad.

  Her cheeks flush from my blatant scrutiny and her words seem to get tangled up in her throat for a split second before she rebounds peevishly. "I'm sorry but you knocked over my signboard." Despite the polite smile pulling her lips upward, her voice is tight with irritation.

  My frown deepens at her accusatory tone. "What?"

  Her heels clack on the pavement when she takes a step closer, still wearing that pre-packaged smile. "You knocked over my sidewalk board." She points to the chalkboard sign overturned on the concrete. “Would you kindly pick it up, please?” She lifts her chin boldly, staring at me without flinching.

  My eyes move over her again, snagging on her nametag. Vivian. Yeah, I guess she looks like a Vivian. The way the skirt cinches tight at her tiny waist and her slight breasts tent the fabric of her top. The way her pale skin looks smooth and creamy in contrast to her dark hair. And that feisty little mouth, all polished in muted shade of red. Her strange get-up is oddly sexy. And those eyes...Something about the way it all comes together is making my mouth water.

  Focus, asshole. “Your sidewalk board was in the middle of the damn sidewalk.”

  “It’s a sidewalk board...That’s why it’s on the sidewalk.“ She uses the tone of a teacher annoyed with a student who's having a hard time grasping a very basic concept. What a little bitch!

  I throw a glance at her ring finger. She’s annoying as fuck but there’s no way some chump hasn’t already gotten the bright idea to claim this woman—a stockbroker or a lawyer who wears expensive suits and commutes to his pretentious city job and drives an over-sized luxury car to compensate for his boring personality and his compact dick. But I don't see a big, shiny diamond on her hand and that shocks the hell out of me.

  Before I can think it over too much, my phone bleats in my jacket and a gallon of cortisol spills into my blood. I pull it out of my pocket and check the text message on the screen.

  Lisa: pick up some cough syrup for the baby on the way home

  A few seconds pass as I stare at the screen.

  Lisa: please?

  I press my eyelids shut for just a second and rake my fingers through my hair. I silently remind myself that Sonny and Rachel are the two innocents in this situation. Those two precious kids never asked for any of this. I can’t get mad at them for having basic human needs. A little cough syrup isn’t too much to ask. I text Lisa back, promising to pick up the cold medicine.

  The little woman in front of me stomps a foot and folds her arms over her delicate chest. “I’m sorry. Am I boring you with this conversation?”

  Dammit. I don’t have the time to deal with this right now.

  “Look lady—I give zero fucks about your damn signboard. Okay?” I turn on my heel to walk away.

  But the venom in her tight voice stops me dead in my tracks.

  “So you’re just gonna leave it there?!” She marches up to me, puts her fists on her nipped in waist and glares. Her chin juts in the direction of the fallen chalkboard sign. The expectation in her eyes is unmistakable.

  This is almost amusing.

  My gaze moves over her again. God! This woman is something else. I want to take her seriously but she's wearing a skirt covered in sunflowers. Sunflowers for crying out loud.

  I can’t figure out why my cock is aching, though.

  I glower down at her. I’m nearly a foot taller than her, I’m covered in tattoos and I’m some guy she’s never even seen before. You’d think that she’d be intimidated. But she isn’t. I’ve gotta respect that and I’ll admit that I’m intrigued. I could just ignore her and be on my way, but I think I’m going to humor her.

  Marching over to where the damn message board is lying on the pavement, I snatch it up. But instead of setting it down in the middle of the sidewalk where I found it, I yank open the door of her precious cupcake shop. I ignore the tense silence that falls over the room when the multiple ongoing conversations grind to a sudden halt, and the dozen or so pairs of eyes that follow my movements across the floor. I shove some flowerpots aside and prop up the signboard against the window. The message is perfectly visible to passersby from the sidewalk.

  A wicked sense of pleasure blooms in my chest when I stomp back outside and find Ms. Sunflower standing there with her jaw hanging loose in disbelief. I lean in so close that I smell the sweet floral scent of her perfume. “There!” I hiss into her face. “Stop hogging the sidewalk with your damn sign.”

  I march over to the barbershop and unlock the door. Because I just can’t fucking resist, I throw one last look her way as I step inside. She lingers there with her pale, slight arms folded beneath those perky breasts, wearing an expression that’s equal parts enraged and adorable. A chuckle reverberates in my chest when the door shuts behind me.

  My prissy new neighbor won’t be inviting me over for tea and cupcakes any time soon.

  Big fucking deal.

  Chapter 3

  Vivian

  I grit my teeth as I scrub the damp rag over the already-clean counter. It’s all I can do to keep from screaming.

  Loud heavy metal music drowns out the smooth easy listening tunes animating the cupcake shop. The photos on the wall jump in their frames as the whole room vibrates. The barbershop’s speakers are definitely right on the other side of this wall.

  Through very meticulous customer profile analysis, I was able to determine that the Broken Cupcake’s ideal customer is a college-aged single female in search of a quiet place to enjoy a warm drink and a sweet treat while trying to study for midterms or complete school assignments. It’s all clearly spelled out in our business plan. So we do our best to keep the atmosphere of the bakery comfortable and laid-back, with low, relaxing music and mellow, calming scents. But ever since the Rusty Razor Barbershop opened up next door, our feng shui has gone to hell in a hand basket.

  Yesterday, I witnessed a three-man brawl in the parking lot right outside the front window. Then, there was that hulking degenerate who scared me senseless when I walked in on him peeing against the side of the building while I was taking out the trash last night. Plus, the row of motorcycles constantly lining the curb is starting to become intimidating for some of our regulars.

  And of course, there’s also the fact that the shop is run by satan himself—Clinton Alvarez. Lean muscles, brooding eyes and sinful hair I sort of want to slide my fingers through but ultimately, a vile person.

  This used to be a good town. A place where people raised their children without a second thought about security, a place where people forgot to lock their doors because they felt so safe. Now all of a sudden Copper Heights is being taken over by sketchy, leather-loving motorcycle guys with broken noses. The real estate value of this town has probably plunged 50 percent in the two weeks
since the Rusty Razor opened its doors. Okay, maybe I’m being overdramatic but come on! The situation is really starting to get me hot under the collar.

  Sadie—who fails to understand that her job description does not include performing impromptu song and dance routines for the customers—wiggles her butt in time with the obnoxiously loud rock music as she boxes up some donuts for a mean-looking biker with a freshly-coiffed Mohawk. She bats her eyes at him and speaks in a low, flirty voice.

  This is just pure treachery.

  Rule number one of intra-strip-mall, corporate/commercial warfare is ‘do not fraternize with known associates of the enemy’. I don’t get why that’s so hard to understand. She’s my employee. She’s supposed to be on my side. Instead, she’s making googly eyes at Clinton’s friends.