Confessions of a Bad Boy Cop

by Cathryn Fox

  A sound crawls out of Layla’s throat, a strangled cry of sorts. “Layla,” I whisper and hold her shoulders. I inch back, take in her tears, the streaks on her cheeks where they’ve been falling. “It’s not—”

  “You’re wrong,” she says, cutting me off, her voice so hoarse from emotions I can barely understand her. “It’s exactly what I think.”

  “Layla, please—”

  She gives a hard shake of her head, and it feels like my world is collapsing around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I can’t lose her. I couldn’t live though that again.

  She steps away from me, leaving cold where there was once warmth.

  “It’s exactly what I think,” she says again and turns to her mother.

  “Layla, please.”

  “Don’t worry, Jack. These tears aren’t because of you. They’re because of her.” Layla shakes her head. “Because of what she’s doing to me.” A sob catches in Layla’s throat and my heart breaks. “I guess I just never knew how little I meant to her, the extent she’d go through to hurt me.”

  Karen smirks, like she’s won the battle, and says, “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You could never satisfy a man like Jack. Not the way I can.” She flashes her teeth my way. “The two of us—”

  “There is no us, Karen. There never was. I didn’t sleep with you.” Her eyes widen, her gaze shooting daggers.

  “Stop with the lies. It’s time Layla learns she’s nothing but a little girl who could never be with a man like you. I’m glad she found us like this.”

  “You sent the text,” Layla says, her voice so deadly calm we both go still.

  “What are you talking about?” Karen asks, her body growing stiff.

  Layla holds her phone up and shows it to me. The text says, Meet me at my place, six, o’clock.

  “I thought it was odd, considering you didn’t get off until seven,” she adds. “I came and this is what I found.”

  “I clocked out early.” I nod toward Karen. “But it wasn’t because of her. It was because of this.” I hold my phone up and show her the text that came from her phone, and she shakes her head in disgust.

  “I didn’t send that. My mother did.” We both glare at Karen as the tumblers fall into place.

  Karen looks indignant. “Excuse me. I did no such thing. How could I? I have no access to your phone.”

  “You stole Jack’s key when he brought you home last week.”

  A worried look moves over her face. “I did not,” she says, her shield cracking slightly

  “And you sent me a text from Jack’s phone, wanting me to find you in his bed. You expected me to think the worst and run away, never to talk to Jack again. Then you’d leave, and Jack would never be the wiser that you were ever here, or did a real number on your daughter.”

  “That’s why my phone wasn’t where I put it this morning. Karen had been in my house last night. Totally makes sense,” I say, my pulse jumping, so horrified to think anyone would do this to their daughter. Layla is so much better that her parents ever were. I stare at my phone, thinking about the text Layla sent. “Son of a bitch,” I curse.

  “What?” Layla asks.

  “She reprogrammed your number to go to her phone.”

  As the pieces fall into place, I can’t believe what a manipulative bitch Karen really is. How was I ever friends with her? Phil’s dying words don’t excuse him for being a piss-poor father, but at least on his deathbed, he wanted to do right. But Karen, well, there is no excusing her.

  I hit dial, and a phone in the room rings, only it’s Karen’s phone not Layla’s. “You broke in here, and put your number in Layla’s contact. When I texted her, it went to you,” I reiterate.

  “I’ll have you arrested for rape,” Karen says, a warning look in her eyes as she glares at me.

  Layla laughs. “I’m a grown woman, Mother. I can sleep with whoever I want.”

  “You weren’t always. He touched you when you were a juvenile.”

  “No he didn’t.”

  “Doesn’t matter, once the accusations are out there, it will ruin both your careers.”

  Layla shakes her head and red-hot rage burns through my body. No fucking way will I stand for Karen doing anything to ruin Layla, or the career she’s worked so hard for, despite her parents.

  “Try it,” I say. “You’re the one who stole a police officer’s key, broke into his house, and fucked with his phone. The courts don’t take to lightly to that kind of behavior. Unless you’re interested in finding that out firsthand, you won’t do anything to hurt Layla.”

  She opens her mouth to say something, but I reach out and gather Layla into my arms, tired of listening to Karen’s bullshit.

  Layla squeals and wraps her arms around me. “What are you doing?”

  “Something I should have done a long, long time ago.”

  “Jack—”

  “I’m taking you far, far away from here, Layla, where we can start our lives over, together. I’m going to be the man you always needed me to be.”

  She gives me a big smile as I step from the bedroom and slam the door shut, leaving Karen there to think about how fucked up she really is. Truthfully, it’s amazing how wonderfully Layla turned out, considering her circumstances. Yes, I should have stepped in earlier, done something before her life got to this point, but I guess it’s better late than never.

  “My hero,” she whispers. “My real life hero.”

  I smile at her, and for the first time in my life, I feel like her hero. “I love you, Layla. I’ll always do right by you. I promise.”

  She dusts kisses over my face. “I know, and I love you, too.”

  I smile, the happiest fucking man in the universe. “Marry me.”

  “About time you asked,” she teases.

  I laugh, the weight on my shoulders relaxing. “Is that a yes?”

  “Of course it’s a yes. I’ve always been yours, Jack, and I always will be.”

  I look at the beautiful woman in my arms, my soul mate, my everything. The wait was worth it and I plan to take her to New York where she’ll finish her degree and flourish as a lawyer. Nothing, and no one, will ever come between us again.

  “One problem,” she says.

  My heart freezes. “What?”

  “Lu comes with us.”

  “You mean like a threesome.”

  She laughs and whacks me. “No, I mean she wants out of here as much as we do. She’s my best friend in the whole world, besides you, and has always been so supportive of our relationship.”

  “Then let’s go get her.”

  Layla smiles, but it’s a bit shaky. “You weren’t serious about the threesome?

  “Fuck no. You’re the only woman I want in my bed.”

  “Even though I’m inexperienced.”

  “We have a lifetime to change that, Layla. There are so many dirty things I want to do to you.”

  Her eyes widen. “When can we start?”

  I laugh, press my lips to hers and say, “You really are going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

  Thank You!

  Thank you so much for reading, CONFESSIONS of a BAD BOY OFFICER, book two in my CONFESSIONS series. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I loved writing it. Please Read on for an excerpt of Confessions of a Bad Boy SEAL.

  * * *

  Interested in leaving a review? Please do! Reviews help readers connect with books that work for them. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative.

  Happy Reading,

  Cathryn

  Confessions of a Bad Boy Fighter

  “What the hell am I doing here?” I say, more to myself than to my best friend, who is squirming in her seat beside me.

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, Sara turns to me and pins with a glare. “You know what you’re doing here,” she answers, and then glances around the packed room, eager anticipation dancing in her eyes.

  While she’s super excited, the pungent scent of sweat and stale beer i
s turning my stomach, and if I don’t get out of here, I fear my dinner is going to make a second appearance. I groan and try to move away from the big guy beside me, his body spilling over into my seat as we all wait for the fighters to take center stage.

  “Backyard brawling is not my thing,” I respond, and glare back at Sara even though I’m no longer the focus of her attention.

  “It’s not backyard brawling, it’s underground fighting, and that’s exactly why you’re here. You need to get out more, experience life.” She turns to me. “Seriously, girl. You’re about to start your last year of college and if you don’t have some much needed fun now before you graduate and follow your father into politics, you’ll never get the chance to. This is the perfect opportunity to live it up before you bury your nose in the books again.” She flops her hand out, turns her palm up and nonchalantly adds, “Plus, you need to get laid.”

  “Shh…” I warn, but it’s too late. The guy beside me shifts closer, his ears perking up at the word laid. Obviously he’d been listening to our private conversation, and from the way his body is suddenly rubbing against mine, I’m guessing he’s hoping to get lucky.

  I nudge Sara, and gesture with my head. She leans over me and pokes the guy in the chest. “Back off, dude. You’re not the guy she’s going home with tonight.”

  Heat crawls into my face as the guy curses and inches away. He’s three times Sara’s size, yet one glare from her and he’s cowering like a frightened animal.

  “I’m not going home with anyone,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

  “Well, I know you’re not going home with anyone, since you still live with your parents, but that doesn’t mean you can’t go to his place. Or better yet, move into my spare room like I’ve been asking you to, and do him there.”

  “I am not ‘doing’ anyone anywhere.”

  Sara’s mouth drops open for a second. “Are you seriously telling me that you don’t want Harding King in your bed tonight?”

  Harding King.

  God, I can’t believe after all these years, I’m going to watch him fight. He was the bad boy from our high school, and I avoided him at all costs. It was unheard of for a straight-A student like me, the daughter of a public figure, to socialize with the tough guy from the wrong side of the tracks. But when our teacher paired us for an assignment, I had no choice but to work closely with him, and I swear to God, even though he was all kinds of wrong for me, I wanted him in the worst way. I was never sure if he was teasing me or being a jerk when he insisted on calling me by my middle name. How he learned it, I’ll never know. I never liked the old fashioned name Adeline, but cripes, it sounded so hot rolling off his tongue. A quiver moves through me and I pray to God Sara has missed it.

  “So that’s why you dragged me here? Because Harding is fighting and you think I’m going to go home with him?”

  “What?” She grins. “Are you saying you didn’t have a little thing for him back in high school?

  “I did not have a little thing for him.”

  I had a big thing for him. But I’m not about to admit that.

  She angles her head, those all knowing eyes meeting mine. “Are you forgetting who you’re talking to, Kat?”

  No, I haven’t, and I sometimes it irks me that I can’t get anything by my best friend. I love her, I really do, but at times like these I wish she couldn’t read me so well.

  “Well that was a long time ago. It was just a stupid high school crush, with, I might add, a guy who was all wrong for me.”

  “But he’s still hot, Kat.”

  “If you like him so much, why don’t you go home with him?”

  “Because he’s for you.”

  She says this like she knows something I don’t, and it worries me, because Sara is right about a lot of things, especially me getting laid. We might be completely different people, but we’ve been besties since childhood and now go to the same college. While I’m a bookworm who walks the straight and narrow, and considers pizza and a movie a big night out, Sara is wild, unpredictable, and not afraid of trying anything new. Then again, her father is not the mayor and her every move isn’t under scrutiny.

  “He’s not for me,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. Even I know how lame I sound. “He’s not even my type,” I add for good measure.

  “He’s every girl’s type.” She shrugs. “Look, I’m not saying you have to marry him. Just fuck him.”

  “Ohmigod,” I say and pinch her to shut her up. It doesn’t work. Nor did I think it would. I mean, this is Sara Knightly we’re talking about—a psychology student with plans to open her own psychotherapy practice. When she has something to say, nothing or no one will stop her from saying it.

  “Harding King.” She clicks her tongue. “You know what they say about him, right?”

  “No,” I lie. Of course I know what they say about him. Harding King—hard as a fucking king cobra—between his legs. I just can’t bring myself to vocalize it. Romanticize about it sure, but speak it, uh no.

  She playfully wags her eyebrows. “They say—” she begins, but her voice falls off when cheers erupt in the crowd.

  I turn to see what, or who, has caught everyone’s attention and when I glimpse Harding walking toward the ring, his swagger sexy and completely confident, my entire body vibrates. It actually vibrates. I’m sitting here, and my chair is practically shaking beneath my ass. My God, what the hell is going on with me?

  My gaze races over his body, and as I take him all in, I don’t dare miss every tight muscle, every sexy groove, every contour of his body. Jeez, the guy was smoking hot back in high school, but he was a boy compared to the beautiful male specimen climbing into the ring, fisting his hands over his head as the crowd goes wild.

  Awareness hits like a sucker punch, and a sound I have no control over crawls out of my throat. My fingers curl and uncurl around the arms of my chair as I take a breath and try to control myself. Sara nudges me. I turn to see her ‘told you so’ grin, and shake my head. Okay, yeah, so it’s true and I wouldn’t mind breaking my three-year dry spell with Harding. It’s not that I’ve been celibate on purpose, waiting until the right guy came along to be my second. I’ve just been so busy with my job at the campus library, helping my father out at the office, and studying. Plus I still live at home. My parents insisted on it, and in the end it made sense financially. So how could I ever bring a guy home for sex? And staying out late always came with its own questions or worried texts from my mother regarding my whereabouts.

  But all that aside, this is Harding King, who apparently has a huge king cobra between his legs. He can have his pick of any girl in the room. Most of whom are dressed in revealing clothes and holding up signs indicating they want to have his baby. No way would he pick boring Kat, who is in her buttoned up finest and less than flattering jeans.

  I sink into my seat, my feet sticking to something gooey on the floor as I kick my legs out. Eww…I don’t even want to know what I just stepped in.

  “I need to get out of here,” I mumble. Out of here and straight to my vibrator.

  Sara links her arm through mine. “Nope, you’re not going anywhere, my friend. Not without Mr. Cobra.”

  “What you fail to realize,” I begin, “is that watching two guys beat each other up is not my idea of fun, and Harding would never be interested in me.” I make a sound, a half laugh, half moan. “I was a blip on his radar in high school. He probably won’t even recognize me.”

  “Listen, Kat, you’re gorgeous and my guess is he’s going to know exactly who you are.”

  “Why is hooking us up so important to you?”

  “Because you need to get laid, and he’s the guy who’s going to do it.”

  I steal another glance at Harding as he strides around the ring, his gaze racing over the cheering crowd and sending everyone into fits of hysteria. As he turns my way, my heart races, the entire world closing in on me until nothing exists but the guy who starred in my fantasies for years.

&nb
sp; He goes perfectly still when our eyes meet, collide, hold for a moment too long. My breath leaves my lungs in a rush as heat zings through my body, hitting every erogenous zone along the way to the needy juncture between my legs. The sound of Sara squealing pulls me back, and I suck in a quick breath to refuel my lungs. A sexy, bad boy grin curls one side of his beautiful mouth and he points a finger at me. Jesus, he can’t really be singling me out, can he? I turn, look over my shoulder—he must be gesturing to someone behind me—then my gaze jerks back to his. Is he really pointing to me? Does he even know who I am? My brow furrows and he nods, like he’s answering my questions.

  “Oh, my God, Kat.”

  “What?”

  “He’s pointing at you.”

  Panicked, I ask, “What does that even mean?”

  A girl in front of us turns around and gives me a nasty look. “It means he wants you to come back stage after the fight.”

  “It does?”

  “Of course it does. Are you some kind of idiot?” Her eyes drop to take in my not-so-slutty clothes. “Maybe he thinks you’re his grandmother or something.”

  “Shut your face before I shut it for you,” Sara says. The girl turns to Sara, opens her mouth, then decides better. She pinches her lips tight and faces away from us. Good call.

  “Ignore her,” Sara says. Then in a louder voice adds, “She’s just jealous.”

  As my mind whirls with this turn of events, the second fighter climbs into the ring and soon enough a series of punches and the sound of bones cracking fills the club. My stomach turns again. How can anyone watch this? I put my hands over my eyes, but spread my fingers to peer though, unable to take my eyes off Harding. He’s concentrating on the fight now, his attention no longer on me, but I can still feel the heat of his gaze caressing my body. It burns me up inside. I can’t even imagine how my body would react if he actually touched me. I close my eyes and conjure up the naughty images.