THE NAUGHTY ONES: The Complete 5-Books Series

by Kristina Weaver

  “Who’s that?”

  My interest is definitely peaked now and I feel my boy down south stir with interest when I catch a tiny glimpse of her profile before she walks away with a short redhead with a good rack.

  “Don’t bother, man, she’s not available,” Freddie gripes, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter.

  “You already staking a claim there, Cage?”

  Damn, too bad. I could definitely use a good roll in the sack after the two-month drought I’ve been on since I woke in my bed and realized I didn’t have a clue how I got there.

  Scared the hell out of me that I’d been so stressed that I obviously had sex and blanked the rest out.

  I do, however, remember a tattoo that still makes me laugh, but I have to say that I can only laugh now after I got tested and realized I’d dodged a freaking bullet.

  I’ve never fucked without protection, not once since my dad gave me a vomit-inducing sex talk and tossed a box of condoms my way. Till the night I let myself go and did something that could have changed my life forever.

  As the woman and her busty friend disappear from sight, I shake off my thoughts and turn to Freddie.

  “She’s taken already. I met her at the door and started flirting till she very kindly pointed out she’s pregnant. Trust me, bro, if some guy’s lucky enough to have planted one in that fox, she’s definitely taken for life. Lucky bastard.”

  My own shrug and the vague recollection of honeysuckle and laughing hazel eyes shakes me to the core, but I push it away and focus on spending the next hour catching up with my friends.

  Chapter Five

  Hormones and Misunderstandings

  Callie

  I’m so angry that I could level a city and still pick my teeth with the bones of my victims.

  It’s been over a week since Althea’s party and nothing. Nothing! So now I’m not in the greatest of moods, and as you can guess, I’m totally ready to tear heads and take names for the toe tags they’ll need later.

  “Stop glaring at me before I freak and roll the van, Callie. Jesus, you’re getting so creepy with the mood swings. I considered borrowing my brother’s old football pads just to come to work,” Luci mutters, her hands white-knuckling the wheel as we speed down the freeway to deliver a cake that I shouldn’t have had to make, but ended up doing because Luci took the order and somehow managed to get Dot to ask me.

  Like I can say no to my Dotty poo!

  “Well stop telling your entire family about my situation. Your mom called me this morning and asked if I wanted to use her psychic. And your dad kept telling me that God will show me the way. As if I’m important enough to get my own freaking North Star or something.”

  “I didn’t tell her a thing, Callie. She called me and started jabbering on and on about what the great Giselle said in one of her readings. It really was too spooky for words, chickie,” she whispers on a shudder, forcing me to cross myself superstitiously, just in case.

  “And, anyway, that was yesterday and you were in a fine mood. What crawled up your bum and started laying eggs this morning?”

  This crying shit has got to stop. How am I supposed to pretend not to have feelings if I keep crying like a loser?

  “Nothing. Gosh. I don’t know. I mean I was fine and then I woke up and my belly looks like it mutated overnight, and I just feel…I feel…awful. It’s like I woke up and I just had this thought that I’m going to be telling my baby the same shit my mother told me when I was a kid and I…I don’t wanna do that.”

  Luci takes an exit off the freeway and I see her turning into a really swanky neighborhood minutes later as I try to pull myself back together and wait for another one of her little pep talks.

  “Okay look,” she says, braking at a huge gate that encloses a freaking castle.

  The place is magnificent. Wowza.

  “You have got to stop letting what happened to you drive you crazy. You’ve got this whole family now who loves you, and you also had a fantastic childhood. Gruffy is nuts, sure, but her and Gramps raised you right, with love and all that other crap that kids need to become decent little human beings. It’s not like you got the crapshoot, honey.”

  Yeah okay, fine. That’s true.

  “But what if I can’t answer? I love Bill, Ted, Murray and the stepmoms, and Bill’s ever-changing love interests, and yes, I had parents in Gruffy and Gramps that I wouldn’t trade for all the water in the desert, but I still wonder, you know. It’s killing me to know that I fucked up so majorly, and that I could do that to my own kid.”

  Luci pulls in once the security guy confirms our delivery and we putter up the long drive at a snail’s pace, coming to stop near a huge front door wider than my entire bedroom wall.

  “You have got to relax and let life take its course, Callie. If you find him, great, I’m happy that it worked out and you have a name to give the bean when he’s all grown up. If not…let’s not forget that this chump left you in a hotel room and had you kicked out the next morning. Maybe you aren’t meant to find him,” she points out as we make our way to the back of the van and prepare to lift the big-ass cake that took me two days to make.

  It’s a masterpiece, though, even I have to admit. It’s a three-tiered chocolate monster with a flower theme, done up on green icing with handcrafted flowers of every color, size, and species.

  The front door opens and a cute little brunette of indeterminate age comes sailing out, all smiles and huge grey eyes that make my heart flutter.

  “Oh hi! Thank you so much for doing this on such short notice. My son put me in charge of this one thing and it just slipped my mind. You’re saving my life. Oh! So beautiful. Come in, come in, and set it up in the sunroom. The ladies will be here for my niece’s shower soon and I want it all to be perfect.”

  She keeps chattering happily as Luci and I make our way into the house behind her, my knees protesting under the weight of the monster that is big enough to feed at least sixty.

  By the time it’s in place, I think my back may never recover and I have to stifle a giggle at Luci’s growls when the client starts up about some shit about her stylist that I don’t need to hear right now.

  All I want to do is go home and maybe die there to escape the back-cracking pain we’re both in right now.

  “Mom, these ladies have a business to run. They do not want to hear about your hair debacle or Jean Paul’s magic styling hands.”

  Oh, that voice is sexy and I feel my pain disappear when my bits sit up and take note. I haven’t even turned around yet and I just know the face and body that come along with that husky, deep drawl will have my shorts blazing.

  When I do turn I feel my mouth hit the deck and my eyes start rolling like I just hit the jackpot. I was right. He is fine. I think I may look like a gaping idiot right now, but I can’t stop myself.

  Luci somehow recovers first and I want to lick her toes when she nudges me and clears her throat.

  “Um, okay, well, we should go,” she titters, hooking her arm into mine to pull me out before I do something stupid like fall at his feet.

  Something about him is familiar, and I have the urge to get closer to see the eyes before Luci tugs me again and starts really making a beeline for the door.

  “Oh wait, we need to pay you!” the mother yells, making Luci groan and mutter at me out the side of her mouth. “Jack, darling.”

  “I’ll transfer the money directly to their account right now, Mom. They probably don’t have the time to hang around waiting for a check. Is the short fat one pregnant? Christ, Mom, you let her carry a wedding cake in her condition?”

  Did he just call me short and fat? Fat!

  “You—”

  “That would be great! Bye!” Luci yells, dragging me out and slamming the door before I can completely lose it.

  “He called me fat!” I yell. “That pompous asshole called me fat. Fat. Like I really need anyone to point out that I’m going to be as big as a house not too long from now. What a total asshol
e! What a pig. I should call Bill and borrow his gun and…and—”

  “Okay, calm down. I’m sure he just meant that you were, uh, looking glowingly healthy in your pregnancy. He was just annoyed that you carried the cake in your condition.”

  “My ass,” I mutter when she ducks into the van and leans over to unlock the door.

  I’m still cursing when I hear a chuckle from the door and turn to see the idiot I almost slobbered all over laughing at me.

  “I need you to e-mail me your account details so I can pay you!”

  “Pay this, bitch,” I yell back, flipping him the bird with both hands and a lot of teeth that would make my dentist proud.

  Luci doesn’t even wait for me to close the door before she pulls off in a screech of tires and gravel, her eyes pleading with me not to hang out of the window and finish my point.

  “Can pregnant women take antipsychotic medication?”

  It takes almost all the trip on the way back for me to calm down, and then we’re both laughing our asses off.

  “I bet they never order another cake,” I wheeze.

  “God. With your luck, I bet they do.” She cackles, her mirth spurring my own to the point that we’re raving loons by the time we pull into the parking lot of Delights.

  “Hey, ladies, what’s so funny?” Dot asks when we fall into the kitchen, just winding down as Luci wipes her eyes.

  Dot is eyeing us sceptically from her place at the table where she’s putting together a few ingredients to take with us to tonight’s party where we’ll be catering a cold buffet.

  Dot’s one of those “be prepared” girls and I know that whatever she’s got in that emergency stash of hers will probably end up saving whatever disaster befalls us. It’s all inevitable, not that I want to sound negative, but at one of these things, especially with rich chicks, you know something will go wrong.

  With Dot at my back, it’s never an issue.

  “The client’s son called Callie fat and she went all Menendez on him. Jesus, Dotty, you should have seen how hot this guy was. Callie just about left a drool string from her lips to the floor, she was that besotted, and then he goes and gets mad because she’s carrying the cake and,” she pauses to draw breath through her laughter and I shrug at Dot’s questioning look, “he just…he called her short and fat, though I don’t think he meant it to sound the way it did, and she went all mental on him. She even started muttering about borrowing Bill’s gun and teaching the rich boys of San Fran what it means to insult a woman’s weight!”

  I said that all out loud?

  Now I’m just a little sheepish and I make a pact with myself never to threaten a client or one of their family members with violence again.

  “No. What an asshole.”

  “Yeah. But I am so totally over it now. Oh are those mini éclairs?”

  What I do know right now as I stuff my face and listen to Luci and Dot plan tonight like a pair of generals is that I’m totally okay with things as they stand.

  It’s ironic that it took me going nuts, because a man I was halfway in lust with called me a whale, to realize that Luci is right. I have to just go with the flow here and stop stressing about whether or not I will ever find my mystery man, because if not, I’m likely to lose my marbles and either attack someone or go completely crazy.

  I choose éclairs and laughter with my friends.

  Chapter Six

  Only Whoopi Knows

  Callie

  Have you ever watched that movie Ghost? The one with the great Whoopi and the legend that was and will always be my boy Patrick Swayze?

  Well there’s this one scene where she’s got the check, the one that has all the money that Carl guy was stealing. Anyway, she has the check and when he tells her to give it to the nun, it’s like she’s ready to lose a limb rather than give it up.

  When she finally does let go, she storms away, all purple suit and weird hat, stalking in such a weird way that made us all laugh and rewind to see it over and over again.

  Anyway, it was hilarious and it’s the one thing I go to when I feel shitty.

  And tonight I’m feeling dark as Destiny Sedgwick, the spoiled little rich girl, flits around complaining about everything from the killer crab hors d’oeuvres to the freaking chicken kebabs I made with my own two hands.

  I hate this woman, and yet it’s not her that’s making my bile rise. It’s that rude man. The totally dreamy dick that called me a fatty.

  He’s been standing across the room, schmoozing with his buddies.

  He’s been watching me all night as I try to unobtrusively mingle under the guise of serving the food while desperately trying to narrow down my list.

  Phillip Watkins is out. He’s got a gut that I would definitely have noticed and a tongue that makes me shudder just imagining it downtown.

  Gareth Toms. Out. The man has a voice that would shatter my eardrums if he bellowed—more like sang soprano—in the heat of the moment.

  Now my memories aren’t great, and I know for a fact I’ve embellished some of that night with my lascivious mind, but I recall a husky, groaned roar that still affects me when I think about it.

  Not Gary. Phew.

  That leaves me with seven candidates who I just know are here tonight.

  “Uh, miss…could you please stop looking at my husband that way?”

  My blush is hot as I look to my right and see Fitzgerald Johnson and his wife taking note of my narrow-eyed inspection while I note Dot and her unsubtle examination of a man across the room.

  We’ve all come armed with an abbreviated version of the list, this one with as many body specifications as I could recall—Jesus, I hope those are real and not my brain lewdly filling in the blanks. I had to physically restrain myself from adding ten-inch penis to the description after I took a nap and had a doozy of a dream.

  Hormones.

  “Er, sorry. I thought I saw an, er, a mole that was suspicious. Never too early to get it checked.”

  They both start fussing immediately and I feel like a total heel when I leave the frantic pair behind as the wife starts scanning his face.

  “Mole, my ass,” I hear as I pop around the corner and fall into the wall. I almost have a freaking heart attack when I whip around to see that irritating man lounging to my right, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks while the other holds a tumbler of whiskey.

  “God, where the hell did you come from?”

  “Some women have said heaven, some say from nirvana,” he drawls, sipping at his drink while he continues to stare holes into my face.

  “Arrogant on top of being a rude ass. How terribly refreshing,” I mutter, pushing off the wall to make a beeline for the kitchen.

  I don’t realize he’s followed me till I turn at the marble island and almost pee myself when I see him on the other side, still string at me, only this time his eyes are speculative.

  “You like staring at a fat cow?” I ask sweetly, busying myself with a tray that’s been ordered already.

  “Look, I’m sorry I said that. It came out all wrong.”

  “Wrong? Wrong is telling your teacher your dog ate your homework. Wrong is not telling a woman she’s got toilet paper sticking out of her pants after she leaves the bathroom. What you said was just mean,” I snarl, crushing a little crab cake before I can set it down.

  The filling oozes between my fingers and I feel my tummy revolt before a deep swallow pushes me back from the brink of utter humiliation.

  I see him wince and take great pleasure in knowing that I made a direct hit.

  “Callie, we need another round of—oh, hello. I’m Dot.”

  “Jack Levin. Pleased to meet you, Dotty sweetheart. Did you make those delicious bites they’re flogging out there?”

  The little traitor titters at the flirtation and I find myself grinding my teeth against the jealous flood of anger spreading through my blood.

  “I made them, you gobbler. Dot, the tray,” I grit out, my eye just refraining from
twitching when she smiles and throws me a wink before skipping out with a hummed giggle.

  Jack.

  Have I met him before?

  “So…you going to introduce yourself sweetheart or should I call you pregnant lady all night.”

  “Callie. My name is Callie. Look, is there something you wanted or can I get on with my job?”

  That look is back on his face and I swear he’s just as perplexed as I am when suddenly he looks down at my stomach and goes white as a sheet.

  “Hey, are you okay? Is the whiskey going to your head?” I ask when he falls into a seat at the oak table and just keeps staring at me like I grew three heads.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  Yeah, okay he must be drunk or something.

  “I know. It’s sorta why I felt like kicking you in the nutsack when you called me fat,” I mutter, banging a bottle of water down in front of him with a sniff.

  What? The man looks like he’s on the verge of fainting. I’m a good person. It has nothing to do with the crush I have on him or the way his coal-black hair has this adorable cowlick just off-center to the middle of his forehead.

  “I, um, the father must be very, uh, happy.”

  “Yup. Totally happy.”

  My answer seems to put some pep back in his step and I see him breathing more evenly before he leans back and takes his drink up again.

  “You shouldn’t be on your feet this long. It can’t be good for you.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Quinn, but I’m well aware of what I should and should not do. Besides, I have rent and bills to pay. I can’t just sit on my butt for the next six months and hope that money tree I planted in Gruffy’s back yard will finally bear fruit.”

  That makes his lips twitch and I think about another mouth with full lips and a tongue I’d like to suck on again.

  Down, girl.

  “Your man should be a man and take care of you while you carry his baby.”

  I should be with a good man right now, getting a foot rub and not standing on my feet, feeling sick as a dog, and talking to a man who makes me feel like an ugly stepsister.

  This reminds me of the time I got that tattoo of that caterpillar thing from Alice in Wonderland. It looked so cute and I was convinced it was the most original, cool idea ever.