Owens ground his teeth. He might’ve thought West hadn’t paid attention while he was in school. But West had. The lessons in Owens’ class just had nothing to do with the real world.
“Your application will be given the evaluation it’s due, along with the others,” said Owens finally.
“That’s all I’m asking for.”
If life was fair, West should get this job, get off probation at the end of the week, and finally get his life on the right track. But life hadn’t played him a fair hand since the day he was born. So he knew better than to hold his breath.
Still, he did hope; just this once…
3
Cat
Cat laced up her sneakers. The soles were pristine. The sides had not a single scuff. She’d only worn them once or twice and only while inside. But today, she planned to get a few scuff marks.
She loaded the ball she’d found in the garage into her backpack. The white ball filled the bag’s whole belly. She struggled with the zipper's teeth to close it inside.
With that done, she pressed her ear to her bedroom door. Her father had already left for work. He had started his new job this week in the courthouse and was out of the house shortly after breakfast each morning.
Her mother would be in the Family Room watching her telenovelas. Cat could hear people shouting dramatically at each other in Spanish. Coupled with the rapid-fire Spanish were sounds of feminine gasps, explosions, and the melodic strings of a Flamenco guitar.
With both of her parents occupied by their passions, the coast was clear.
Cat made her way down the hall. She peered over the banister. Sure enough, her mother was plopped in a recliner as two women pulled out each other’s hair while a man got between them.
Cat stepped lightly on the first wooden step. It didn’t creak. She took another step, and another, until she was on the marble of the first floor of her home. When her pristine sneakers touched the cold material, they squeaked.
Cat cursed under her breath. Her mother paused her show and turned.
“Catalina, what are you doing out of bed?”
“It’s 10 a.m., Mami.”
“Are you hungry? I made tofu con queso.”
“I’m fine. I’m gonna head to the library and get some work done for my class.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. She would pass by the library, thereby heading to it. She just didn’t plan to go inside to do the kind of work she planned today.
All her assignments were turned in for her online college courses. Cat came from a household where education was prized. Her father had put himself through law school. Her mother had been a grade school teacher in her twenties. When Cat was born and later diagnosed, both of her parents put their careers on hold.
Today’s assignment was item number one on her bucket list. But it would appear she was destined to have a chaperone.
“Are you going to drive?” asked her mother.
Cat pursed her lips. Her new car had less than one hundred miles on it. The last time she’d driven it had been during her driving test earlier this year, which she’d aced. But only because her mother had taken her on the route every day for two weeks. But that route, up and down Main Street in Hidden Hollows, was the only path she’d driven in the vehicle.
“I'll drive you,” said her mother when Cat’s hesitation lasted a second too long. “You shouldn’t walk in your condition.”
“I don’t have a condition.”
“That’s my brave girl.” Her mother slipped her purse over her shoulder and headed into the foyer. “Always so positive.”
Silvina Garcia grabbed her keys and headed to the door. Cat knew better than to argue with her mother. She hopped into her mother’s car, strapped in, and let her mother drive her a mile and a half down Main Street to the library.
“Just drop me at the front,” said Cat when her mother put on the blinker to turn into the parking lot. “I’ll be here until closing.”
“Do you have lunch in that bag?”
Her mother reached for the backpack. Cat reached for the door handle, swinging the bag out before her body. “I'll grab a bite from across the street.”
“Make sure you tell them to make it gluten-free.”
“Hmmm. Thanks, Mami.”
Cat slammed the car door and hurried into the library. She walked slowly and quietly through the stacks, and then directly out the side door. Her true destination wasn’t too far.
Though her family had lived here all of her life, Cat hadn’t gotten out much in her youth. Hidden Hollows was her permanent residence, but she spent a good amount of her time in Raleigh at the Children’s Hospital when her cancer was wracking her body.
Even though she’d been well the last couple of years, she spent a lot of her time indoors. Her friends were online. Her courses were online. Much of her life was online. It was as though the outside world was a threat, so she stayed behind doors to keep safe.
No more. Cat headed a couple of blocks over to the high school. It was approaching lunchtime, so school was in session. But no one was on the field out behind the school building.
Good. No one to witness if she made a fool of herself. Cat walked to the center of the grassy field. There were white lines painted every several yards or so. She wasn’t much of a sports fan, but she knew enough to know that the field had been organized as a football field. The last time she’d been here, there was only one line at the center of the field. Cat set her backpack near the goal and took out the ball.
She hadn’t spent much time in school as a kid. But she remembered in eighth grade when she’d been in school from January to March. In early March, they’d announced soccer tryouts.
The coach, who had also been her PE instructor, had encouraged her to try out. Cat hadn’t been the best at sports. She had a note excusing her from most physical activities. But she’d loved looking at the older girls on the team with their matching shorts and jerseys with an individual number and last name on the back.
There weren’t cliques in children’s cancer units. Everyone rooted for and welcomed everyone else. Because they knew the ranks would inevitably dwindle.
Cat had gone to the soccer tryout clinic without her parents’ permission. She’d learned to dribble the ball, to pass it, and shoot it. She hadn’t made a goal on that day, but she’d come close. She’d been invited back the next day, and she was determined to make a goal to impress the coach and get on the team.
But then the coach gave her a permission slip for her parents to sign. Cat took the form and didn’t bother coming back the next day. She knew that her parents would never sign the form. Later that night, they found the slip in her backpack and confirmed her assumption.
She wasn’t healthy enough.
It would exhaust her.
What if she got hurt?
Later, Catalina. Just wait until later.
That was ten years ago. The wait was up. Operation Bucket List was starting right now. In three…two…
Cat kicked the ball. It sailed… halfway to the goal.
So, not a home run.
Or wait, was that football?
Cat wasn’t sure. She didn’t watch sports. If she’d played soccer, she’d know better. Maybe she’d even become a sports fanatic.
She came up to the ball and kicked it again. This time it made it all the way to the goal. Well, to the goal. Not in the goal.
Cat jogged to get the ball and picked it up. She was a bit winded when she got to it. But only because running wasn’t in her repertoire of exercises as it required space outside. She was more of a yoga girl.
Again, she didn’t get out much. And whose fault was that? This stinking disease that thought her body was its playground.
She glared at the ball. She pretended that it was the bad cells in her body. With a running start Cat kicked the ball with all her might.
Up in the air it sailed. Over the goal this time. She’d technically missed the mark, but she still counted that as a victory.
Until she saw where the white orb was about to land.
Right in the face of a man walking behind the goal.
The man looked up at the ball’s approach. His eyes widened when he saw it coming towards him, and his hands went up.
But he was too late. The ball hit him square on the nose. His head jerked back, and he dropped to his knees.
Cat took off toward him. Her heart racing. Her legs pumping faster than she’d ever run. By the time she reached him, the man sat in a heap cradling his nose.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s all my fault. Are you bleeding?”
Cat placed her hands over his, peeling his fingers back to see if there was any damage she’d caused. His nose was red, but not bloody.
“Did I break it?” she asked when she saw the bump on an otherwise strong profile.
“No,” came his muffled voice. “That was someone else.”
His nose looked as though it had been broken. Cat rubbed her finger over the crooked part. On second glance, she felt it added to his profile, making his features appear even stronger for the imperfection.
“Excuse me?” he asked. “Do you mind?”
Belatedly Cat realized she was cradling a strange man’s face in her hands and rubbing his nose like he was a wounded pet. She dropped her hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I had that in me. The kick, I mean.”
“I’d hate to see your arm strength.”
“My arm?”
They were on the same level, but he had a few inches on her. So even from their kneeling positions on the ground, he peered down at her. His glance slid from her to the ball laying innocently at his side.
“You know that’s a volleyball, right?”
Cat stared at the white ball, only now remembering that a soccer ball normally had a checkered pattern. And if memory served her correctly, they weren’t this soft. Good thing, though. If it had been an actual soccer ball, it definitely would’ve re-broken his perfectly imperfect nose.
4
West
While she looked at the volleyball she’d used as a weapon, West took a moment to stare at the girl.
No, she wasn’t a girl. She was definitely a woman. With the curves, the limbs, and the lashes to match the word. Even though her hair was in a short, tomboyish style, she couldn’t hide those other aspects of herself.
Her eyes were wide, showing every emotion she felt inside. Surprise at his appearance manifested in the angles of her acutely-shaped eyes. Concern for his well-being was evident in the diameter of her perfectly-rounded lips. Humor twitched at the end of the slope of her nose.
Wait. Angles? Diameters? Slopes? That ball must’ve hit him pretty hard if he was using geometry outside of Mr. Owens’ classroom.
Or perhaps, it was her. Something about her was making him go stupid. Or perhaps, making him go smart. The only math West ever used in his every day was addition and subtraction as he tried to gather up enough money to handle his responsibilities. But here he was trying to solve this mystery woman.
Then there were her hands cradling his face. Her fingers were soft and light, as if they’d never known a hard day’s work. The scruff of his facial hair would certainly knick and scar her. Such a soft and delicate person was not meant for the likes of him.
West jerked out of her hold. Her owl eyes, which had been looking at the ball, flew back to him. Alarm and disappointment were bright in her light brown gaze. He’d taken nothing from her. So why did he feel like the criminal everyone always accused him of being?
“Don’t,” she said.
West had been shifting his weight, putting his feet on the ground and preparing to stand. But with her soft command, he stopped. He hovered just above her, waiting for the next soft command from her lips. Lips that were no longer in a circle. They were now heart-shaped. Perfectly formed for kissing.
West reared back at the thought.
She reached for him.
“You might have a concussion,” she continued.
A concussion was very possible with the way he was behaving. West York did not have mathematical thoughts about seducing soft-handed, gentle-voiced girls. He typically attracted tough girls who frequently raised their voices as well as their fists. Or he attracted bored divorcees and the occasional bored housewife. Both types of women he avoided at all costs. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to get caught up in their foolishness.
But this girl? Soft and sincere? West wasn’t exactly sure what to make of her.
His gut told him she was being earnest in her worry for him. With expressive eyes like hers, she could never tell a lie. And who would believe anything was false coming out of that heart-shaped mouth?
West had gotten his feet under him. He was now in a crouch. His face was on level with hers as she kneeled in front of him.
Their positions, his slightly above, hers in supplication, set off a fluttering in his chest. To a passerby, it might look as though she was appealing to him. As though he were some type of savior or hero. Which he certainly was not.
He might not have done all the things he’d been accused of in his life. But he had earned his reputation as the town bad boy. Didn’t this girl know that? Didn’t she know who he was?
Apparently not.
Her hands reached out again. Instead of cradling his face, she ran her soft fingers over his brow. It had been a long time—if ever—since anyone had touched his face or ran their fingers over his features with care.
Certainly not his mother. If any of her kids got scraped, burned, or bled, she’d told them to man up and walk it off. Even his sister. But this stranger was checking for lumps.
“You’re supposed to keep still and not move for concussions,” she said. “I remember that from my soccer clinic.”
“Says the girl who kicked a volleyball at my head.”
She cringed, but there was a self-deprecating lift to the corner of her mouth. “I’m so sorry about that.”
West searched those owl eyes and saw nothing but compassion. He reached out to her. Not to her waist, that would be too forward. Though he was a forward kind of guy, he knew she wasn’t that kind of girl. So he held her elbow instead. Lightly, like the gentle creature she was.
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to make his voice softer than its natural gruff tone.
Her hazel gaze searched his eyes. Luckily, his eyes weren’t as wide as hers. His gaze was always hooded. He could lie with the best of them. But he had no inclination to make anything up right now.
“I mean it,” he said. “I’m okay. I’ve got a pretty hard head. It’s the volleyball you should be worried about.”
She let out a puff of air as she laughed. The sweetness of her breath nearly knocked West down. The warm smile she gave him made him want to shiver.
“You should eat something,” she said.
No sooner had the words left her mouth did his stomach grumble. West’s gaze dipped to her lips where more of that sweetness hid. Suddenly, he was extremely hungry.
“That’s what my mother would say. She has a dish for everything that could go wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” said West.
She blinked those hazel owl eyes. Her hands fluttered like a bird testing new wings. “Oh, no. I just meant, for your head. Coffee and bananas are good for headaches. I can get you some. We can go over to Main Street to the deli and—”
West shook his head. “You don’t want to be associated with me.”
With another bird-like motion, she tilted her head. “Why not?”
Maybe she was new in town? He hadn’t seen her before. But she certainly wasn’t the type to run in his circles.
“You shouldn’t even be out here,” he said, looking around the empty field. “It’s private property during school hours.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Then she grinned. “You mean I’m breaking the law? Huh. I guess I’ll check that off my list.”
“Your list?”
“It
’s nothing. It’s silly.” Her face contorted, as though she was at war with herself. “No, it’s not silly. But it is private.”
“Okay. I won’t trespass. But list or not, you should go.”
“You’re here.”
“I came off a job interview.”
“As a teacher?”
West wanted to laugh. But she was serious. She thought he could be a teacher. No one thought he could be anything but the criminal he was accused of being. If he wasn’t careful, looking into her guileless eyes, he might believe it was possible.
“Hey, you two,” shouted a man coming out the back door. It was the current security guard. “This is private property. Wait, West York, is that you?”
West groaned. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble at the place he wanted to work. Luckily, it was the old security guard that had spotted them. The man had been there during West’s days here. He had more wrinkles than an elephant’s hide, arthritis in his knees, and one eye was going bad.
West looked to his little soccer player. She was grinning, like the prospect of getting caught was exciting.
Figured. It was always the good girls who wanted a taste of danger. But that was always because the good girls weren’t served it every day of their lives. Once the bitterness of being bad went down their throats, they never came back for seconds. All the more reason to steer clear of this one. But he had to get her to safety first.
“Come on,” said West. “Let’s get out of here.”
5
Cat
Cat had never gotten in trouble a day in her life. She’d always done the right thing. Likely because for so many years, there had been something bad alive and kicking up a storm inside her. So she supposed she overcompensated with good behavior.
It was likely a little thing to him—what had the security guard called him? Wes Yore? No, there had been harsh consonants at the end of those two names. Maybe it had been West York?
Loving the Bad Boy Page 2
