"If you're a fan of Kristen Ashley, then you will love this book." ~ Aestas Book Blog on Four Letter Word
BAD FOR YOU
A Dirty Deeds Novel
Release Day: January 23, 2018
He didn't want to be bad. He just didn't have a
choice...
Shayla
Perkins isn't the kind of girl who makes the same mistake twice, especially
when it comes to Sean "Stitch" Molina. So when he gives her the
world's biggest rejection, that's it--she's done. Until the sexy, silent,
unavailable Sean makes Shay a very personal offer. Of course, it still doesn't
mean he's interested in her. Or does it?
Sean
has done things in life. Bad things. And he's paid the price. All he wants now
is to make up for his past by doing good in the present. And no one deserves
more good than Shay. Beautiful on the inside and out, Shay is the kind of woman
who should be cared for and protected--especially from a man like Sean. He's
tried to keep his feelings for her in check, but a single, reckless impulse
pulls them closer than ever before.
Soon
the two are sharing their biggest dreams and satisfying their deepest desires.
But what will happen if the only way to truly give each other what they want
most...is to let each other go?
"The perfect mix of funny, hot and heartwarming. I enjoyed
it immensely!" --Mia Sheridan, New York Times bestselling
author, on Four Letter Word
PRE-ORDER NOW
Chapter One
Shayla
I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to
lie to Gladys or Dorothy, whatever this sweet old lady’s name was seated in my
section, and say we were fresh out of ranch dressing, and the little cup of it
that came with her large garden salad was the last drop. If I didn’t and
obliged her request, it would mean walking back over to the kitchen window I
avoided like the plague and speaking to him—Sean “Stitch” Molina. The keeper
of the dressings. The cook at Whitecaps Restaurant. He hoarded the ranch back
there, and the only way to get more of it was with words.
And we didn’t do words anymore. Not as
of eight months ago.
So, instead of doing my job as a
waitress, I contemplated the dishonest route, which could very well get me
fired.
Was I willing to roll those dice?
Maybe. It might be worth a shot. My boss, Nate, could overlook my wrongdoing.
He was understanding enough.
We’re fresh out of ranch, I could tell
the lady. And all other dressings, for that matter. I am so sorry. Could I
maybe get you another refill? Or something else not located in the kitchen?
I thought on this plan—it could work.
Maybe she would believe me. Or maybe she would rethink her request and decide
she no longer needed more dressing.
Help a fellow woman out here, Millie.
Christ.
“I just need a little bit more,” the
lady requested with a gentle smile. “Would you be a dear? I won’t trouble you
for anything else, I promise.”
“Of course,” I replied, the response
compulsively leaving my tongue. I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t lie. I’d feel
terrible.
Besides, this was my job. If someone
requested more ranch dressing, I got them more ranch dressing, even if it meant
speaking to the man I was completely and pathetically infatuated with, no
matter how badly it hurt me to do so.
I gave the lady a smile in return
before moving away.
My steps were slow as I weaved between
tables and headed toward the kitchen. I tried to keep my head down, to focus on
the tile floor disappearing beneath my feet, but I couldn’t.
I had to look.
Who was I kidding?
I wanted to look.
As I approached, Tori was leaning close
to the window that separated Sean’s domain from everyone else’s. She slid two
plates of food off the ledge, commenting, “Looks good. Thanks, Stitch,” before
walking off to deliver her orders, winking at me as she passed.
Sean only went by Stitch when he was
here, I was assuming. I wouldn’t know for sure since I’d never spent any time
with him outside of work. It was a nickname Tori and I had given him when he’d
cut himself a bunch of times during his first week on the job, and he didn’t
seem to mind being called that.
Back then, he didn’t seem to mind a lot
of things, like listening to me talk and talk about anything and everything,
putting my problems on him in between waiting tables, my stresses, my fears,
needing a person to vent to and him being the only person I wanted to vent to
because of the way he listened and looked at me.
No one had ever seemed so interested in
what I had to say before.
Like what I was saying meant everything
to them. Like it was a privilege just to listen.
And no one had ever looked at
me the way Sean did—glances that only ever lasted a few seconds at a time, but
those few seconds of eye contact—holy crap. I thought my skin was going to
combust it would tingle and heat up so quickly. The man had a stare unlike any
stare. Equal parts intense and intimidating. But his eyes, sweet mother of God,
his eyes were unreal, this rich, golden copper color. And when they were on
you, you didn’t just see that beauty—you felt it.
It was a two-punch combo that turned me
into a puddle. No man had ever affected me that way before.
And that effect wasn’t going away. I
was still feeling it.
Even now with us not speaking to each
other, or rather, with me not speaking and him not listening, I still couldn’t
get Sean out of my head. I missed what we used to have, yes, but it was more
than that. It was so much more.
A man I barely knew, who seldom spoke,
and who had never showed interest in me in that way had somehow taken
hold of my heart and twisted it all up. I didn’t understand how it had
happened, I just knew it happened.
Pathetic, right?
I reached the counter silently, which
was a miracle considering how loud my heart sounded in my ears. Keeping my
breathing quiet, I looked through that window and peered into the kitchen.
Sean had his back to me as he flipped
burgers and stirred something in a pot. I allowed my eyes to travel the length
of him, something I hardly ever let myself do anymore. We shared quick glances
now, that was it.
Sean was well over six feet tall—way
taller than me. His back was broad. His hair was long, a beautiful caramel
color, and almost always pulled back; his arms were covered in tattoos and roped
in muscle; and he had a thick, short beard that hid what I just knew was a
strong jaw.
Sean was beautiful. And he was
intimidating. Not just how he looked, but how he acted too.
He smoked. He drove a motorcycle. He
never smiled. He rarely said a word. Everything about Sean said leave me
alone, but eight months ago I couldn’t.
And eight months ago, I didn’t think he
wanted me to.
I thought that was why he looked at me
the way he did and listened so well. I wasn’t even nervous when I finally asked
him out after hearing about a local party. I was excited.
I wanted Sean. I wanted to kiss him and
touch him and God, hear his voice more. I had gotten so little of it. I
wanted to do everything with him. And I thought we would. I thought we’d go to
that party together as friends and leave as something more.
But Sean wasn’t interested in the more
I’d been after. He wasn’t interested in me at all.
Now, that was perfectly clear.
Sensing me, or maybe he was finished
minding the burgers and whatever he was stirring in the pot—I didn’t know for
sure, since I was still letting my eyes wander—Sean spun around and stepped
forward, snapping my gaze off his body in a panic. Our eyes met.
Mine widened.
His narrowed angrily, like I’d pissed
him off and he hated me for it, and further hated me for catching him pissed
off about it.
I didn’t understand that look, but no
way was I asking about it. I was doing what I came over here to do, and then,
hopefully, staying far away from this window the rest of the day.
Maybe I could convince Tori to put in
my orders.
“My lady needs more ranch,” I informed
Sean, swallowing thickly when my voice came out sounding stressed and
distorted. “Could I get a little more for her?”
Sean’s gaze lowered to my mouth like he
was waiting for more words, which didn’t make sense to me, until I considered
the one word I left off he was most likely waiting for.
“Please?” I added.
His eyes lifted to mine and stayed
narrowed. His nostrils flared. His jaw set.
I almost apologized for being polite
and for not lying to that woman about our condiment supply. Things were so
awkward now, I couldn’t stand it. I missed how easy this used to be.
Memories flooded my mind in an
onslaught as I stood there waiting, and my back stiffened. I pictured Sean
watching me with care and concern. I remembered the smiles behind his beard I
used to catch, and the way his eyes would follow me through the restaurant and
brighten when I would wave. We were friends. I wanted to scream at him for
ruining that. I wanted to scream at myself for still caring. What was wrong
with me? He had completely shut me out. We were nothing now. We were this.
But with a quick hand, Sean snatched a
dressing cup off the shelf and ladled some ranch into it before I spoke another
word. He sat the cup on the ledge, removing his hand before our fingers
touched, and briskly turned back to the grill without giving me another glance.
“Thank you,” I mumbled at his back,
turning before I lingered another second.
He shut me out. I needed to do the same
to him.
I delivered the cup of ranch to the
sweet old lady, picked up a check for a table who didn’t wait for change, and
took care of their tab at the register. Then because I didn’t have any other
tables needing anything from me at the moment, I moved to a vacant booth far
away from that window and busied myself filling ketchup bottles.
The next time anyone needed extra
dressing, I’d send Tori.
Three Days Later
I am getting one of everything.
Twisting the dial on the radio, I
quieted the music I was listening to when the truck ahead of me pulled forward,
allowing room for my Civic to squeeze up next to the speaker.
Mouth already salivating, I rolled my
window down.
“Welcome to Taco Bell. Can I take your
order?”
My stomach growled as I surveyed my
choices.
I eyed the fiesta taco salad. The
quesarito. The never-ending list of combos and the specialty options.
Everything intrigued my taste buds.
I stuck my head out the window and
directed my order at the speaker. “Can I have a number six, please? Chicken
supreme with a soft taco? And a Mountain Dew.”
“That’ll be six fifty-seven at the
second window, please.”
I couldn’t pull forward yet, so I kept
my foot on the brake, and just as I was about to roll up my window to keep the
cool March air from filling up my car any more, a song I knew and loved began
playing low through the speakers.
I had no idea what the name of the song
was or who sang it, but I knew every single word. And this was not a song you
didn’t crank up and sing along to with your windows down.
Fingers twisting the dial until music
poured out of my car, I started moving my hips in time with the beat and
smacking the steering wheel, eyes closing and fingers snapping as the lyrics
left my mouth.
“Oh oh oh oh oh oh,
You don't have to go, oh oh oh oh oh
You don't have to go, oh oh oh oh oh
You don't have to gooo.”
The drum kicked up. I shook my head and
felt pieces of my short, dark hair lash against my cheeks.
The girl giggled through the speaker.
Smiling and not feeling one bit of shy
about the audience I was entertaining, I leaned halfway out the window and sang
to her as loud as I could, reaching and pointing like she was front row at my
concert.
“Ay ay ay ay ay ay
All those tears I cry, ay ay ay ay
All those tears I cry, oh oh ah ay
Baby, please don't goooo.”
She laughed harder this time, whooping
and cheering me on.
“How’s that?” I asked. “Think I got a
career in singing if all my other options fall through?”
“You bet!” the girl yelled. “That was
sick!”
Giggling at myself, I sat back in the
seat and turned the volume down halfway, noticing through the windshield the
space between the truck in front of me and the car in front of it.
My eyes narrowed. I beeped twice. I was
starving, and this was not the time to be messing around. What was this person
doing?
The truck jerked forward, gears
grinding over the music, loud enough I actually cringed. It was an old, beat-up
Chevy, covered in dirt and rusted all along the back, with most of the paint
chipped off and the muffler barely hanging on by a thread. The well loved and very well
used vehicle was probably on its last leg, as was the worn smiley-face sticker
half peeled from the bumper, leaving only one eye and half a mouth showing.
That thing had definitely seen better
days.
Staring at all that rust, I had a
moment of panic when I imagined the truck dying on its owner and blocking my
path. Come hell or high water, I’d get my chalupas. Though I really didn’t feel
like stepping out of my car and walking inside where the lunch rush sat. I was
wearing sweats covered in bleach stains, a baggy sweatshirt, zero makeup, and
not a lick of dry shampoo. No way was I presentable for the public yet.
This was why God invented
drive-throughs and curbside service—so women like me could sleep in on their
days off and rush out the door when a hankering hit without even bothering to
glance at themselves in a mirror.
But when the truck made it up to the
window to pay without a hitch or stall, most of that panic left me.
And when the driver pulled away after
collecting their order and turned out onto highway, all of that panic
left me.
I rubbed my hands together. Come
to Momma.
“Hello!” I greeted the young girl with
a smile and a wave, feeling like we had one of those lifelong friendship
connections since I’d just serenaded her.
Grabbing my bag off the floor in front
of the passenger seat, I dug around for my wallet.
“No need for that!” she said, turning
my head and pausing my search. “That guy just totally paid for you.
God…I love it when that happens. It doesn’t happen enough. It’s such
a treat!”
I sat up and looked at her more fully.
“What? What guy?”
“The guy in the truck.”
“Really?”
Nobody had ever done that for me
before, and I used drive-throughs a lot. Well, shit on my head. My
first random act of kindness, and I had rushed the poor thing along.
I suddenly felt bad for beeping.
“Yep,” the girl said, smacking her
gloss-covered lips. “He asked me how much your order was and gave me enough to
cover you both. And he wasn’t bad looking either.”
I leaned closer to the window, my
interest in this mystery man spiking off the charts. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. He had that dark, smoldering
look about him. Real sexy.”
Nice.
“Did he say anything? Leave his number
on a napkin or something?”
“No.” She shrugged. “Just paid for you
and left. He acted in a rush.” The girl turned to pack up my order.
Huh.
If he was interested, he would’ve gone
beyond just paying for my food. I would think he would’ve at least waited
before speeding out of here—at least pulled over and given me opportunity to
thank him.
Maybe he was just doing a good deed?
Letting myself think on that, I smiled
and took my drink. “I’d like to pay it forward. How much is the person’s order
behind me? I’ll take care of them,” I said while blindly digging my wallet out
of my bag.
“Really?” The girl clapped her hands
together and squealed. “This is awesome! And they say there’s no good people
left in the world.”
I laughed and made a face like I was
agreeing with her, though I really didn’t. I knew a lot of good people. Dogwood
Beach was full of them.
And I was blessed to have a lot of
those people in my tribe, supporting me, giving me friendship and love, and
others, not necessarily in my tribe, but around me enough I got to see their
good.
Still, I understood this girl’s
excitement. It wasn’t every day a complete stranger did something out of sheer
generosity. And selfless to boot. Who didn’t stick around to take credit when
credit was due? That was practically unheard of.
It’s funny how a simple gesture can
affect you. But kindness was powerful that way. It not only had the ability to
alter moods, but it was also infectious. People wanted to spread that good
around once they got it put on themselves.
Hell, I was doing it. Maybe the person
behind me would do it too, and so on. We could all pay it forward.
Smiling, I thought about that mystery
man in the beat-up truck, wondering if he knew just how inspiring he was.
How good he was. I hoped someone was telling him.
After safely securing my bag of
deliciousness in the front seat, I got the total of the order from the car
behind me, paid, got my change, cranked up my stereo again, and sped off,
leaving my window cracked so I could serenade Highway 355.
About the Author
J.Daniels is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series, and the Dirty Deeds series.
She would rather bake than cook, she listens to music entirely too loud, and loves writing stories her children will never read. Her husband and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in at a close second.
J grew up in Baltimore and resides in Maryland with her family. Sign up to receive her newsletter and get special offers and exclusive release info: http://authorjdaniels.com/newsletter/
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