How to Kiss a Bad Boy

by Ashby, Amanda

  How to Kiss a Bad Boy

  Amanda Ashby

  Copyright © 2019 by Amanda Ashby

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Christina Phillips

  Copy Edited by Hannah Amante

  Proofread by Amy Hart @amyhartproofreading

  Cover Design by Barry Holt

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

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  Also by Amanda Ashby

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  There were three reasons Frankie Hargreaves knew the universe was conspiring against her. First, her best friend was away for the summer, leaving Frankie to execute “Operation Kiss Aaron Tremain” on her own. Second, Aaron’s shift at the surf shop had finished half an hour ago, and she still hadn’t spotted him walking out the door. And third, she was trying—and failing—to get a two-ton food truck named Rosie off the trailer hitch connected to her aunt’s Ford.

  Her fingers ached, and it hadn’t budged an inch.

  Footsteps came up behind her.

  “You’re late.” Frankie didn’t bother to glance over her shoulder at Kenneth. He’d promised to arrive on time to set up the retro tea shop for the big day tomorrow. Not that she’d believed him. She’d spent last summer working with her aunt’s unreliable employee, and punctuality was not his middle name. Which was why she’d tried to lift the trailer on her own.

  “Sorry,” someone said in a low, throaty voice that was nothing like Kenneth’s nasal whine. Frankie stiffened. She shielded her eyes against the pale white beams of afternoon sunshine. Standing next to her was a pair of denim-clad legs and black combat boots. They were in need of a polish, and flecks of grass clung to them.

  Why do I know those boots?

  She craned her neck so she could see his face.

  Jackson Lang?

  Okay. Hadn’t expected that.

  He was a year older than her and would be a senior when they went back. Despite the late June heat, he was wearing the same leather jacket he always did. Wild black curls hung over his brow, though his dark eyes were just about visible. And while some of the girls at school drooled over him and his bad boy image, Frankie wasn’t one of them.

  In her experience, guys like him didn’t make for good life choices. Hence why she’d carefully selected Aaron for her first kissing experience. He got good grades, was captain of the baseball team, and his mom was a dentist, which meant his oral hygiene would be excellent.

  Unlike Jackson, whose father had been the infamous Marty Lang. A motorcycle club enforcer who’d gone to prison for murder. He’d died in there a few years ago, and sure, Jackson didn’t wear a patch on his jacket, but everything else about him was bad news.

  It also explained why she’d recognized the boots.

  A week before school had finished for summer vacation, he’d been involved in a fight in the cafeteria. A punch had sent him flying against the table where Frankie was sitting. Her lunch tray ended up on the floor and over his boots.

  Some teachers had broken it up moments later, and Jackson had been hauled off the table and out to the principal’s office. And while Frankie knew it wasn’t his fault he’d crashed into her table, it had still freaked her out.

  “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  “It happens.” He shrugged. “So, can I help?”

  “No, I’ve got it.” She bent over the trailer hitch. She didn’t like accepting help from anyone. Especially from someone like him. Lo, her aunt, was over by the fountain talking on the phone, and had made Frankie promise not to try and move Rosie on her own. But if she waited, she would be forced to look at Jackson again. Besides, what Lo didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  “Really?” he said, a faint hint of amusement lingering in his tone.

  “Really,” she assured him. Calluses burned her skin as she tightened her fingers on the steel hitch. This time she threw all her strength behind it.

  It still didn’t budge.

  Sweat beaded on her brow, and her favorite Girls Rule the World T-shirt clung to her skin. She’d never been a fan of exercise, much preferring books to the gym. Something she was now regretting.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “It’s all under control.” She gritted her teeth and tried it again. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

  “Clearly,” he agreed, and when she once again craned her neck, his mouth was upturned at the ends. Was he laughing at her?

  Without another word, he stepped closer and reached for the hitch, easily plucking it up from the back of the Ford. He swiveled it to the left and lowered it down in one fluid motion.

  “There you go.”

  Annoyance flickered and she tugged at the hem of her denim shorts. She’d specifically worn them for day one of her plan to make Aaron notice her. Especially because tomorrow her uniform would be a nineteen-fifties-style dress and floral apron.

  But standing next to Jackson Lang—who was taller than he had a right to be and seemed to be the owner of a faint pine scent—she felt exposed.

  “Thanks,” she forced herself to say. She toed the grass with her beat-up sneaker and willed Lo to finish with her call so they could get to work.

  For most of the year, her aunt ran a baking business out of an industrial kitchen, conjuring up the most mouthwatering cakes and cookies for parties and local cafes. But each summer they moved the pink and white retro food truck into the town square to serve the many tourists who flooded Cricket Bay for some Southern Californian heat. Lo helped out a bit, but most of her time was spent baking, which was why Frankie would be stuck with Kenneth for the next six weeks.

  If he ever showed up.

  Of course, anyone else would have just fired him, but Lo was notoriously softhearted and forever helping waifs and strays. Kenneth was a prime example. He was a twenty-eight-year-old guy who moved at a snail’s pace, refused to lift anything heavier than a feather, and spent most of his working days googling symptoms and self-diagnosing.

  Not that Frankie could complain. After all, she’d been one of those waifs and strays herself. When her mom had died of a sudden cardiac arrest eight years ago in their apartment in L.A., it had been Lo who’d driven up and made everything okay. Lo who’d arranged for Frankie’s mom to be buried in her hometown of Cricket Bay, and Lo who’d packed up the meager apartment and given her young niece a new home. It seemed like another lifetime ago now.

  “No problem.” Jackson’s voice pulled her back to the present. He fished a bandana out of his pocket and used it to push his hair back from his face, revealing a strong jaw and full lips. His chin was covered with a brush of stubble, and okay fine, so maybe she could see why girls drooled over him.

  Also, why was he still here?

  Technically, the town square was open to everyone, but that didn’t mean he had to be quite so close. Unless he just wanted to watch her struggle to put the blocks behind the wheels and battle to set up the generator on her own.

  Maybe amusing himself at other people’s expense was what he did for fun when he wasn’t f
ighting?

  “Okay, I better get back to work.” She started to unload the tables and chairs. Tomorrow they would be set up in front of Rosie, but for now they needed to be stored in the large shed behind the restrooms on the other side of the town square.

  Jackson pushed his brows together. “Didn’t your aunt tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” Frankie put down a folding chair just as Lo joined them. Her aunt, who was thirty-seven, had her dark hair piled high on her head in a beehive, while the fifties-style dress, slanted sunglasses, and fire-hydrant-colored lips completed the look.

  “Jackson, you’re here.”

  “Yeah. Hi, Ms. Hargreaves.”

  “Call me Lo.” Her aunt removed the dark glasses to reveal emerald eyes that didn’t quite return Frankie’s gaze. “Have you two officially met?”

  “Sort of.” Jackson studied his fingers, and Frankie’s stomach tightened as she finally managed to catch her aunt’s eye.

  “Lo…what’s going on? Why’s he here?”

  “Jackson’s going to be working with you over the summer,” Lo said in a bright voice.

  Say what?

  Her eyes darted over to him. He was tall, with broad shoulders, wild hair, and an even wilder attitude. The idea of him serving up delicate cupcakes with pale rosebud-colored frosting and talking about the difference between Earl Grey and English Breakfast tea was ludicrous.

  And yet apparently Lo thought it was a good idea to give him a job.

  Frankie wasn’t quite sure what to do with this information. She rubbed her brow and studied her aunt’s face for clues. Nothing.

  “Let me get this straight. He’s going to be working with me? All summer?”

  “Yes.” Lo nodded, as if it were a completely reasonable request. Which, for the record, it wasn’t.

  This was meant to be her summer.

  The summer she received her first kiss. Not the summer she worked with a guy who destroyed innocent school lunches. Who was connected to the motorcycle club. And who would no doubt scare off upstanding, cute, highly kissable boys like Aaron.

  “Can we please speak privately?”

  A flicker skittered across Lo’s face before she sighed. “Fine. Jackson, could you excuse us for one moment?”

  “Sure.” His jaw was tight, and the color drained from his face before he walked toward the fountain. Frankie folded her arms and waited until he was out of earshot.

  “You can’t expect me to work with someone like…him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” Frankie repeated. Her voice went higher than she’d intended, and she took a deep breath. “How many reasons do you want? I mean, look at him. Plus, his dad…well…wasn’t a great guy. And Jackson was in a fight the other week at school.”

  “He told me about it.”

  “Like he could get away with not telling you,” Frankie said. Someone had filmed it and put it on YouTube. She doubted there was anyone in Cricket Bay who hadn’t seen it.

  “What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Look, he’s a good kid. Nothing like his dad. He’s been working for Johnny after school and weekends. But Johnny shuts down over summer, which is why I offered him a job to tide him over.”

  Johnny was Lo’s long-term boyfriend and had his own cabinet-making business. They’d actually met when Lo had taken in Rosie to be restored a couple of years ago. And up until this point, Frankie had liked him a lot.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “How can you not see this is a terrible idea?” Frustration caught in her throat. Her aunt might say Jackson wasn’t like his dad, but it wasn’t a theory Frankie wanted to test out firsthand.

  “Call me an optimist.”

  “Besides, what about Kenneth?” Frankie added. It wasn’t a winning argument, but she was getting desperate.

  “You mean the same Kenneth you spent last summer complaining about? How he was lazy, rude, and convinced he had bubonic plague? That Kenneth?”

  “He wasn’t that bad. In fact, he had some great qualities.”

  “Such as?” Lo arched a challenging eyebrow, and Frankie groaned.

  “Fine, he drove me crazy, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to be fired,” she protested, which was almost true. Though if he’d decided to quit…

  “No one’s getting fired. Kenneth is going to be with me in the kitchen, doing deliveries and washing dishes.”

  “We swap them. Jackson can work with you, and I’ll have Kenneth.”

  “We just discussed this. Kenneth was a disaster last year working in Rosie. He needs to be behind the scenes.”

  Frankie licked her lips. This was not going well. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

  “I wouldn’t have offered him the job if I thought he was trouble.” Lo reached out and squeezed Frankie’s hand. Her newly formed blisters protested. “Are we okay?”

  She sighed and returned the pressure. There was no point arguing with Lo. She was the only family Frankie had. And she could be as stubborn as heck when she wanted to be. She wasn’t going to change her mind.

  “Yes, we’re okay,” she said just as Lo’s phone rang again.

  “Thank you. Now, play nice with Jackson and show him the ropes for tomorrow.”

  “Fine.” Frankie rolled her shoulders and turned back to the Ford. Jackson appeared next to her, not bothering to speak as he jumped onto the back of the vehicle. It was athletic, and if he had been anyone else, she might have been impressed.

  Instead, she picked up a box of freshly washed old linen tablecloths while Jackson scooped up the toolbox they used to connect the gas bottle, rig up the generator, and make sure Rosie was stable. Without waiting for instructions, he disappeared around the back of Rosie.

  Despite herself, Frankie nodded in approval. Last year, Kenneth had refused to do anything more than flip open a couple of folding chairs.

  Frankie fumbled with her keys and unlocked the door of the pink-and-white food truck. The interior had been refurbished into a functional kitchen and was painted in the same pale pink as the exterior. One wall had been cut out to provide a serving counter, while the back wall was filled with shelves. And once they’d been wiped down, Frankie would stack them with vintage teacups and saucers, all in a gorgeous mishmash of pastel flowers. Under the long wooden counter were several fridges for milk, large jugs of iced tea, and the many cakes and sandwiches they went through every day.

  The side windows were hung with blue and white spotted curtains and below was a stainless-steel sink for washing up.

  On the left were two kettles, and there was another set of shelves for the teapots. Her aunt refused outright to serve coffee, saying that was the difference between her business and the many others in town. And while some customers complained, just as many loved the nostalgia.

  She finished unpacking the porcelain and walked back to the Ford to grab another box when Aaron stepped out of the surf store and jogged toward the fountain.

  Her mood instantly improved, and she smoothed down her hair. She’d spent an extra ten minutes straightening it. She quickly added another layer of lip gloss. The first part of her plan was simple. Make sure Aaron knew she worked there. Then once he realized this, they could casually talk to each other, which would then lead to a date and a kissing opportunity.

  Aaron was too far away for her to call out, so she had to use the power of her mind to will him to look over. He didn’t. Instead, he clamped his phone closer to his ear and laughed at something the person at the other end said.

  She let out a wistful sigh.

  He had a great laugh. Perfect teeth flashed in the sun, and the navy shorts made his tanned legs look even browner than usual. She took a mental picture. After they had their first kiss, she would be the one at the other end of the phone. Telling him all kinds of wildly amusing things that would make him laugh.

  Clang.

  She dragged her gaze away from Aaron’s retreating figure to where Jackson was using a hammer to loosen something
on the generator.

  “Jeez. You scared me. Is there a problem?” she said, annoyed he had caught her slacking off.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He continued to hammer. Clang. Clang. Clang. “Did I do something to bug you?”

  You mean like fighting in the cafeteria?

  Like walking around in a leather jacket when it’s ninety degrees?

  Convincing my aunt to give you a job?

  “Let’s just say I’ve met guys like you before.” She heaved the box from the Ford and lowered it to the ground. Actually, guy was the wrong word. The men her mom used to date were a lot older and a lot more dangerous. The first one had been Frankie’s dad. He hadn’t even hung around long enough to find out he was going to be a father. Her mom always said they were better off without him, and Frankie had agreed. And then there was Keith. The worst of them all.

  “I see. So you have me all figured out, don’t you?” He put down the hammer.

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea,” she said, pleased with how cool her voice sounded. “And before you deny it, most good guys don’t walk around in all black with a chip on their shoulder.”

  “Damn. If only my Ralph Lauren shirt wasn’t in the wash.” His voice was a low rumble.

  “Look, wear what you want. I don’t care. It’s your life. But this is my aunt’s business, and if you do anything to mess with it, I swear—”

  He stiffened, like he’d just been hit. Frankie winced. She hadn’t meant to imply he was a thief. She’d just meant…actually, she didn’t know what she’d meant. But it was no excuse.

  “Sorry. That was uncalled for. I just—”

  He held up his hand, as if to say it was a fair hit. “It’s okay. You care about your aunt. I get it. You don’t need to worry. I’m only here to do my job and get my paycheck. I’ll stay out of your hair if you stay out of mine.”