Disorderly Conduct
Page 25
“Katie.” I sling my backpack on over my shoulders, trying to remember if I thanked him for calling me beautiful. Or if I should even call attention to the fact he did, because he might repeat the word and I’m not sure I can handle hearing it twice in one day. Not without giggling and making a complete arse out of myself.
The last four years of my life have been spent training for the Olympics non-stop. Grueling hours of practice that meant zero time for the opposite sex. Now, at the first sign of freedom, I’m thrown right into the arena with James Dean’s great-grandson. When I decided to sandwich in a torrid love affair during my business trip to New York, I had someone more approachable in mind. Like a nerdy desk clerk. Or a portly crossing guard. “Listen, I’m not judging or anything. About the bar. Really. You can go on in—”
“There you go, trying to ditch me again.” His thousand-watt smile turns back on and steals the breath straight out of my lungs. “Are there any other famous mob-hit locations in the neighborhood, or is this your last stop?”
“There’s one more,” I hear myself say. Shite. How am I supposed to relax when he’s smiling at me like that? If he concentrated the full power of that smile on a stick of butter, it would be a gooey puddle in seconds. Needing a distraction from his face, I consult my mob hit guide. “McCaffrey Park. Is that close?”
“Right down the street.” He ticks his head in that direction. “Ready?”
No, I’m not ready. For one thing, he’s a stranger in an unfamiliar city and might be planning to harvest my organs. Two, he’s fresh and stunning, while I’m in ratty trainers and wearing a purple backpack like an oversized toddler. And three . . . I just have a feeling mysterious Jack is going to be bad news for me. Call it a sixth sense or common sense or what have you, but this ride with the bad boy smile has trouble oozing out of his pores.
This should be a no-brainer. When a stranger shows an unlikely interest in me, it’s probably for the best to avoid walking with him to a dark park where mob hits have taken place. Just as a rule. I’ve been expected to act beyond reproach my entire life, though. I barely survived a strict Catholic upbringing before being thrust under the Olympic microscope. Every day of my life has been scheduled and executed without fail.
This man is not on my agenda.
Then again, I did promise myself adventure during this two-week trip. Swore to myself I would fulfil a vow to someone I love, by living without constraint. After being under my father’s thumb so long, I’m so light. So without responsibilities, I didn’t even take the time to clean up after my flight, throwing on my runners and bursting out of the hotel. Could Jack be part of my adventure?
No, it’s impossible. Surely he’s filming a romantic comedy down the street and he’s method acting right now. Then again, those piano fingers . . . the way he acted so surprised that I would point them out has me reluctantly intrigued.
His green eyes cloud with disappointment the longer I take to answer him, though. His smile winds down in degrees until his mouth is nothing more than a grim line. I’m about to turn him down for the walk to the park, when he says, “No hard feelings, Katie. Huh?” He winks, but it’s a sad one. “Even if it is going to take me a damn long while to forget those eyes.”
My heart is in my mouth when he goes. His hands shovel into his pockets and he walks backward a few paces, keeping me in his sights, before turning and strolling down the block. It’s insane, the anxious bubbles that begin to pop in my belly. My hands tighten into fists at my sides and the backpack starts to feel heavy. “Wait,” I shout. Then I cringe. Because everyone on the sidewalk, including Jack, turns to look at me. “Ah . . . sure go on. Just the walk, then?”
Even from a distance, Jack’s mouth spreading into a slow smile is breathtaking.
As I walk toward him, my feet on the warm concrete seem to be chanting one word.
Trouble, trouble, trouble.
About the Author
TESSA BAILEY is originally from Carlsbad, California. The day after high school graduation, she packed her yearbook, ripped jeans, and laptop, and drove cross-country to New York City in under four days. Her most valuable life experiences were learned thereafter while waitressing at KDees, a Manhattan pub owned by her uncle. Inside those four walls, she met her husband, best friend, and discovered the magic of classic rock, managing to put herself through Kingsborough Community College and the English program at Pace University at the same time. Several stunted attempts to enter the work force as a journalist followed, but romance writing continued to demand her attention. She now lives in Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter. Although she is severely sleep-deprived, she is incredibly happy to be living her dream of writing about people falling in love.
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By Tessa Bailey
The Academy Series
Disorderly Conduct
Coming soon:
Indecent Exposure
Romancing the Clarksons
Too Hot to Handle
Too Wild to Tame
Too Hard to Forget
Made in Jersey Series
Crashed Out
Rough Rhythm
Thrown Down
Worked Up
Wound Tight
Broke and Beautiful Series
Chase Me
Need Me
Make Me
Crossing the Line Series
Risking it All
Up in Smoke
Boiling Point
Raw Redemption
Line of Duty Series
Protecting What’s His
Protecting What’s Theirs (novella)
His Risk to Take
Officer Off Limits
Asking for Trouble
Staking His Claim
Serve Series
Owned by Fate
Exposed by Fate
Driven by Fate
Standalone Books
Unfixable
Baiting the Maid of Honor
Off Base
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Indecent Exposure copyright © 2018 by Tessa Bailey.
disorderly conduct. Copyright © 2017 by Tessa Bailey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-246709-6
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-246708-9
Cover design and photo illustration by Nadine Badalaty
Cover photographs: © Sara Eirew (man); © xavierarnau / Getty Images (background); © IIIerlok_Xolms / Shutterstock (kiss)
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