Bad for Her

by Christi Barth

Some people might’ve taken offense at the question. But Mollie had lived in two big metropolises, watched the evening news, seen the GSWs and strung-out meth heads. She knew exactly what Rafe meant, and respected him for asking so matter-of-factly.

  At the corner, she turned them onto the main street into Old Town. Even on a Friday night, traffic wasn’t busy. That’s what came of living in a town of three thousand, give or take the tourists.

  “Jesse’s a good kid. I see flashes of his inner self poking through the snark more often than not. But he hasn’t been here long enough to make friends. Not to mention being grounded for all the aforementioned, ah, poor choices. I think he deserves the chance for a fresh start. To turn himself around. To make better choices and discover that they fit him. Everyone deserves that.”

  Rafe got a hitch in his step at her words. He dropped his arm off of her shoulder and Mollie wondered if he’d dismiss her as hopelessly naïve. But as he recovered and moved forward smoothly, he said, “I could help him.”

  “You? How?” His offer shocked her. Because nobody else had offered. The entire town knew the circumstances behind Jesse’s move here. Knew he’d been thrown out of school and—albeit briefly—thrown in jail. So now, they all seemed to be scared to death of Jesse, which just alienated the poor kid even more.

  “There’s always scut work to be done around a garage. Jesse could earn a little money. That’d give him some self-worth. He could start to learn a trade. Not that he has to be a mechanic, but it’s something that could maybe help him pay for college down the road. It’d keep him busy and be worthwhile.”

  “I can’t believe you’d be willing to do that. For someone you don’t even know.”

  Rafe lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on her knuckles. “You said he needs a second chance. That’s a good enough reason.” Then he looked at her from beneath half-lidded eyes that made her think of tousled sheets and dark desires. Desires she wanted to play out with Rafe more and more. “Well, that and it might get me in good with his smoking-hot cousin.”

  Mollie laughed. But also sent him a sideways glance full of promise. Hopefully. Maybe it just looked like she was shifty. Yes. It was definitely past the time to get down and dirty with a man. Her moves were waaaay past rusty.

  “You know what? It just might.”

  As he started to lower her hand, Rafe twisted it to look at the underside of her wrist. “That’s an interesting tattoo. A caduceus, right?”

  Jerking her hand away, she said, “Absolutely not. It’s the Rod of Asclepius, which is the true symbol of medicine.”

  “Hey, I’m no doctor, but I know about a caduceus. Everyone does.”

  “You think you do.” Mollie absolutely loved sharing the real story behind her tattoo. “The U.S. Army Medical Corps put the caduceus on their uniforms. But it was a mistake. One that nobody wanted to own up to, so it stuck.”

  “Government bureaucracy fucked things up, huh? There’s a shocker.”

  She traced the purple staff with the single blue snake winding around it. “The Greek god Asclepius was associated with healing—he had a whole cult. His name is even in the first line of the original Hippocratic Oath. A whole group of us went out and got this done the night of med school graduation.”

  “Symbolic.” Now Rafe traced the design with the blunt tip of his finger. It sent goose bumps rising from her wrist right up to her clavicle. “You inked yourself, to last for a lifetime, because you’ll always be a doctor.”

  It was so nice that he got it. That it wasn’t a status symbol to flash, but a deeply personal reminder. “Exactly.” Linking her fingers through his, she asked, “Do you have any tattoos?”

  “Yeah.”

  Oooh. That meshed perfectly with the whole bad boy vibe he had going when they met. “What are they?”

  Rafe smirked down at her. “Telling’s not as fun as showing.”

  “True.” Her mouth watered at the thought. Where could they be on his oh-so-ripped body? “So . . . I showed you mine. Now you show me yours.”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  His full lips parted, then closed, as if the wrong words had started to come out. Then he firmed them into a thin line and whizzed a side glance her way. “Once the clothes come off? What happens next will be a marathon. I need fuel for that. Burgers. Fries. Hopefully washed down with some real beer. None of that light and fruity shit.”

  A marathon, huh? Now her mouth wasn’t the only place moisture was gathering. Mollie stopped, then pointed across the street. “Good thing that’s our destination, then. The Gorse Lounge. It has the best burgers in town, and enough different beers to keep the tourists happy.”

  Instead of charging forward, Rafe winced. “Is there a second-best burger joint we could try?”

  “Why?”

  “My middle brother’s the new bartender there. It’d be weird to have him watching us.”

  “Rafe, there are only three thousand people who live in Bandon full-time. Trust me when I say that everyone is always watching you.” Then a horrible possibility hit her, with the strength of a bone-splitter right to her sternum. “Don’t tell me that you live here? In Bandon?”

  “Yeah.” He hooked his thumb toward the water. “About a mile that way.”

  Except the last time he pointed directionally, on the highway, it had been to indicate that he lived in Coos Bay. Not Bandon. Which was a big part of why she’d agreed to a date with him. “You said you lived up the road!”

  “Everything looks the same here. Trees. Sand. Beach. Whatever.” Rafe shrugged. Clearly he didn’t comprehend what a big deal this was to her.

  Well, she’d sure as heck spell it out for him.

  “I don’t want to date a local.” In a measured tone, Mollie calmly laid out her case. “People will tell you about me, once they know we’re dating. They all have the same one-dimensional view of me because they helped raise me. You won’t get to form your own opinion. Nothing will be new and shiny.”

  Rafe curled his fingers beneath her chin, and held on to it with his thumb. Then those piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to date you. I just want to screw you.”

  Her mouth opened, but Mollie couldn’t figure out which words to say. Oh? What the hell? Are you always this rude on a first date? If she’d been in a soap opera, her character probably would’ve hauled off and slapped him for being so blatantly ballsy. If her best friend was a woman instead of a man, Mollie might get the advice to knee him in the balls for being so aggressive.

  But . . . that statement alone showed him to be more honest, more forthright than the last handful of men she’d dated.

  Snagging a diamond solitaire wasn’t on her to-do list for this month, or even this year.

  Having some no-stress orgasms was on her to-do list for the month. If not sooner.

  If they weren’t really dating, then she wouldn’t have to worry about Rafe leaving her. If they weren’t really together, there was zero potential for heartbreak. Which the shrink she’d been required to see during her psych rotation said was Mollie’s biggest issue. So avoiding that was just clinically smart. Just sex was the smartest thing she could do for her psyche.

  Plus? Technically? Rafe was still new and shiny. Probably not too tainted by small-town gossip about her yet. He didn’t seem like the type to hang out at her gran’s coffee shop eating up the local dirt as fast as the donuts.

  All the mental dithering boiled down to an attempt at being super casual. In a low murmur, she said, “That’s an unusual and borderline insulting statement.”

  “It’s the truth. Dating sounds like two people who want to work toward a future together. I just want a little fun. Straight talk? It’s all I’m up for.” Then he lifted his thumb to brush the pad of it along her bottom lip. “And I think you want to screw me, too.”

  Damn it. The man was right.

  “I’m tempted.” When a smug smirk broke across his face, Mollie added, “But I won’t
do a one-night stand. I don’t need roses or daily phone calls or a romantic getaway to Portland. I would, however, accept a friends-with-benefits arrangement. A fun, no-strings, no-expectations fling.”

  “Works for me. Your place or mine?”

  “Neither.” She crossed the street, knowing Rafe would follow. They were equally caught in each other’s nets. “We’re going to the Gorse for dinner.”

  “Ah. So I can fuel up?”

  Mollie had to admire his one-track mind. Or was it perseverance? Either way, she had a feeling it’d play to her advantage once they got naked. “No. Just dinner tonight. So I can decide if we can actually be friends. I want to be able to relax and be comfortable with you, or the sex won’t be as good.”

  “Let’s get something straight.” Rafe slammed a hand against the rough-hewn wooden door to the bar before she could open it. “The sex—which will happen—is going to be fucking phenomenal.”

  His words chased a shiver up one side of her spine and back down the other. A good shiver. The kind that moved her body right into the inner hunch of his chest and shoulders before her brain noticed. Mollie curved a palm along the thick ridge of muscles leading to his neck. “Is that a promise?”

  “It’s a damned fact.” He spat the words out. Like he was ticked off that she even had to ask. “The heat between us is obvious. And that’s with clothes on. When I get you out of yours, and that tight body comes to life under my hands and my tongue and I get my cock in you, then we’re both going to explode.”

  Wow.

  If Rafe lived up to even half of his own hype, Mollie would be fine with just sex. Beyond fine.

  Fantastic.

  Chapter 4

  The Gorse, 10:30 p.m.

  Mood in the pisser—horny as hell

  The bathroom door creaked open and Rafe’s whole body tightened as he looked up from washing his hands. He knew he didn’t have any reason to be on alert 24/7 like back in Chicago. But old habits died hard. Especially habits that kept you alive and without too many bullet wound scars.

  “Hey.” Flynn leaned against the stall door, arms crossed.

  It looked like he’d come in here to chat. Which was weird, since it was 1) a bar bathroom, and 2) they fucking lived together. Easy enough to talk at home. Who wanted to inhale the scent of urinal cakes any longer than absolutely necessary?

  On the other hand, Flynn didn’t chat. Not since leaving Chicago, anyway. His now surly, silent brother didn’t initiate conversations with him or Kellan. So Rafe tossed him a softball. “Thanks for the beer pick. Tasted like beer, instead of seventeen different kinds of fruit.”

  “Did you catch the name of it? Sierra was supposed to tell you.”

  “The waitress?” She’d probably tried. Rafe had been pretty focused on flirting the pants off of Mollie. “I didn’t pay attention.”

  “Rogue Dead Guy Ale.” Flynn smirked. “Seemed like a good fit for you.”

  “Very funny.” And it was. The gallows humor was the first hint of Flynn’s old personality coming back. Rafe was happy to have it aimed at him as long as it kept coming. “Remember, the point of all this is to avoid getting whacked. The Maguires are not dead men walking.”

  Flynn shrugged. “Time will tell.”

  So . . . willing to crack jokes, but not willing to actually have hope. Flynn was in one hell of a six-month sulk. Rafe was equal parts pissed about it, and desperate to find a way to knock Flynn out of it. What was the point of going to these lengths to save him if his brother didn’t live his life anymore?

  Problem for another day. Rafe had a hot brunette waiting for him, and Flynn was still on the clock. His piss-poor attitude wasn’t going to change tonight. “What’s so urgent you had to follow me back here?”

  “Are you having fun? On your date?”

  “It’s not a date,” Rafe said automatically. He waved his hand to get the paper towel machine to spit out more than one sheet, which barely dried a single finger.

  Flynn straightened, a surprising smile lighting up his face. “You bought her dinner. You’ve been fucking her with your eyes all night. What about that isn’t a date?”

  The fact they both swore it wouldn’t be. “Hanging out.” He one-shotted the paper towel into the trash. “We’re going for the friends-with-benefits thing.”

  “Sounds like dating—without the commitment. It also sounds too good to be true.”

  Beautiful and down-to-earth, smart, funny—yeah, he’d pegged Dr. Mollie Vickers as too good to be true from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Consciously echoing his brother, Rafe said, “Time will tell.”

  “Funny.”

  Rafe met his brother’s gaze in the mirror. And looking at him—aside from Flynn’s way shorter hair, was a lot like, well, looking in a mirror. “What do you care about Mollie?”

  “It looked like you guys were having a good time.”

  “Perv. You were watching us?”

  “Just glanced up a couple of times in between pouring drafts.” Flynn crossed his arms. Shifted his weight back and forth in the running shoes he wore to stand behind the bar all night. “Seemed like you were having fun. Something that’s been in short supply for half a year now. I’m glad, is all. Wanted to tell you.” He clapped Rafe on the side of his arm and rushed out the door.

  Talk about a surprise. Flynn, making an effort to be nice. Making an effort for two whole minutes to act like a brother again.

  Whaddya know? Bandon might be good for the Maguires after all.

  If it lasted . . .

  Mollie looked up at the stars winking between the tall canopies of pine trees. The night was clear. The sea air was soft. It was all too romantic for words. How on earth was a determined-not-to-have-sex woman supposed to resist jumping the hot hunk walking her home?

  Desperate to find a non-sexy topic, she said, “Your brother seemed nice.”

  “Flynn literally said hello and goodbye. That’s one hell of an assumption you’re making off of two words.”

  “He looks like you.”

  “Yeah. Kellan does, too. Hard to tell who’s who in the baby pictures.” Then Rafe stopped, shook his head, and winced.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  What was it with men thinking that not sharing made them seem tough? When it took a lot more strength, in fact, to open up and be real? “Come on. I can tell whatever you just said upset you. What was it?”

  “I, uh, remembered that all our baby pictures are gone.”

  “That’s horrible. How did it happen?”

  Another too-long beat of silence, which was weird. Almost like Rafe was figuring out what to say. “Basement flood. Scrapbooks, yearbooks—everything from our childhood is gone.”

  Mollie didn’t have any baby pictures, either. No milestones in her life captured until she’d been left with her grandmother. But she didn’t want to harp on her own regrets. Not when Rafe was still frowning and visibly bothered.

  “Lucky that you’re still living together. Plenty of opportunity to capture memories today.”

  “You’re a glass-half-full person, aren’t you?” Rafe reached over to hold a tree branch out of her way. He walked on the outside, too, in an old-school, gentlemanly move that impressed her.

  “Not always. You see a lot of bad things happen to good people in emergency medicine. Along with some seriously bad people. So I know to find the good where I can, and glom on to it.”

  “I dunno, Doc. I might be too dark for you, then.”

  Really? This coming from the smooth operator who’d kept her laughing all through dinner? Who’d shared hilarious stories of the trouble he and his brothers used to get into as children? Who had pushed his plate back in the middle of dinner to take her hand and slowly kiss the back of each knuckle?

  Rafe Maguire was no dark and tortured soul. If he was, he wouldn’t be dallying in the moonlight with her. Mollie shook her head. “Nope. You may have dark spots, but I’ll bet I can shine a light in and find the go
od parts.”

  Rafe stopped, bent in half, and braced his hands on his thighs. Low laughter rumbled out of him. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.

  “Let’s just say you’d be the first person to try.”

  If that was true, it was just sad. “No time like the present. How about you make me a promise? When you get home, take a picture with your brothers. Something silly, with all three of you mugging for the camera. It’ll start your new cache of memories.”

  “We’re doing a night out at the Gorse tomorrow. I could make sure their beers are full of foam and blow it in their faces.”

  His tone said Rafe was joking, but Mollie kind of loved the idea. “That’d be adorable. But I fear it might not be worth the inevitable retribution they’d rain down on you.”

  “Or maybe I’ll wake them up at dawn so everyone has bedhead.” He tugged on that longish curl that dipped onto his forehead like Superman. “Make it really ugly.”

  “No chance of that. You’re all so handsome, I’ll bet when you post a photo on Instagram you get hit on by total strangers.”

  “I don’t post.” And he sounded deadly serious. Like it was a vow of internet silence that he’d taken.

  “At all? Anywhere?”

  A quick, hard shake of his head. “Social media isn’t my thing. I don’t need the world knowing my business.”

  That was kind of . . . refreshing. Mollie had sat through countless dates, dinners with friends, and even meetings where conversation ground to a halt so everyone could post a status update. Come to think of it, Rafe hadn’t checked his phone once during dinner.

  Mollie wanted him to check his phone. In oh, say, about an hour. Because her house loomed in front of them and she wasn’t ready for whatever was bubbling between them to end. The thought of texting a hot man for fun from under the bedcovers appealed to her.

  “Do you text?”

  His side-eye pricked at her, it was so sharp. “I’m not Amish. Texted you about tonight, didn’t I?”

  That’s right. She stopped on the bottom step leading up to her porch. Rested a hand on her hip and shot him a come-hither smile. “Maybe you should text me later.”