by McCoy, Katie
Troublemaker
Rascals: Book Five
Katie McCoy
Contents
Prologue
Troublemaker
Also by Katie McCoy
1. Hayley
2. Hayley
3. Dante
4. Hayley
5. Hayley
6. Hayley
7. Dante
8. Hayley
9. Hayley
10. Hayley
11. Hayley
12. Dante
13. Hayley
14. Hayley
15. Hayley
16. Dante
17. Hayley
18. Hayley
19. Dante
20. Hayley
21. Dante
22. Hayley
23. Hayley
How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days
1. Gemma
I. Royal Player
2. Emmy
3. Emmy
About the Author
Also by Katie McCoy
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TROUBLEMAKET
Rascals: Book Five
Five guys. One bar. And a whole heap of sexy trouble...
Dante Delgado is arrogant, mysterious… and sexy as hell. He’s also my brother’s best friend, which makes him seriously off-limits — until one of our infuriating fights turns into a steamy make-out session.
Now, all bets are off.
I know he’s trouble, but I can’t stay away. The chemistry between us is burning out of control, but Dante’s hiding something behind that bad boy smile, and his secrets could destroy us both.
Am I heading straight for heartbreak? Or can this troublemaker open his heart for the right woman?
Find out in the sizzling conclusion to the Rascals series!
The Rascals Series:
1. RASCAL
2. WINGMAN
3. HEARTBREAKER
4. SOULMATE
5. TROUBLEMAKER
Also by Katie McCoy
The Rascals Series:
1. RASCAL
2. WINGMAN
3. HEARTBREAKER
4. SOULMATE
5. TROUBLEMAKER
The All-Stars Series:
1. ROYAL PLAYER
2. HOT BACHELOR
3. HEARTTHROB
4. SEX GOD
The Players Series:
GAME ON
PLAY ME
PLAY MAKER
1
Hayley
In my opinion, there was no better time of year than Christmas time. It wasn’t because of Santa or big, fragrant pine trees, and it wasn’t even because of presents. No, the reason I loved Christmas was because the entire world seemed to transform at this time of the year. Every building was decked out in twinkly lights, each streetlamp adorned with wreaths and ribbons, and every doorway had a sprig of mistletoe.
It was Christmas that transformed corners of downtown Chicago into the small town of my dreams. And right now, I was heading towards my favorite location in the entire city: Rascals.
The cozy bar, owned by my brother and friends, was in desperate need of some holiday-time sprucing. Aside from hanging a big bunch of mistletoe in the entrance, the place looked just the same as always.
An entrance that was currently occupied by a couple making good use of said mistletoe.
“Ahem.” I cleared my throat.
My brother, Emerson, and Alex, his girlfriend, broke apart at the sound.
“Sorry,” Emerson said, not looking sorry at all as he kept his arms around Alex. “But can you blame me?”
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide a smile. Ever since Alex had come into Emerson’s life, he had become the human equivalent of a teddy bear. Not that he had been a jerk before—he’d always been a great big brother, but Alex had definitely brought out the sweeter, cuddlier side of him.
I just wished that they kept the cuddlier part a little more private. Or, at least, away from me. I loved my brother, but I was so not interested in being reminded of his sex life. Because as far as I was concerned, despite the gorgeous girlfriend he was constantly pawing, he didn’t have one. Just like he probably didn’t want to think about my sex life.
Unfortunately, that made the both of us.
Even though I’d been casually seeing someone for a few weeks, that spark—the kind that made you grab someone and kiss them senseless under the mistletoe—had yet to surface. Mike’s kisses were fine. Nice, even.
I was tired of nice. I wanted spectacular.
“Whoa.” Emerson seemed to finally emerge from the cloud of lust surrounding him and Alex, and noticed that my arms were full of bags and boxes. “Did you rob Nordstrom?”
“Very funny.” I pushed past him to the bar, where I deposited my bounty.
Remember when I said my favorite part about Christmas wasn’t the presents? Well, I might have been fudging the truth a little. Because although it wasn’t my favorite part of the season, it was definitely pretty high up on the list of things that made Christmas so wonderful.
Not getting gifts. But giving them. And right now, it was the bar that needed my incredible gift-giving skills.
“What is all this?” Alex came to stand next to me, her eyes wide as I unpacked decorations.
“It’s to make the bar a little more festive,” I said, shooting a look at Emerson’s back as he headed towards his office. “Since I can’t trust my brother and his friends to do it up properly.”
“Ooh.” Juliet, one of the bartenders, entered, rubbing her hands together from the cold. “That’s pretty.”
Her boyfriend and another of the owners, Liam, followed behind her, stopping dead when he saw the piles of stuff in front of him.
“Uh,” he began, his eyes scanning the room.
“Emerson’s in the back,” Alex told him.
He made a beeline for it.
“Are they going to try to keep you from decorating?” Juliet asked.
“They can try,” I said with a smile. “But I find that my brother and his friends have a hard time saying no to me.”
The door swung open again and I could have bit my tongue, as the one exception to that rule strolled in, as if I had summoned him myself.
“Hey, Dante,” Juliet waved cheerfully at him.
I said nothing, trying not to stare, but it was hard when confronted with a man that looked like Dante. Tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome. He was wearing—like always—all black. Snug, worn, black jeans, and a leather jacket, with only a thin, equally tight black shirt beneath. It was probably twenty degrees outside, but he wasn’t even wearing a sweater—which meant I could see the tattoos peeking up from under his neckline.
“It looks like Santa threw up in here,” he said.
“Charming,” I countered, shooting him a glare.
“Your work, princess?” he asked, walking towards me.
“Don’t call me that,” I sighed. I’d told him a billion times that I hated that nickname.
He shrugged and came to stand next to me.
No wonder he didn’t wear a hat or sweater—I could feel the heat radiating off of him despite the fact that he kept several inches between us. I ignored the heat. Just like I ignored the hitch in my pulse and the warmth pooling in my belly.
Dante was hot—in more ways than one—and it was pointless to deny it. His dark hair and darker eyes seemed to drive women crazy, and his buff AF body was apparently enough for them to igno
re the fact that he was a complete asshole most of the time.
“Hey! Mistletoe,” a cheerful male voice came from the doorway, followed by a feminine squeal.
The first was from Chase, the second from his girlfriend, Kelsey, who he had swept into a passionate kiss.
I bit back a sigh. I was happy for my brother and his friends, all of whom had found love this year, but it was hard not to feel like the odd one out when everyone around you was coupled up. Everyone except for Dante, of course.
The day he acted all lovey-dovey would be when hell froze over.
“You’re crowding the doorway,” Sawyer—the fifth and final owner of Rascals—said to Chase and Kelsey, who were still kissing.
“Don’t be such a Grinch,” his girlfriend Gabi chided him playfully.
“Who’s being a Grinch?” he joked, pulling her into his arms. “I just wanted to make sure we got our chance beneath the mistletoe.”
I heard Dante choke back a laugh as his friends vied for space in the doorway to kiss their girlfriends.
“Since when do you idiots need an excuse to mack on each other in public?” Dante asked once everyone had come up for air.
“Now who’s the Grinch?” Sawyer asked, slapping Dante on the back. “Jealous much?”
Dante scoffed, but didn’t say anything more.
“Cool decorations,” Chase noted, coming over to join us at the bar.
“This is pretty.” Gabi pulled a crystal tree topper out of one of the bags. “Are you guys getting a tree for the bar?”
“No,” Dante said as Liam and Emerson returned from the back room. “No tree, no decorations. No girly shit.”
“Since when is Christmas girly?” Chase asked, folding his arms over his chest.
“No tree,” Dante said. “There isn’t any room.”
“Of course there is.” I pulled out my notebook where I had drawn up Rascal’s floorplan. “If we move these tables, there’s plenty of room.”
“If we move those tables, we’ll have less places for people to sit. Less places to sit means less customers, and that means less income,” Dante said. “No tree.”
I felt anger rise up inside of me. Dante had barely glanced at my plans before dismissing them. And if I knew anything, it was how to be a good hostess. After all, growing up in our ritzy neighborhood, my mom had trained me since birth how to throw a party, or benefit, or function. If you wanted something well-planned and well-attended, you went to me.
“You’re not the only owner of Rascals,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, I’m one of five,” he countered. “And you’re not.”
It was true, but the words stung. I had always considered myself an unofficial member of the Rascals team, even though I hadn’t financially invested the way the other guys had. But I did what I could to help make the place a success, and Dante knew that.
“I like the idea of a tree,” Chase said, leaning against the bar lazily. “It will make it smell nice in here.”
“And it will be really cozy,” Juliet added.
Being the smart guy that he was, her boyfriend, Liam, immediately agreed.
“Could be really pretty.” He looked closer at the decorations. “But do we have to use all of these sparkly things?”
“You’ll want to on a fifteen-foot tree,” I told him.
“Fifteen feet?” he let out a whistle. “Where are we going to get a fifteen-foot tree?”
“It will be here tomorrow,” I informed the group.
Emerson smirked. “When did you order it?” he asked.
“In November,” I smiled back. “You have to order something like that ahead of time.”
“Of course, you do.” He put his arm around me and dropped a kiss on my forehead.
Everyone around me seemed like they were quickly warming up to the tree, especially after hearing that it was already on its way. The only one still wearing a frown was Dante.
“You didn’t ask,” he pointed out.
“It’s a gift,” I snapped at him. “Do I have to ask permission to give you—the bar—a gift?”
“If it’s an unwanted one, yeah,” he countered.
He was being such an asshole. Even more so than usual. And I couldn’t figure out why.
“No one else thinks it’s unwanted,” I pointed out.
“Because they’re all wrapped around your little finger, princess.”
I knew he had added the nickname just to piss me off. I ignored it and flipped to another page of my notebook.
“We need to talk about Secret Santa,” I told the group, all of whom were sorting through my bags of decorations, pulling things out and spreading them across the bar.
“Oh! I love doing Secret Santa,” Juliet said with a big smile.
“I thought we could pick names today and come up with the rules and a day to do the exchange,” I said eagerly. Sure, it was cheesy, but that was the point.
I already had gift ideas for everyone, but I was excited to see who I’d end up with.
“No,” Dante said.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was the only thing to stop me from braining him with the wreath Gabi was unpacking.
“Why not?” Juliet asked before I could inflict bodily harm on Dante.
“Because it’s a waste of time and money,” he said.
“Exchanging gifts with your friends is a waste of time and money?” I repeated, hoping he’d see how stubborn and ridiculous he was being.
“Yes,” he responded.
So much for that tactic.
“You don’t have to participate, then,” I said, putting on my best trust-fund-kid voice. My rich-kid voice. The one with lots of attitude and snobbery. The one I knew that Dante hated.
“Fine,” he said.
“Does this mean you won’t be playing Santa this year?” Emerson asked cheekily.
Dante shot him a look that would have terrified a lesser man.
“That was one year,” he said between gritted teeth.
My eyebrows rose nearly to my hairline.
“I’m sorry, what?” I demanded. “You got Dante to dress up as Santa?”
I tried to imagine it. Dante, with his permafrown and big, scary attitude, dressed up as the jolliest of men? It shouldn’t have been hot, but it weirdly was. Maybe because I wasn’t picturing him as the typical round-belly, white-beard kind of Santa. I was picturing him as shirtless, scruffy, with a tilted Santa cap and naughty grin. The kind where I could climb onto his lap and tell him what a bad, bad girl I had been that year.
The room felt very hot all of a sudden as I struggled to keep my libido in check. It was one thing to admire how sinfully attractive Dante was. It was something else entirely to imagine myself doing something about it.
“Yeah, I want to hear about Santa Dante!” Kelsey demanded.
“Please tell me there are pictures,” Gabi added with a wink.
“It was a bet,” Dante muttered, glaring down at his feet. “And there are no pictures.”
“Are you sure about that?” Sawyer asked.
Dante’s head jerked up and everyone laughed.
“Dick.” Dante shot Sawyer a look, but without any malice. “Don’t forget, that was the one and only time I lost a bet.”
“Oh, I know,” Sawyer commented. “Because you never let us forget it.”
“You’re a big, bad man,” Chase added cheerfully. “We’re all afraid of you.”
Dante rolled his eyes, dissolving any tension.
“You all need hobbies,” he said, before turning to me. “Especially you.”
I didn’t reply. Dante might think that the way I spent my time was frivolous and stupid, but I did it because I loved bringing people joy. I loved figuring out what they needed and finding the best way to satisfy those needs. It was why I loved working with charities and volunteering with a variety of different organizations. Sometimes what they needed was money—which I was happy to provide—but sometimes they needed me and my help. Those were my f
avorite projects. Where I could really roll up my sleeves and make a difference.
I glanced at my watch and realized I was running late.
“Can you help me put this in the back until the tree arrives tomorrow?” I asked Juliet, gathering up my purchases. “I have to go get ready for my date.”
“A date?” Emerson stepped in front of me, arms folded.
I bit back a sigh. I loved my brother—loved him and his friends—but they all had a tendency to get a little bit protective when it came to my love life. Something that was one hundred percent none of their business
“Yes,” I told him, pushing him out of the way. “A date.”
“Do we know the guy?” Chase asked.
“You met him around Thanksgiving,” I said. “Mike.”
“Mike,” Emerson echoed before recognition dawned in his eyes. “Oh, Mr. Yale.”
“Mr. Yale?” I asked.
“Yeah, he wouldn’t stop yapping about going to Yale,” Sawyer added. “It’s like, dude, we get it.”
“He’s proud of his alma mater,” I countered, annoyed that they were doing this.
Because this is what they did with all the guys I dated. Found some way to make fun of them—give them stupid nicknames or joke about them behind their back. And sure, Mike had gone on and on and on about Yale, but it’s not like Emerson and his friends had a wide range of topics they liked to discuss. It was either the bar, the bar or . . . the bar.
But it seemed pointless to point that out to them. They’d never change. They’d never stop being overprotective. And because I knew it came from a place of love, I was able to cope with it. Even though it drove me crazy.