Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing (Hautboy Series Book 3)

by Anne Berkeley

  “There’s no justice in this world.” Pushing away from the table, Pax stood and left the room. “No freakin’ justice!” He smacked the door jamb with his knuckles on the way out. My father gave him a word of warning on damaging the house.

  Peter smiled and winked. “Gimme that.” He gestured to the bowl of potatoes I was mashing. “You’re not supposed to wear the things.”

  “You’re going to mash the potatoes?” I said disbelievingly. I handed him the mixer. Hey, if he offered, I wasn’t going to refuse. It wasn’t often, if ever that he wanted to help.

  “Oh, come on—how hard can it be?”

  “Wait!! Wait!” I stepped closer to the window, pulled back the curtains, and craned my neck, looking up at the sky.

  “What’re you doing?” Peter inquired with consternation.

  “I’ve never seen a pig fly before. I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Ha ha. Funny.” Rolling his eyes, he flipped the switch on the mixer, spraying the front of his shirt and half the kitchen with a mixture of russet and yukon gold potatoes. “Aw fuck!”

  “Peter!” Mom scolded.

  “It’s not me! This thing’s broken!”

  “It’s not broken. More like user error. You have to hold it straight.” I had to hold my stomach, I was laughing so hard. Peter turned the mixer in my direction. There was nowhere to go. Our kitchen was the size of a shoebox.

  “Out!” Mom shouted, shoeing Peter from the kitchen. “Get out! You’re making a mess, Peter! I’m trying to get dinner on the table! I don’t have time for your antics!”

  “I was trying to help!” Peter exclaimed.

  “You want to help—you can help clean up after everyone’s eaten!”

  “Fine.” Peter turned the mixer off and sat it on the counter. “If you’re going to yell about it…”

  “This is the reason I don’t allow the boys into the kitchen,” she said, looking at me. “They’re useless.”

  “That’s discrimination,” Peter stated.

  “It isn’t discrimination; it’s the truth!” When Mom started toward him with her trusty wooden spoon, Peter hightailed it out of the kitchen.

  “This isn't over!” Peter declared, ever the comedian. He'd watched way too many cartoons as a kid.

  “Finish the potatoes,” Mom said, gathering my attention. “Paige, take the casserole out of the oven. Piper, put the biscuits on the table.”

  My smile faded. I pushed my hair from my face and went back to mashing the potatoes. Playtime was over. Always the story.

  “What happened to the doctor, Paisley?” Mom asked, now that she had the kitchen to herself.

  “We broke up.”

  Mom snorted. “I knew that much. I meant why?”

  “That’s not nosy at all.”

  “I’m your mother. I’m allowed to be nosy. It’s my job.” Mixing the glazed carrots on the stove beside me, she waited for an answer.

  “I’m your daughter. I’m allowed to be taciturn.”

  “He was a nice boy. You weren’t afraid to bring him home.”

  “I never brought him home.”

  “No?” Mom pondered. “I thought you had. Maybe I’m thinking about one of Powell’s friends.” With thirteen children all school age and older, there was always an extra face in the crowd. Like I said, we all blended together. There was no singularity in our family. “And what about this rock star?”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  “Was it just sex, then?”

  My breath left my lungs. “Mom!”

  “I had thirteen babies, Paisley. I’m versed on the subject.”

  “I don’t care! I’m not talking about this with you!” Dear God. She never even had ‘the talk’ with me. In her defense, she never needed to. Between health class, the internet, television, and having twelve brothers and sisters, I was also versed in the art of conception, i.e., sexual intercourse. Now, eight years too late, I wasn’t about to broach the topic.

  “Promise me one thing, then.”

  “What?” I’d promise anything to change the subject.

  “It isn’t the one in all the legal trouble, is it?”

  “No. Tate Watkins is very cool, actually. Like I told Peter, he’s happily married, and the doting father to be. His wife is beautiful and down to earth.”

  Why people chose to believe the tabloids rather than giving someone the benefit of the doubt, I'd never understand. Not to mention it showed how little my mother knew me.

  “Then why don’t you want to work for them? You’re out of work, and on your own; you need the income, no?”

  I was going to kill Peter and his big mouth. “I’m fine on money, Mom. I had some money I set aside for a vacation.”

  “You’re avoiding the real question.”

  Now I know where Peter got his persistence from. Turning the mixer off, I tapped the blades on the side of the bowl and dropped them into the sink. “Potatoes are done. I’ll put them on the table.” I made a quick exit from the kitchen, dodging my mother’s question.

  The dining room was mayhem. Powell was setting the dishes. Preston was handing out napkins. Perry, the youngest, was handling the silverware. He had no idea what side the forks and knives went on, so he opted to place them all on the left. Phillip had the pitcher and was filling the glasses with water. I placed the bowl of potatoes off center, leaving room for the ham. Standing back, I looked over the table to see what we were missing. Potatoes, corn, biscuits, green bean casserole, salad, glazed carrots…the table was set, the glasses were filled.

  “Patrick, we need the salt and pepper shakers. Can you go get them?”

  “Why don’t you get them,” Patrick retorted, absorbed in whatever he was watching on his phone. “You’re up already.” Patrick was eighteen, and had just purchased his first phone. None of us had them until we were old enough to work, therefor able to pay the bill. Not only was he dreamy-eyed over his new toy, but he was feeling a little larger than life over impending adulthood.

  “Because I helped cook, which means you have to help set the table.” Little twerp. He might’ve been eighteen, but I was still older than him.

  Dad smacked him on the back of the head. “Do what your sister asked or you don’t eat dinner.”

  “I don’t like ham.”

  “Fine, then you can do the dishes when everyone’s done eating.”

  Nobody liked touching wet food. Patrick was quick to comply. He turned off his phone and sauntered into the kitchen with a hitch in his step that had Dad and me stifling our laughter.

  “I thought that swagger went out with the nineties,” Dad observed. He shook his head, trying to solve the puzzle of Patrick’s maturity. “At least his pants aren’t sagging to his knees.”

  I declined to comment. I’d gone through my own stretch of vainglory. Though, mine didn’t take effect until I had moved into my apartment. Fortunately, no one had been around to witness it. Nor did it last long. I remember lying in the center of my empty living room, completely sprawled on my back and basking in the silence. The neighbor below me cranked up his radio. Welcome To The Jungle began vibrating through the floor. Grimacing, I rolled to my side, and watched a silverfish scuttle across the baseboard and vanish into a crack in the plaster. I was off the floor in two seconds flat, doing the heebie jeebie dance. Once I shook off the last of my revulsion, I locked up, went to purchase a gallon of insecticide and dithered on whether to buy some used living room furniture or enough groceries to last me until my next pay.

  I’d bought neither. I settled on a television.

  “He got a shiny new toy,” I explained. “Give it a week; the novelty will wear off. He’ll grow bored with it.”

  “I hope so. He doesn’t ever put it down. I’m afraid he’s going to get in a car accident from texting while driving.”

  The doorbell rang. Pax rose to answer it just as Mom carried out the platter of ham. “Sit, everyone! Dinner is on the table! Come eat before it gets cold!”

  Everyone b
egan to file into the dining room and take their seats. It was the one time of day no one argued, and that was only because they were glutted with large amounts of fat and carbs. That’s not to say there wasn’t conversation. There were fifteen of us. It tended to get loud, and often entertaining. On the rare occasion, I missed having dinner with my family.

  “Paisley!” Pax shouted from the foyer. “You’ve got a visitor!” The entire room ooh’d over the announcement, as if I were sixteen and it was a boy at the door. The last time a boy knocked at the door for me, Pax broke his nose. And Liam, he never knocked because I always made sure to get to the door first.

  I found myself mentally rambling as I wondered who it could be. Nobody had my parents’ address except those I attended high school with. It wasn’t Dani. I’d seen her briefly Saturday night. After my visit with Tate, I needed a drink. We stuck with Trum’s because it was close.

  Rounding the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. I blinked a few times, sure I was seeing wrong. Jake Whalen, sex God extraordinaire, stood in my parents’ parquet foyer. In his hand, he held a large Easter basket, but that was secondary next to his appearance. He’d seen better days. His eyes were ringed lightly with blue. His nose had a small cut along the bridge.

  “How did you get this address?” I didn’t even live with my parents anymore. I hadn’t used it on my application, what parts I had completed.

  “Tate.” I guess their security team did comprehensive background checks. Although, that was beside the point.

  “What're you doing here?”

  Jake glanced pointedly at Pax, who was standing off to the side, and back to me. “Can we talk in private?”

  “Pax, get lost.”

  Not one to be told what to do, Pax pushed off the wall and stepped toward us. “Aren't you going to introduce me?”

  “No.”

  Jake grinned minutely, and extended his hand. “Jake Whalen.”

  Pax, however, didn't smile. He clasped Jake’s hand in a vice like grip. Jake didn't back down. He gave it right back. The tendons in their hands and wrists stood out under the skin in a contest of masculinity. Idiots.

  “Peter do that to you?” Pax asked Jake, nodding toward his face.

  “It was a misunderstanding.”

  “Peter hits like a sissy.” Implied meaning: Pax hit much harder. It was a warning.

  “Hey, I'm not looking for trouble.” Jake held up the large basket in his hand. “I came to make amends.”

  “Good luck with that.” This time, Pax flashed a smile. He released Jake’s hand, and headed toward the living room, not before tousling my hair. “Give him hell, squirt.”

  “Jerk.” With a scowl, I brushed my hair back in place. Brothers sucked. They loved to make my life miserable. Mildly satisfied with my hair’s compliance, I folded my arms across my chest. “You didn't have to come here.”

  “Actually, I did. I was told to do whatever it took to get you to take the job.”

  “I'm not taking the job.” Especially now.

  “Will you at least consider it?”

  “Look, they're your friends. I'm not going to make you hide while I'm in their house because you're trying to avoid me.”

  “I wasn't hiding behind the ficus tree.”

  “I didn't say anything about a ficus tree.”

  Jake averted his gaze, focusing on the atrocity of my mother’s mint green formal living room. He’d just ratted himself out. Until now, it was only a suspicion that he was hiding behind that tree. My eyes narrowed as my annoyance peaked.

  “You know, that's what pisses me off. I never expected you to call. We had sex. That's it. I’m not disillusioned that it was something more than it was. I wasn’t hoping to get a foot in the door so that I could see you again. Not every girl is as puerile as you'd like to believe. I wasn’t pining over you. I needed a job. That’s the only reason I was there. So get over yourself already.”

  Shifting his weight, Jake leaned closer to me, and lowered his voice, as if anyone could hear over the noise in the other room. “Shaw, just take fucking the job.”

  “That’s real persuasive.”

  Behind me, my mother cleared her throat. I took a step back, suddenly aware of how close Jake and I were standing together. “I came to see who was at the door.”

  “Nobody. He was just leaving.”

  “Don't be rude, Paisley. Invite your guest to sit down for dinner.”

  “He doesn—”

  “I would love to,” Jake interjected.

  My mouth dropped. I fumbled for something to say. “What about your sister? Aren't you spending the holiday with her?”

  “She's spending it with her boyfriend’s family.”

  “What about your friends?”

  “The band? I spend twenty-four seven with them when we’re on the road. Some new faces will suit me fine.”

  Mom’s eyes brightened. “Great! I’ll set another place at the table.” She hurried out of the room as if Jake was some respectable suitor intent on asking for my hand in marriage, instead of the man who fucked me six ways till Sunday and then never called.

  “What do you think you're doing?” I hissed.

  “Are you taking the job?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Because Tate will take it out on me if Coop’s not happy, and he’s insisting you're perfect for this job. If anyone’s going to make my life hell, I’d rather it be you.”

  I flinched over his rebuttal. It was one thing to suspect he didn’t want me around, but it was another thing to hear the words come out of his mouth.

  “Please go.” My lip trembled. A fucking traitor in my war for dignity. I bit back the urge to cry. I refused to shed tears in front of him. I’d used him the same as he’d used me. He was nobody. He was inconsequential. I didn't like him. I didn't even know him. Except I wasn’t ever supposed to see him again. And it wasn’t the first time he made me cry.

  I could only imagine what he thought of me. He probably thought I was some spoiled little girl with angst because my mommy made me do chores growing up. Well fuck him. I knew what I was about. I didn’t need his approval.

  “Don’t fucking do it,” Jake warned, drawing me up short. His words were a remedy to my emotional upheaval. They staunched my tears with bitter indifference. “Don't you dare fucking cry.”

  “I'm not!”

  Taking a step closer, he stole back the distance between us. I gritted my teeth, looking up at him. “Tate was right; I have rules. I don’t sleep with sisters of friends or employees.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  “Because you’re too stubborn to take the job?” He actually sounded disappointed by that. I really didn’t understand him.

  “Because I’m not interested in you.”

  “That’s just mean, Shaw, and a lie if I ever heard one.” He lifted his hand and pinched a tendril of hair along my temple. I slapped his hand away. Faster than I could react, he grasped my nape, clutching a handful of hair in his fist. He tugged my head back and pressed his lips to mine.

  Fucker.

  The second his tongue brushed my lower lip, my willpower dissolved. I hated myself for it, opening to him with little to no resistance. His tongue swept inside with a slow stroke. My knees went weak, all but forgetting that I was supposed to be indifferent to his attention.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Wrong choice of maledictions. Just the word evoked memories better left in the past. The slide of satin against my wrists. The bite of leather against my ass. Goosebumps rose across my skin, every nerve ending roused and attentive. Fuck.

  Hanging onto the tiniest thread of salvation, I reached down and grasped his balls, meaning to give them a firm squeeze to discourage his advances. Instead, I paused over the length of his cock against my forearm. I raised my hand a little, palming him. He was fully erect.

  Breaking the kiss, Jake captured my wrist. His breath burst against my lips in a whisper. “You’re the sweetest kind of hell, Shaw.”r />
  At his words, realization came slowly. I was going to make his life hell because he was attracted to me. He was attracted, but couldn’t have me because he didn’t date sisters of friends or employees.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Smug.”

  I bit back the smile that wanted to form on my lips, but inside, my pride was jumping for joy. “You want me.”

  “What I want is irrelevant. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you the other night. I broke rules. My friends wouldn’t be pissed off, and you wouldn’t hesitate to take a job you need. Why didn’t you tell me you’d gotten fired?”

  “Because it wasn’t and isn’t any of your business.”

  “I’m going to tan your ass the next time you say that to me.”

  “You can’t. We’re not involved.”

  “I thought we were past the evasiveness.”

  “It’s not a secret anymore, is it?”

  “Take the job, Shaw.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Are you serious or are you shitting me?”

  “Can you take it?” I asked, using his own words, and then added, “With me being the epitome of Eve, are you sure you can resist temptation?” I had the satisfaction of watching his eyes narrow. His gaze dropped, travelled down to my cleavage, and lower. When the very corner of his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, I knew the answer was no.

  “One of us has to behave,” he insisted. “I guess if you haven’t learned your lesson after losing your job, it has to be me.”

  “Cause you’re all about control.”

  “I won’t deny it.”

  “Good.” I was going to enjoy the shit out of making him lose it. Sliding from his arms, I walked to the door and pulled it open. Fucker comes to my house and thinks he’s going to intimidate me. He had another thing coming.

  Jake followed me part way, then paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, glancing toward the kitchen.

  “What’s what supposed to mean?”

  “Good?”

  “Oh, did I say that out loud?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry, that was supposed to be an internal thought.”

  “Shaw.” His tone was thick with warning.