I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances

by Sophie Brooks

  “Evelyn…” There was alarm in his voice.

  “Don’t worrrie, Rafaelie! We’re all getting’ sssshitfaced to…Hic!...to honor the mem…the mem’ry of your shister. She was one tough broad and an awesome climber.”

  “Eve. Let me talk to Vicki.”

  “Okay.”

  I passed the phone to the very amused Vicki Gomez. “Hi,” Vicki said, and before my head hit the table, I vaguely recall having felt very relieved that she didn’t call him “Rinaldi-asshole.”

  I WOKE UP in the middle of the night, sprawled on the floor on one of the sleeping bags we always used at Chico’s place. My head swam a little and all those chicken wings began to flap around in my stomach.

  I bit back a groan.

  Best get it done and over with.

  Very, very slowly I rolled onto my side. Then I eased onto my knees and got up, navigating the small apartment by memory.

  The bathroom – here.

  I flipped the switch, flinching away from the light. Then I got rid of those pesky chicken wings and pizza and tequila and beer, followed up with some water and mouthwash, cleaned myself up, and pattered slowly to my little spot on the floor.

  There was a giant lump there in the dark, right next to where I’d always slept. I eased my way down, feeling better but still fighting nausea.

  A familiar scent of aftershave and musk wafted to my nostrils.

  “You ok, Evelyn?” Raf whispered, not wanting to wake up the others.

  Here was that question again. If he’d asked me any other questions that day, I had already forgotten – it was all drowned in a barrage of inquiries after my health. A wave of irritation washed over me. Can’t a girl have a night out with her friends?

  “Yeah,” I said, settling next to him.

  “OK,” he said, draping his arm over my torso and pulling me in. Only as I turned to my side, my eyes closing of their own volition, did I realize that Raf had brought me my own, favorite pillow.

  CHAPTER 15

  “EVELYN…Evelyn…Evelyn…”

  I batted my hand at the source of the repetitive, disagreeable noise. It had to stop. My body wasn’t done sleeping yet. Hung over and dehydrated, with eyes glued shut and my hair a tangled mess, I turned away, burying my face into my pillow. The rustle of the sleeping bag fabric underneath hurt my ears.

  “There are other ways,” said another voice, full of mischief.

  The mischief with amethyst eyes, falling, falling down, eyes wide, groomed brows raised in alarm.

  “I bet I can wake her up pretty fast for you.”

  “C’m on, guys,” a calm baritone intoned. “Another twenty minutes won’t hurt anything. So what if she misses breakfast?”

  Calm voice and spiky, black hair, a wordsmith with a prominent tattoo of a coiled rope on his shoulder.

  The mention of food roused me some. I inhaled deeper, intrigued by the scent of bacon riding on the air.

  So good…

  I felt my stomach growl, but it didn’t turn over like it had the night before, and I was grateful for actually wanting to ingest food. Yet, the voices around me filled me with morbid curiosity.

  What will they do next?

  The guys were a bunch of morons, and my best-ever girlfriend Vicki was no better. It took one to know one. I kept my eyes shut tight, my breathing even.

  I felt a hand near me and forced myself to ignore it. My ears picked up the sound of a zipper opening. It went on and on – then the cool morning air hit my bare legs. I whimpered, wiggling deeper into the still-warm sleeping bag.

  Wild hands ripped the cozy covers off me – a deluge of ice-cold water hit my body right after.

  I shrieked, hands flailing at targets far out of reach. My face was drenched, hair dripping water into suddenly wide eyes, and an errant ice cube slithered under my loose t-shirt and slid down my formerly warm and comfortable back.

  I was awake alright. Grinning faces surrounded me.

  “You assholes!” I picked the ice cubes off my legs and from around my butt. Seated in a freezing, sodden mess, I glared at Vicki’s vile, red hair smile and Taylor’s easy grin. I met Chico’s amused gaze with a petulant scowl.

  Then there was Rafael. He, too, held a large, empty beer glass. The smooth container was still wet, telltale streaks tracking through the condensation on its sides.

  “Et tu, Brutus?” I shot in his direction, mock hurt in my eyes.

  “I came to praise Caesar, not to bury him.” His devastating grin split his face, bringing a bright twinkle in those impossibly blue eyes. His warm, dry hand reached down for mine, offering help. I grasped it, pretending to get up as I pulled him down, moving aside with every consideration for the comfort of his fall.

  “Fuck, Evelyn. Now I’m soaked!”

  Taylor Nolan rushed off to rescue the bacon on the stove and Chico joined him to crack the eggs. Only Vicki stood there, looking at us with an incredulous, hurt expression.

  “Since when does he get to be Brutus? I thought I was your best friend.”

  THE KITCHEN was small and the dining room nonexistent, and since we had to eat in shifts anyway, I draped the wet sleeping bag over the railing of the small balcony and opted for a quick shower first. My jeans were still dry and so was my workout shirt and sports bra from the night before. Peeling off the wet t-shirt and the black, silk boxers off my body, I was about to turn the shower on when Raf slipped into the small bathroom. He locked the door and leaned against it.

  “We have to talk,” he said without ceremony. His tone was serious and all business and there was an air of urgency about him. I shivered from the cold and wrapped myself in a large bath towel. Then I leaned my butt against the porcelain sink.

  “Right now?”

  “Damn straight right now,” he growled, and I noticed that his narrowed eyes were as hard as arctic ice, and just as blue. “Don’t fucking ever do this to me again, Evelyn.”

  “Sorry… but you got me wet first.”

  His eyes were uncomprehending for a brief moment. He shook his head. “Not that. Just… what you… you’d done to me last night was…” He grasped for words, finding none. He spanned the three steps between us. He grabbed me the towel draped over my shoulders in his large hands and pulled me in. Every part of Raf was hard. His chest, his hands, his eyes. Gone was the tender lover who brought sunburn blushes to my face only twenty-four hours ago.

  Now fury tightened the set of his mouth, the squint of his eyes. The once-soft, generous lips were pressed together in a thin line and I saw his jaw muscle work hard, striving to retain control.

  Anger.

  Anger, and fear.

  “Don’t fuck with me like this. Don’t you ever disappear like this again, only to show up across town and drunk…and…” His nostrils flared as he took a quick, shallow inhale.

  “Don’t fucking just disappear on me.” His voice was but a whisper, barely audible over his pounding heart.

  My mind swirled with mixed emotions. The intensity of his gaze set off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I’ve felt this before – a memory of Raf standing over me at Starbucks flashed through my mind – he’d been angry then, angry and sexy as hell. Now, in the tight privacy of the bathroom, he didn’t look so pretty anymore.

  “Rafael…” I strove to placate him. There was a wild, feral edge to the energy he exuded, triggering what was left of my survival instinct. I didn’t know why he was like this but obviously, I’d played a key role in it. I felt my eyes soften, trying to understand his distress.

  “Rafael, what set you off?”

  He pushed me away.

  “What set me off? What am I supposed to think happened to you when you disappear like that? You could’ve called, left a note, anything. You still have that wound healing up. Just… And then… Dammit.” He let go of me, wiping his hand up his face and running his fingers through his hair. “Then I call you and you fuck with me.”

  “I don’t remember saying anything objectionable.”


  “Ask your friends.”

  “Well then, I will. After I have my shower.” I dropped the towel over the rack and turned the water on, getting it just warm enough.

  “Evelyn.” The bossy insistence of his voice grated on my nerves and I turned my back on him as sudden resentment welled up within me. I didn’t need to check with him on every single thing. He could damn well wait until I was done and dressed before he got to drive his point home all over again.

  Streams of warmth worked hard to erase the searing cold of the ice cubes off my skin. My hair was already shampooed and rinsed, and I was about to reach for Chico’s conditioner when a draft of cold air hit my back; a chill, wet body pressed against me.

  “Hey… you’re making me cold again.”

  Raf only shut the shower-stall door and pressed his chest into my back, embracing me.

  “I thought I’d go where the action is.” His voice was so choked, he barely got the words out.

  “No action for Brutus. History has declared he hasn’t gotten laid since the Caesar incident.”

  He skimmed the curve of my breast, tracing wet, warm fingers up my neck and to my chin, turning my face to the side.

  He didn’t say a thing. His silence was palpable as his tongue brushed over the sensitive skin from behind my ear down, stopping only at the crook of my neck. Hot lips descended; an insistent arousal ground against my back.

  Still eerily soundless, he spun me around and into the corner. His intent was clearly written in his eyes.

  “Rafael! Are you nuts? We can’t do it in here.”

  “Watch me.”

  Anger welled up in my chest. “No. You watch me.” I turned the shower off and met his eyes. “You’re not my mother. I get to spend time with my friends whenever I want to, and I get to come home late, or the next day, if I want to. I’ve been hanging with this group of people, just like this, for years.” I met his frozen, stunned gaze, and softened my tone. “Rafael. I wasn’t thrilled to see you last night. I’ve been hoping we could meet each other’s friends another time.”

  His hands slid up the wall by my face and he leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth, pressing his body against me.

  “Eve.”

  “I already said no.” I evaded his mouth, trying to slip to the side, away from the press of his body and his need.

  “Rafael! I want you to leave this bathroom so I can take my fucking shower.”

  His eyes hardened, blocking the warring emotions within and his hands slipped down to my shoulders, squeezing hard.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again, Evelyn.”

  His grip was hard and it hurt. “Let go.”

  “Don’t you ever disappear on me.”

  “Rafael, you’re hurting me! Let. Go. Of. Me.” The panic in my voice must have gotten through to him somehow, because he shook his head and looked at me – really looked at me this time, seeing fear and pain and disbelief – and he let go of my shoulders slowly, loosening one tight, gripping finger at a time.

  Entirely silent, his face a blank mask of iron control, he turned around and left, closing the glass shower door and then the wooden bathroom door, and only then did I turn the shower on again, tears blending together with the water, my hunger entirely forgotten.

  THE NORTH Face Climbing Gym was open for business from six in the morning on Saturdays. By the time our group sauntered in, the regulars and the early birds were long gone, and the space was full of kids and climbing wanna-be’s. The ubiquitous vending machine that dispensed sports drinks was right next to the bathroom door and the display with Celia’s memorial was on the other side. I nodded toward it.

  “They did a good job.”

  With a corner of my eye, refusing to look at him directly, I saw Raf stiffen at the obvious expression of someone else’s grief for the sister he’d loved and lost. Chico walked over, avoiding close proximity, still pissed over the two of us having ruined the pleasant morning for everyone else. They skimmed the articles behind the glass, eyeing her trophies.

  “Too bad I didn’t get to meet her,” Chico said. “I guess I run with a different crowd.”

  “What crowd would that be?” A low baritone intoned from behind us. I turned around. The bald man was chewing fragrant cinnamon gum, scrunched eyebrows giving his thoughtful look a fierce appearance.

  “Mmm…Frankie, right?” I asked, retrieving his name from my sore, hung-over brain. He nodded at me. “Evelyn. From the Loose Rock.”

  “You know of me?” Confusion must have been written in my eyes. I’d never seen him down there.

  “I make it my business to know anyone who’s interested in Celia’s death,” he hissed in a low and menacing voice.

  I didn’t see Raf turn but I felt him, the heat of his body radiating right behind me. I drew away, still sorting out my feelings regarding that morning’s shower incident.

  “Then you’d want to know that I’m her brother. Raf Rinaldi.”

  A LOT happened in a short period of time after Raf revealed his identity to the intrepid guardian of the North Face Climbing Gym. There had been a good bit of posturing and those too-tight, long-lasting handshakes, and Raf had to identify himself and prove that he is, in fact, Celia’s next-of-kin.

  Soon we were all packed into the cramped little office in the back of the facility. A young, pink-haired punk girl with wild eye makeup took over the front desk traffic while Frankie poured burned coffee into paper cups, trying his best hand at hospitality under difficult circumstances.

  “She is… hell. She was the spirit of this place,” he said. He shook his head, and his shaved skull gleamed under the fluorescent lights. “Our trainer, Craggs, he though she had everything she needed to break through and go pro. She had the visibility, the charisma, everything. Then this one guy showed up, started flirting with her and she got kinda distracted, y’know? She’d skip workouts to go out partying with him…” He cleared his throat and flashed a loaded look in Rafael’s direction.

  “Yeah. She seemed really happy.” Rafael’ voice was more bitter than the coffee scalding my tongue. “She thought he was ‘the one’.”

  “He’s still around,” I mused. “Question is, how to get him to jail.”

  “To jail?” Frankie’s eyebrows rose, his tan forehead scrunched in lines. “For what?”

  “Well… it so happened that Chico, here, made a startling discovery regarding the gear she’d used the day she died.” Rafael’s voice was impassive, controlled. He handed the large, plastic bag with Celia’s gear over to Frankie. “Go ahead. You tell me. What’s wrong with this picture?”

  AN HOUR had passed. Craggs was on his way to the gym. So was Jubal Lupine, the detective that wanted me to tell him how I’d gotten shot in the rear two weeks prior. We waited, alone with our thoughts, until Chico stood and stretched his toned arms all the way up, letting his t-shirt ride up and show his pierced navel.

  “No point just sitting around,” he said, not marring his lovely face with a frown. He tossed his hair to the side, shooting a challenging look in Frankie’s direction. “Will you at least let us boulder while we wait?”

  What transpired next was rather amusing. Frankie’s gaze locked with Chico’s in a silent struggle; a dark, titanium stud winked from his earlobe. His lips widened in an easy grin.

  “Sure, you can climb if you’re bored. Although I better go supervise. Gym policy for newbies, you see.”

  The air was charged as they stared at each other. There was challenge and defiance, and competition so thick you didn’t need a rock wall to get high.

  “I’ll come with you,” I announced, eager to get out of the cramped, stuffed little room.

  “You don’t want to stay with me anymore?” Raf whispered.

  “Not this second, no. If I don’t feel like sitting next to you, it’s your fault.” And it was. My shoulders were sore and his grip marks were developing into bruises. Nothing like an easy climb with a few stretches afterward would ease my foul mood.

  He
pulled me down by my hand, kissing my shoulder lightly. “Sorry, Goldilocks. Got carried away.”

  “Would you two just take a room?” Nolan snarled, unaccustomed to neither Raf nor any public display of affection. Taylor, unlike us, was an intensely private sort. He didn’t care what we did on our own time, as long as he wasn’t personally exposed to it. Besides, it was common knowledge that he was dating a girl from a well-to-do family whose brother was a real jerk and got in the way of every single relationship his sister had tried to enter in the past.

  ONLY AN HOUR later, the little office was even tighter-packed than before. I opted to stand to make room for the proprietor, Craggs. A big guy with long, corded muscles and a long, black ponytail, his face was as weathered as the rocks he climbed on his days off. Currently he was pissed off royally, and his anger was barely contained under the thin veneer of manners he chose to adopt to interface with civilized society.

  “So you’re saying my star climber, the one I’ve been working with for years, got offed by this upstart who joined the gym not too long ago?”

  Rafael nodded. “That’s the theory right now.”

  Craggs fingered the too-thin rope, spitting on his fingers to see if, indeed, they’d get stained like Chico said they would. They did.

  “Fuck.” His quiet, measured expletive sliced the air. “And she’d been so fearless.”

  “Maybe too fearless,” Chico said. “Did she trust others easily?”

  “She just hit it off with Blaine. They were a natural team. He’d said he’d never climbed before and I chose not to say anything. He was catching on awful quick for a newbie, but you notice things. No newbie can hang on his fingers, no matter how strong they are. You gotta get used to that.”