Something cool pressed against her forehead. Cat wanted to burrow into it like she was a kitten. She might’ve even made a mewling sound. Her body shivered like she was purring.
“You do not belong here,” said the deep male voice.
It was a different voice than the male who had been with her. Timmy, was his name? Timmy’s voice had taken on a snake-like, hissing quality after her third drink. She’d decided to get away from it, and him, and was headed for the bathroom when Timmy had suddenly developed more than two arms.
Cat had never had to fight a guy off. She’d never had one put his arms around her. Except now. Whoever’s arms were around her now, she decided she liked it. She liked it so much she wanted to slither up against it.
Cat opened her eyes to see a familiar face. Those platinum blue-gray eyes were just as hard as the last time she’d looked into them. And still, they didn’t frighten her or make her want to run away. If anything, she wanted to curl up in them, like they were those reflective blankets that would keep a person warm in freezing conditions.
“It’s you,” Cat said as she gazed up at West York. “They said you are a bad guy. But that’s not you at all. You’re my hero.”
At least she tried to say hero. But it came out all wrong as she let out a loud, resonant burp.
“Oh my gosh.” Cat covered her mouth. “That’s so embarrassing and not sexy at all.”
“It’s okay.” West wiped at her mouth with a cloth. Though his eyes remained hard, his movements were gentle and efficient. Like this wasn’t his first time cleaning up after someone who couldn’t care for themselves.
“No,” said Cat, “it is not okay. I wanted to check you off my list. And then I burp in your face.”
West tossed the cloth into the trash bin across the room with perfect aim. “What list?”
“My bucket list. I checked off a lot of things today. My first soccer goal.”
“It was a volleyball.”
“And my first crime.”
“Crime?” If it were possible, West’s stony gaze went harder. “What did you do?”
“Trespassing. Might be a small thing to you, but I’ve never broken any rule in my life.”
“Breaking rules isn’t something to be proud of. You’re a good girl.”
“Am not.” Cat tried to sound indignant, but to her ears, she sounded impudent. “I’m in a bar. And I was getting hit on by a guy. Do good girls do that?”
“You don’t want to be involved with a guy like Tommy Stokes.” West’s voice was all growl.
“Oh? His name’s Tommy? I thought it was Timmy. He is much more like a Timmy to me. Timmy is a little boy’s name. He was certainly behaving like a little boy. Where is he?”
“He’s gone.” West’s features contorted into something menacing. Cat was certain she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that look.
“Did you?” She made two loose fists with her hands and put them up before West’s face.
West un-balled her fists. “No, I didn’t. You took care of that yourself.”
“Me? I hit someone?”
“No.” West’s face cracked into a tiny grin. Though the facial expression was a small one, it packed a look of pure satisfaction in it. “You threw up on him. It was exactly what he deserved for trying to take advantage of you.”
“Yeah. He was completely awful,” Cat admitted. “Nothing like you.”
West brought her to her feet and held her until she was steady. “I may not be a good guy, but I’m not a jerk like him.”
“I think they’ve got you all wrong. You’ve been nothing but kind and thoughtful to me.”
“Shhh.” He pressed his index finger to her lips. “Don’t let anybody hear that. It’ll ruin my rep.”
Cat’s grin spread against that single digit. Yes, she was certain Tommy and Rose and the bartender had West York all wrong. “You’re not bad at all, are you?”
“For you? Yes, I am. I’m very bad.”
“No, you’re a checkmark. You’re the biggest checkmark. You’re going to be the check at the top of my list.”
The item at the top of Cat’s list was to have her first kiss. She couldn’t think of a better man to share it with. Truly, she couldn’t think of any man to share it with. The only other man who’d been remotely interested in her had tried to take that kiss from her, not share it with her. Cat knew that a man like West wouldn’t take her first kiss from her. He wouldn’t share the experience either, per se. No, a man like West York would give it to her. Cat leaned in, determined to get the party started.
And then everything went black.
The last thing she remembered was West cursing. But she couldn’t remember the exact curse word. Too bad. She remembered it had been a good one.
In the darkness, Cat was pulled into a dream. She dreamed of being swept off her feet by a real-life hero. She dreamed of galloping on a horse with the wind in her hair and horns blaring out a car window. She dreamed of telling West her address and standing at her front door as he fiddled with the lock. She dreamed of making her way into the dark house; dark because her parents were at a party celebrating her dad’s new promotion.
When she woke in the morning, she wasn’t sure which parts of the previous night were a dream and which were real. But one thing she knew for sure, she was going to kiss West York.
8
West
It was still dark when West opened his eyes the next morning. His alarm clock was on his phone. The button to turn it off was small and in the corner of the screen, so he had to open his eyes and focus on the face of the phone in order to turn it off. If he hit anywhere else, the alarm would play a more annoying beeping tone.
His thumb slipped, and the tone wailed in a higher pitch.
West fought the urge to throw the device across the room. For most of his life, he had awakened when he felt like it. That was most often around noon.
Parental guidance had not really been a thing in his household since his parents behaved …well, he’d seen children with better behavior than his egg and sperm donor. Nope, West didn’t even bother offering either of them the title of Mom and Dad. Not since he was sixteen, and they lost all his confidence.
School hadn’t been the only thing that was optional in the York household. But West had often gone to the institution. Sometimes. He'd missed days of schools, often only making it in time for lunch. Which sometimes was his only meal of the day.
His parents had never been the most law-abiding. Starting with the way they made money to keep a roof over the family's head. Followed by how they self-medicated to forget the things they did. Not to even mention the illegal drugs they left around in clear view of their children.
Neither West nor his siblings ever partook. Not a sniff, not a needle, not even a drink. They simply hadn’t had the stomach for it, not when they’d had their fill of drugs while in utero and struggled for life in the first months of their existence in the NICU.
But this was his new life. Now there were no drugs in the York household. Crime did not pay. And everyone awakened early enough for school.
West stretched his eyelids. His phone screen came into focus. He managed to tap the small button to silence the alarm.
Turning over to his other side, he nudged the small body next to him. “Dinck, time to get up."
"Five more minutes," came the whiny voice. "Hit the snoozer again.”
“You gotta get up.” West gave the small body of the little girl a shake. “And you should be in your own bed."
Light gray eyes blinked up at him. They were filled with a false innocence that a twenty-seven-year-old would’ve mastered. Not a seven-year-old.
“There was an R.O.U.S. under the bed,” Dinck said.
"You know there's no such thing as a rodent of unusual size,” West countered, playing his part by reciting their daily dialogue.
"Only because no one has ever seen one.” Dinck dropped the false sincerity and giggled.
West tick
led her belly, causing the little girl to shriek with louder giggles. She kicked out scrawny legs, tossing the bedsheets and one of his pillows to the ground. He’d have to clean the mess up, but at least they were both up.
Dinck was only seven, but she knew all the lines to his mother's favorite movie. All Gloria York’s kids did. The worn-out VHS tapes and scratched DVDs were testaments to how often they watch the film The Princess Bride.
West tossed Dinck over his shoulder and headed across the hall to her room. The two of them could barely fit in the small room comfortably. Her small bed took up most of the space. There was no dresser of drawers. Her clothes either hung from hangers in the closet or were stuffed in crates on the closet floor.
West shut the girl in as she prepared herself for the school day. He told himself he’d be able to do better for her soon. He was doing everything he could to make sure she had a better shot in life than he did. He needed someone to give him a shot now. That’s why he needed that security job at the school.
West tossed a shirt over his head and stepped into a pair of jeans. Dressed for the day, he followed his nose to the kitchen where his brother Fezzik flipped a buttery pancake in a pan with enough lard to one day clog his arteries. Fezzik’s French boss, Louis Villiers at Chez Villiers, would be proud of his line cook.
“You hear from dad?" asked West as he drowned the stack of pancakes in thick syrup.
“Nope,” said Zik. “Last I saw him, he was falling out of Millers on Saturday night. Sheriff St. Clair put him in the tank. I suspect he’s dried out by now and will be making an appearance.”
West sighed. Things were always quieter when Bill was behind bars or in rehab. But those times were few and far between. No one believed he was going to kick his habits any longer. Especially not his children.
“You came in late last night,” said Zik.
West shrugged, waiting to swallow down the fluffy sweetness before he answered. "A girl I know got drunk. Then a guy was hitting on her. I got her out of the situation."
Zik turned off the burner. Spatula in hand, Zik turned to face his older brother. “Westley Vizzini York.”
West waved his spoon at his brother. “Don’t you middle name me, Fezzik Rugen York.”
The two brothers held their utensils out to one another like they were swords. Their mother would use their middle names when they got in trouble, which was often. She said she gave them those names because there was a little of the good guy and a little of the bad guy in each of them.
Westley and Fezzik were two of the heroes of The Princess Bride. Amongst the villains were the mastermind Vizzini who steals the Princess Buttercup away, and Count Rugen who works for the evil Prince Humperdinck.
“Drop your sword,” said West.
Zik rolled his eyes at the famous line the hero Westley delivers as he defeats Prince Humperdinck.
“Have a seat,” said West.
Instead of following West’s command, Zik turned back to the stove. “You know, for someone who claims he’s no hero, you’re always stepping into situations where some damsel is in distress.”
“It was a one-time thing.” West sliced his round pancakes into triangular bites. “I’m not gonna see her again. Hopefully, by next week I’ll be working a real job.”
"You really think they'll hire you? What with everyone believing what you did?"
"They have to give me a fair shot. The probation officer is making sure of it. And I am the best man for the job. After Friday, when my probation is over, they won't have any valid reason not to give me a chance."
"You just need to get to Friday without getting into trouble."
"Easy," said West.
"Best to let someone else take your drunk girlfriends home from now until then."
"She’s not my girlfriend."
The words tasted bitter in his mouth. But a girl like Cat was not meant for the likes of him.
"I'm ready to go to school," said Dinck. “Or I can stay home with you two.”
She was dressed in jeans and a medieval jacket. On her hip was a foam sword. On her back was a backpack with a picture of Andre the Giant as Fezzik. West couldn’t help but grin at the little imp.
West lifted her up and over his shoulder to her delighted squeals. "You’re gonna go to school. You’re gonna get an education so you can take care of me when I'm old. It’s the circle of life, kid."
West marched the wiggly worm out the front door and to the end of the block. He sat her down amongst the other kids of the neighborhood, who were all bigger than she was. But it had been the same with him when he was her age. He was scrawny and skinny and constantly picked on. Zik, too. But it had made them tough.
Watching Dinck climb the stairs to the school bus, and then sit by herself in the front, West wished he could ride with her to school. He wished he could come and sit with her and be her constant friend and protector. But he knew it wouldn’t make her stronger. And so he watched the bus go down the street.
Coming up the street and passing the bus was an unfamiliar car. Whatever the driver was doing, it was not kind to the brakes. The sound was worse than the snooze alarm on West’s phone.
Aside from that, the driver seemed to be hitting the gas and the brake at the same time. The car lurched forward and then jerked to a halt. Whoever was driving had to be under the influence.
West stepped out of the street as the car barreled toward him. It was just in time too.
The car jumped the curb. He thought it was his old life running him down. But when he peered into the driver seat, he saw that it was the one potential roadblock for his future.
"Are you hurt?” Cat called from the window. “I missed the brake pedal. Sometimes I get them confused.”
9
Cat
"If you tell me you're not trying to kill me, I won't believe you."
West leaned into the open passenger window of her car. The sun’s rays curled around his shoulders, like a lover enfolding him into a caress. Cat felt heated at the audacity of the star. It was moving in on her territory. Or at least, what she hoped might become her territory.
West’s oh-so-kissable lips quirked up as he looked down at her. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but at least it wasn’t a glower.
Her drive over had been fine. But only because it had been a straight shot down Main Street. But then she had to make a series of turns and even cross something that looked like a railroad track to get to West’s neighborhood.
That was all the information Rose had given Cat about where West lived. She’d only said that he lived on “the wrong side of the track.” Now Cat realized she’d meant that literally.
Crossing that track had been a bumpy affair, and Cat had lost control of the wheel for a second. There had been an awful, grinding sound that had come from the belly of her barely-used vehicle as she’d stomped on the brake with her left foot, while still pressing the slim gas pedal with her right foot.
That had been a problem her driving teacher had scolded her about again and again. Only the right foot should be used while driving an automatic car. Mr. Stacey had even pointed out the lovely little footrest for her left foot. The dead pedal he’d called it and demanded that her left foot stay there.
The problem was that Cat rarely drove. So it was hard to remember the resting area for her left foot while she was so busy concentrating on the movements of her right foot. It was a wonder she’d passed the road test for her driver’s license. She’d always suspected her father had pulled some strings since he worked for the local government.
“Cat, what are you doing here?” said West, breaking her reverie. “Are you lost?
“No,” she said. “I came for you.”
“That sounds ominous.” West bent over, resting his elbows inside the car window. “Should I check you for weapons? Tennis balls this time?"
Cat dissolved into giggles. She leaned forward in her fit of laughter. When she did, her chest pressed into the backs of her hands, which pressed into the ste
ering wheel, eliciting a loud honk from her horn.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, jerking back. “It’s just… I wanted your help."
"Wait, don't tell me.” West scratched at his temple in mock thought. “You want me to teach you how to drive a race car.”
“Nope.” Cat’s grin spread wide, but she didn’t dissolve into a fit of giggles this time. “As I’m sure you can tell, I’m not the best driver in the world. I do have a license. I don't have much driving practice."
"So you want me to be your driving coach?"
That was not the plan. Still, Cat liked the sound of it. She liked the thought of it even better. Being stuck in a car with West York as they drove the open road.
But no. That wasn’t the plan. She had rehearsed what she’d say to him all the way here. And then she’d almost driven over him. So she needed a moment to regroup.
Cat undid her seat belt. She pulled open the driver’s side door. Then went around the front end to stand on the curb with West, making sure to avoid the tires that rested twelve inches onto the sidewalk.
"You helped me out last night,” she said. “I wanted to thank you."
“With Tommy Stokes, you mean?” West shrugged, his gaze was focused on something down the street. “That guy is bad news. It was the right thing to do."
Cat looked behind her, but all she saw was a man with a spatula walking back inside a house. She turned back to West, who stood uncomfortably looking everywhere but at her.
“Why do I get the feeling you do that a lot?” she asked.
West’s gaze finally came back to hers. A question mark was clear in his steely gray eyes.
“Do the right thing, I mean,” she continued. “But no one ever notices.”
West chewed at his bottom lip. He leaned his body away from her. He was rocked back on his heels, as though he was ready to retreat from her.
Loving the Bad Boy Page 4