Bad Intentions (Bad Love #2)(80)

“You okay?” I ask, unsure of what to make of this quiet little thing next to me. Usually, I don’t have to work so hard for a girl’s attention. She looks back up at me with a tiny twitch of her berry-colored lips. Our beers arrive, and she takes the orange, sucking it between those lips, before squeezing it into her glass and dropping it inside. Juice from the orange trails down her chin, and I use my thumb to swipe it away, before sucking it off. She tries to hide it, but I hear the small hitch in her breath. The slight widening of her dark-amber eyes.

“Can I kiss you, Mollie Mabey?”

I’ve caught her off guard, like I knew I would. Her eyes dart to mine, and at first, I think she’s going to turn me down and maybe knee me in the balls for good measure. Instead, she licks her bottom lip, and her gaze drops down to my mouth.

Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.

I decide to capitalize on the moment, curling a palm around the back of her slender neck, my fingers lacing through the thick strands of her hair. It should be weird that I’m touching a complete stranger so intimately in such a public place, but being bold and brash has always worked for me. Chicks dig that shit. I feel her pulse thumping a mile a minute, and I make my move, lowering my mouth to hers.

But, instead of feeling those soft, warm lips pressed against mine, I feel the complete opposite. Ice fucking cold. And hard. My eyes open in confusion to find her glass wedged between us. I raise an eyebrow. Cockblocked by a cup. That’s a first.

“I don’t kiss on the first date,” she says, with an edge to her voice. I hear my brother’s hyena laugh above all the raucous, and I flip him off, without even bothering to look in his direction.

“Good thing this isn’t a date.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Even better,” I quip, not missing a beat. At that, she laughs.

“I’ll make you a bet,” she relents, with a devious glint in her eye.

“I’m listening,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. I’m suspicious, but I’m listening.

“Give me your beer,” she starts, with a nod toward the counter. “I bet I can down both glasses before you can take two shots. As long as you give me a head start,” she adds. “The only rule is that we can’t touch each other’s drinks. If you win, I’ll kiss you.”

“And if you win?” I ask out of pure curiosity. There’s no fucking way this tiny ass little girl can out-drink me. Especially when all I have to drink is two measly shots to her full glasses of beer.

“If I win, I’m going to walk out of this bar, and you’re going to let me.”

“That’s it?” I scoff. “Not even streaking or jumping into the lake naked?”

“Nah,” she says easily, lifting a shoulder. “I’m easy.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” I say, and I can’t deny that the blush creeping up her neck turns me on.

“Ephraim!” I shout. “Give me two shots of Johnny Walker.”

Mollie bites her lip to hide her smile as Ephraim sets the two shot glasses down in front of us.

“Ladies first,” I say, giving her the head start she requested. She brings the pilsner glass to her lips and tips the contents into her mouth, while looking me dead in the eye. Impressively, she downs the entire thing in about fifteen seconds, and I have to fight the urge to adjust the growing bulge in my pants. She’s better than I would have guessed, but there’s still no way I won’t beat that time.

Giving her a cocky grin, I toss back the shot like it’s nothing. She smirks right back, but before I can grab the other, she flips her empty glass upside down, effectively trapping mine inside. Shooting her a confused look, I go to lift the glass, but she stops me.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she tsks. “Remember the rule? We can’t touch each other’s glass.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Mollie takes her sweet time drinking the second glass, my glass, knowing I can’t do fuck to win now. She fucking played me.

“Thanks for the drinks, Cam,” she says, wiping the corner of her lips with the tip of her finger.

“Okay.” I nod. “I see you, little trickster.”

And then she’s walking away from me.

She walks away from me.

Before I even realize I’m doing so, I’m prowling after her. Prowling might not be the best description—more like scurrying. Like a lost fucking puppy. Who is this chick, and why do I need her to want me?



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Prologue


Then

Three years ago…



THE FIRST TIME I LAID eyes on Asher Kelley, drunk and bleeding, I decided two things. The first being that he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen in my entire life. I was sure of it. And the second thing? He was the kind of boy that I should never, under any circumstances, get involved with. But, even my pre-pubescent self knew on some level that I’d gladly reach inside my own chest and offer him my beating heart if he’d only ask.

What I didn’t know then was that would be the first of many nights just like that one. Turned out, Asher’s dad was a little bit of a drunk, and a lot of an asshole. If it wasn’t his dad, it was some poor soul who decided to cross Asher. He was always looking for trouble, it seemed. Or maybe trouble just knew where to find him.