Bad Guy
OLLIE
AUGUST
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
I glared down at the man beneath me. A fine specimen of rippling muscles, gorgeous tattoo work, and masculine beauty. Everything about him was perfect…except the words that came out of his damn mouth. “I love you.”
I slid off his cock, any lingering remnants of desire withering away like ash as I moved to the bedside, rifling around angrily on the floor to find my thong and cut off shorts.
“Ollie, babe. What the hell? What did I do?”
I pegged him with a vicious stare, my lip curling up into a snarl as I shimmied into my clothes and snapped, “What was my one and only rule when we started fucking around?”
His stupid, handsome face turned quizzical, dark brows knitting together over eyes as blue as forget me nots. God he was so gorgeous. And dumb. Why did he have to go and ruin things? “You said…” he thought a moment. “You said—“
“I said not to fall in love with me, dipshit,” I finished when it was clear he couldn’t remember.
My body quaked with fury. My fingers trembling as I buttoned up my shorts and grabbed my discarded shirt off his dresser.
Tears burned in my eyes, but I willed them away easily enough.
They weren’t tears of sadness but anger. And I was really damn angry.
“Baby… I thought,” he sat up, “I thought that was just a joke.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Does it look like I’m fucking joking, Mikey?”
He’d never get it. I don’t think anyone would.
I didn’t do love. I didn’t catch feelings.
Those only made you weak. Vulnerable. Unprepared for the shit that the world threw at you.
I’d only known love for three whole fucking years of my life, and you want to know what good it did for me? Jack shit, that’s what.
So call me cold, or a bitch even, I didn’t care. I didn’t, nor would I ever, let myself love someone.
“What? Where are you going? Ollie. Baby. Please.”
With more ferocity than was probably needed, I ripped my shirt down over my head, the fabric snagging on my long, sharp, red-laquered fingernails. I glanced in the mirror, finding a hole in my favorite vintage Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. Well, fuck me.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
The will, the want, the need to flee from my problems all but sang through the blood pumping through my veins. It was like a coyote cry in the night, calling me to run wild and free.
I didn’t look back as he got off the bed, didn’t respond as he begged—no, pleaded for me to stay. So not a good look for him. I just grabbed my boots and stomped out of his apartment.
The hot sun already baked the concrete, burning my bare feet as I walked for my Harley. I bit back a curse before sliding my boots on and swinging a leg over my bike.
Well, it looked like my time in this podunk town was done. It made sense though—six months was usually when things started to go to shit for me.
As I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and grabbed my helmet, I looked to Mikey’s apartment door that was flung wide open, his half-naked body filling the doorway. He looked like a puppy getting left at home for the first time.
And even though I knew I should feel some sort of guilt or sadness, I didn’t.
And that said everything about how fucked up I was.
Thousand Trails, Texas was one of those bougie little tourist towns in the Texas Hill Country that boasted winery after winery and at least half a dozen destination ranches.
Just the type of yuppy place where I could probably find a job easily enough and make some money before heading north for the winter.
There was nothing prettier than Montana or Idaho covered in snow.
I pulled up on Main Street before a cute little bee themed coffee shop and bakery, my stomach growling in response. God, I was hungry.
Okay, so food, then job search.
A little bell tinkled as I opened the door and headed for the main counter. My mouth watered as I zeroed in on the baked goods behind the glass display. I’d definitely be getting one—or a few—of those.
The place was empty, save for the old man working behind the counter and a girl in her early twenties standing by the pickup area, waiting for her order.
She tapped her leg nervously, her face scrunched in worry as she waited for her drinks.
“Hello, miss,” the man said, turning to face me. “What can I getcha?”
“You guys wouldn’t happen to be hiring, would you?” I asked.
“We aren’t currently, miss.” He placed the lid on one of the cups he’d been filling moments ago. “There might be a couple places in town, though. What all can you do? Maybe I can point you in the right direction.”
I shrugged, tossing my hair back off my shoulder. “I can do basically anything. I can serve, I can cook. Clean. I’ve worked on cars, worked in customer service. I can make deliveries. Basically, whatever you need done, I can do it.”
The old man’s gaze flicked up and down. I wasn’t unfamiliar with that scrutinizing stare.
Almost everyone gave it to me anywhere I went.
I guess I couldn’t really blame them, though.
From all the tattoos, to the crop top, to the black and white hair, and different colored eyes—I was a sight most people in a quiet, cozy little town like this didn’t normally see.
He nodded after a moment. “The Hitching Post doesn’t open up until 3 PM, but you might find somethin’ there. ”
I’d seen the sign for what looked like a bar about a quarter mile back down Main street. I’d check there later.
“Thanks, sir,” I replied, flashing him a grin before my gaze fell to the glass display full of pastries. Now that business is out of the way… “Are those chocolate croissants?”
He nodded. “The missus makes them fresh daily.”
I couldn’t help the little hum that escaped my mouth. I was a sweets bitch, through and through. And there was nothing better than a fresh baked chocolate croissant. Maybe not even sex. “I’ll take one please—actually, make it two.”
The man nodded once more with a chuckle as he placed the order of drinks he’d been working on over at the pickup counter. “Here you go, Miss Quinn. Have a nice day,” he said to the blonde waiting there.
Her smile was warm and genuine as she grabbed the drinks and said, “Thanks Jimmy, you too.”
I got my first good look at her head on.
She was shorter than me by a couple inches, probably a couple years younger, too—maybe twenty-two or so.
Give or take a year. She had long, light blonde hair with honey lowlights streaked throughout that gave her a soft, lived in look.
The type of blonde that she probably paid a fuck ton for.
Light blueish eyes surrounded a button nose, and the freckles on her cheeks reminded me of paint flecks.
In her denim cutoffs and a white tank top, she looked like the epitome of a southern girl.
“Would bartending happen to be on that list?” she asked, surprising me when I realized she didn’t have an accent at all. I’d have imagined a bit of twang from her. That’s what I got for assuming, I guess.
“Who wants to know?” I asked, looking her up and down.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, um, hi. That was really rude of me,” she replied, stumbling over herself. “I’m Quinn Decker. I have an event tonight, and my bartender called out. I’ll pay you, and whatever tips you make are yours.”
There was a note of desperation to her tone, but the more she talked, the more her voice evened out, a quiet confidence hanging in her words.
I pursed my lips a moment, my eyes narrowing in contemplation. I wondered what type of event it was. How many people would be there? Was it, like, some kid’s birthday party and would I basically be making weak ass cocktails all night, or was it something more lively?
Don’t be picky, idiot. Money is money. That was true. And I could look for jobs tomorrow. It’s not like I was in any real rush anyway.
“It’s a big event,” she added, determination twinkling in her eyes. “There’s gonna be at least a hundred people there. You’ll make good money. And if you need a place to stay, I have room on the ranch.”
The girl—Quinn—reminded me of the sun, though not like, full on sunshine or anything.
She didn’t strike me as the over the top, bubbly, unicorns and rainbows kind of girl.
A single look in her blue green eyes, and I knew she’d been through some shit.
No, this girl reminded me of the sunrise, or sunset. Soft, warm, beautiful.
I liked her. Her determination and friendliness. Odd, I didn’t particularly care much for making friends. But if I did, I think she’d be a good one.
A slow grin tugged on my lips. “I’ll follow you on my bike. My name’s Ollie. Ollie Ravenwood.”
Holy shit, she lived here?
The main winding drive leading up to the house had been gorgeous, but the plantation-style house with black accents, along with a fucking bronze statue in the fountain was seriously breathtaking.
I parked my Harley up beside the little sedan she drove and pulled off my helmet, taking in the grandeur of this place. Goddamn, it was gorgeous, even if it was as hot as Satan’s ballsack here. Summers in Texas were brutal.
“You live here?” I asked.
She grinned as she came around the side of her car. “My boyfriend’s in the process of buying it from my dad.”
What did her dad do? Better yet… “What the fuck does your boyfriend do?” I blurted out.
She laughed, completely unfazed. “He was a professional bullrider.”
Damn, I didn’t realize bullriders made that much. “What does he do now?”
Quinn led me toward the house, but I didn't miss the warmth in her smile as she replied, “Him and I are starting an in-patient equine therapy center here to help people. He um, he lost his vision in a bullriding accident, and riding has helped him heal a lot, so he wants to offer that to others.” Her words turned excited. “That’s why we’re throwing this fundraiser, to help raise funds to build a new structure on the property and any other sort of things we’re going to need to get this place up and running. ”