Page 4 of Never Kiss the Bad Boy

As she talks, she’s gesturing back, presumably at me, and I’m guessing Marco is explaining that they were honking at me, not her. She gives him a clipped nod and taps the passenger door. “See you tomorrow.”

Marco’s relief is written all over his face as the gorgeous firecracker whirls, her glare pining me in place. Marco and his crew pull away, their laughter ringing out the window as they go.

“Good luck, man!” one of them yells. They obviously know things I don’t, but I don’t have time to guess what as this woman’s suddenly right in my face, looking very bothered… and very hot, but not in the way that I’d prefer. Oh, her cheeks are flushed, her dark eyes are full of fire, and her lips are curling at the ends, but it’s not a smile. It’s more of a snarl.

I cross my arms over my chest, standing my ground against whatever pretty pit bull act she’s got.

“What are you still doing there?” she demands. “I don’t do orders on the fly, and if you keep blocking my curb, your order won’t be accepted tomorrow or any day after that, either.”

She seems to think that threat should hold significant weight. The only problem? I have no idea what she’s talking about. “What?”

Yeah, I’m brilliant under pressure. But mostly, it has to do with the fact that she’s crossed her arms over her chest in almost a mocking imitation of me, pushing her tits up, and throwing a hip out. The only thing missing is the tapping foot. But for some reason, angry looks good on her.

“Move. Your. Truck. Asshole,” she bites out, enunciating every syllable to make sure I understand her. She even points at my rig as if I’m too stupid to know what she means.

The order plus the name-calling jolts me from my reverie. “Excuse the fuck out of me while I burst into flames, Princess. But the curb is legal parking in this city.”

Her chin drops, and her brows climb her forehead as she stares at me in wide-eyed indignance. She’s definitely not used to being challenged, and I can sense that she’s gearing up for a firework-filled comeback, but instead, she takes a quick breath.

“I know. Believe me, if anyone knows, I do. But you’re interfering with my business.” She gestures wildly at the line of trucks, all of whom have their windows down despite the mid-day heat and guys nearly hanging out as they listen to her tell me off. “Move, or you’ll have half the working men in this city on your ass before the lunch rush is over.”

With that, she throws a wave toward the next truck that’s been waiting impatiently for her. “I’m coming, guys. This pretty boy’s fucking all of us up today.”

She definitely does not say ‘pretty’ like it’s a compliment. Still, it sounds good coming from that sensuous mouth before she jogs for the front door, disappearing inside. I glance at the guy behind me, who shakes his head in disappointment. With me.

What the fuck is going on around here?

I stride toward Kathy’s back yard, intent on getting some fucking answers. “Wayne!”

He pops out from behind the house quickly, letting me know that he saw the whole scene out front. “What the hell?”

He shrugs like he has no idea but reveals, “I talked to one of the guys earlier. Apparently, the place next door is like one of those ghost kitchen deals. Dani cooks lunches for a lot of the local crews every day. They drive down the street, yell out their name—though she seems to know the trucks by sight—and then she brings out the boxes of food. She’s had dozens of trucks come through already, and you can see the line down the block.”

Okay, that puts some framework around what I saw… and tells me the beauty’s name. Dani. I don’t say it aloud, but I let it roll over my tongue. Too short. It needs more syllables, more curves, like the vixen it belongs to.

Wayne’s info does fill in some gaps, though. My crews’ trucks out front probably are interfering with her flow. But it’s not like there’s anywhere else to park. We need to be close so we can bring equipment and tools into the backyard worksite, and we’re parked legally, so the neighborhood cook can deal with it as far as I’m concerned.

Besides, how was I to know she had a drive-thru food service running through the damn neighborhood? Kathy Wilson definitely didn’t share that info when we discussed her job.

If she had, I would’ve turned this job down. I almost did, anyway.

She’s the type of customer nobody wants—expects perfection, doesn’t want to pay for it, and thinks she’s above anyone who does ‘menial’ labor. But the scale of the job meant it’d be worth it, especially when I added a hefty pain in the ass fee on top of my usual and told the guys that there’d be a bonus on completion of this job. They knew going in that meant it’d be hard work, and I don’t mean in the ‘hauling in materials’ way.

“Alright, back to work,” I shout to my guys, who are all standing around watching Wayne get me up to speed. To Wayne, I add, “I’ll handle it once things settle down out front. I’ll have a talk with her and see what we can do. Tell me what else I need to know.”

He tilts his head, giving me a ‘good luck with that’ look, and then gets back to the job. That’s why he’s my second in command. Not to mention, he’s an older face so when we have clients who doubt my ‘youth’, he can step in as the voice of experience. We both know I’m the boss, but we take care of each other.

I spend the next hour working side-by-side with my guys, checking their progress this morning, walking out the plans, and double-checking everything. Okay, more like triple-checking because admittedly, my focus is lacking and my attention is repeatedly drawn to Dani next door. She’s friendly with every guy in every truck, smiling and chatting as she brings them food. The near polar opposite of how she was with me.

The contrast is annoying.

I’m used to being able to charm my way out of nearly anything. Have been since I was a kid, really. Dani didn’t even give me a chance to be charming, though. She was piss and vinegar from the jump. But I’ll fix it. I always do.

I work and watch, watch and work. But I’m not paying attention to my guys. No, I’m listening to every truck that pulls down the street, peeking over the fence to see Dani walk out, her curvy hips swaying right and left, to deliver large amounts of lunch to guys who’re just as hungry for her easy smiles as they are her food. As she’s hustled back and forth, nearly wearing a path in her yard, her hair has slowly fallen from her once-neat bun, leaving face-framing tendrils hanging long. She’s not afraid of work, that’s for sure. I think she’s delivered dozens of meals at this point, maybe a hundred or more different boxes or packages.

Several times, I see her talking animatedly and rolling her eyes as she gestures toward Kathy’s house, and I presume she’s talking shit about me and my guys. It’s all I can do to hold myself back from approaching her to handle this issue right the fuck now, especially before she screws up my reputation over a misunderstanding.

But I don’t. She’s still busy, and knowing when to jump in and when to wait will be key to resolving things to both our satisfaction.

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