Page 11 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

As Shanna asks him a question, something about what he does for work or some other invasive question usually reserved for someone I’m interested in dating, I excuse myself with a gesture toward the lady’s room.

But at the last moment, I drop some cash on the bar for the bartender and exit through the front door, hoping that Shana and Lark are too deep in conversation to notice.

Outside, the salt air fills my lungs, and I can finally think clearly.

“Am I crazy?” I ask myself as I make a beeline for the ocean, my words lost in the roar of the waves. My heart is a wild thing in my chest, beating a rhythm that spells trouble. His green eyes haunt me, fierce and knowing.

Along the beach I see other people wearing neon bracelets and necklaces, or glow-in-the-dark body paint or clothing, and I see bonfires burning, their smoke drifting up into the starry night.

Earlier, alone in my room, I scrolled through his social media accounts—a deep dive into a world that spelled danger in all caps. The sleek women, the late nights, the business deals with some shady-looking individuals. I hadn’t sent him a friend request. I'd decided then: no more.

But now, fleeing feels like leaving a piece of myself behind. It's not just the pull of the beach or the thrill of the night—it's him. Still, I won’t let him ruin my plans. I can’t. And someone doing underhanded business… that’ll be a fast track to dating a felon, and I’m not interested. If he wants to screw up his life, so be it. I won’t let him drag me down with him.

“Girl, where did you vanish to?” Shana's voice tells me my alone time is over.

“I needed air,” I say, walking through the sand as the cooler night air pulls the last of the day’s heat from me.

“Come on, let's forget about men and have some fun,” she says, her arm looping through mine.

“Right, fun,” I say, but my gaze drifts over my shoulder, back toward the bar, toward him. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of those intense eyes. “I need to have fun.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Shana's brow furrows with concern.

“Absolutely,” I say, plastering on a smile. But inside, I'm a tangled mess of thoughts and what-ifs. Avoiding him is the sane choice, the safe choice, the right choice. Yet, here I am, considering marching right back into his arms for the night.

I think I need therapy, cause clearly there’s something wrong with me.

Chapter Six

Lark

I'm back at the bar, our bar. It’s familiar and comforting in a way that places become when you associate them with someone special. Someone special like Lara. My gut twists at the thought of her.

The open windows let in the salty breeze. It plays with the edges of cocktail napkins, flirts with the fronds of potted palms, making them shiver. The beach is spread before me like a painting—golden sands kissed by a bright sun, the water blue-green and glittering under the sunshine.

I swirl my glass, watching ice cubes chase each other. Whiskey laps at the rim. It's cold, numbing. This vacation was supposed to be a chance for me to get away and enjoy myself. Instead, I’m stuck on thoughts of a pretty smile and striking eyes.

“Nice view,” a musical voice says.

I glance up. A woman stands there, not the woman I want to see, just another vacationer. She smiles, all glossy lips and hopeful eyes. She's pretty, sure, but she's not who I'm looking for.

“Yeah,” I say, not really feeling the conversation. I want her to go away.

“Can I—” she says, gesturing to the seat beside me, but I cut her off with a raised hand.

“Sorry, I'm actually waiting for someone.” My eyes drift past her, scanning the crowd, searching for Lara. But she’s nowhere to be found.

She pauses, her smile faltering, then picks up her pride and walks away. I can't blame her for trying.

My gaze returns to the beach, to the waves playing tag with the sand.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone. I tap the device against the palm of my hand, restless, replaying the moment she walked out that front door. Questions circle like vultures in my mind. Why did she leave? Did I say or do something wrong? My chest tightens with frustration and something else—want, maybe. No matter how many times I replay that moment in my mind, I can’t pinpoint where things went wrong.

I don’t even know her number. I’d been planning to ask, but she’d left in a hurry.

Pushing back from the table, I stare at my phone. My thumb hovers over the screen and I pull up her profiles again. She’s on Instagram, flashing that same smile that's been haunting me. My heart pounds as I send a follow request. It's a shot in the dark, but hell, what do I have to lose?

Minutes tick by, each one stretching longer than the last. I don’t know if I expected a response right away, but not getting anything from her feels like she’s ghosting me online, too. It’s an unreasonable thought, but it’s there. My gut twists, suddenly sour. Is it possible she sees through my mask? Maybe she got a glimpse of the real me—the guy with more scars than sense.

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