Page 2 of Bringing Home the Bad Boy

"You were both sixteen. And that 'skank' is the mother of two of your favorite students."

"Yeah, well, they're brilliant. Obviously got it from their dad."

I suppress a sigh. Poor Bryan. There's no wound that cuts deeper than a first love. They really need to rename it from puppy love tohyenalove because puppies are not that vicious. I change the subject before Danielle can start in on him again. "Anyway, so he'll be here. Let me know how it works out. My money's on you."

"On us, 'cause girl, we got this." She loops her arm through mine, ignoring the way I tense before relaxing. "Bring on the owner—he won't know what hit him."

"Dani, don't be so hard on yourself. We've got to build up your confidence," I tease, a smile tugging at my lips.

"My confidence is fine," she grins. "I know I'm a freaking great catch."

I shake my head, and grin. Danielle always knows how to lift my spirits.

***

The clamor of people, music, and laughter ring through The Old Barn, but it all fades to static at the words, "Miss me, sunshine?"

The voice is deeper—rougher—but the words, the cadence, the rhythm are all too familiar. My heart stops, then pounds against my ribcage like a wild thing. The fine hairs on my arm stiffen and raise, heat creeps up my neck. Sweat pools between my breasts, and the coldest night of the year becomes an inferno. I grip the glass bowl where I've been shuffling tickets, my fingers turning white. I don't move. I can't. I know exactly who stands behind me. My legs threaten to give way, but I lock my knees, forcing myself to remain upright.

I will my feet not to turn. Will my eyes not to well with tears. Force myself to breathe—to pump air in and out like I've done every day for the last ten years. It works. My lungs expand and contract, but each respiration reverberates his name.

Trace Arroyo.

Memories crash through the damn, I'd built stone by stone and flood me. He'd been a worker at Barkley Farms when I'd come home for summer break as a college sophomore. His skin bronzed from the fields, muscles straining under his shirt, had caught my eye. His smiling eyes and thick dark hair had captured my fantasies. But it was his patience, kindness, and attention when I'd desperately needed all three that supercharged love's slow slide into a swift tumble.

In no time, I'd given him every part of me. Heart, soul... body. Gave him my all without waiting to see if he'd earned it. Then he'd packed up and left with his uncles in the middle of the night. Not even a goodbye. Never so much as a postcard. If his family hadn't disappeared at the same time, I'd have assumed theworst. But word gets around as it always does in a small town. The Arroyo family was working in another state. He'd taken what he wanted from me and moved on. Probably to do the same thing to another young woman.

Jealous bile rises in my gut and sticks in my throat. I wondered what I would do if I ever saw him again. Wondered which would be stronger: the urge to rip him to shreds for the way he’d ruined my young heart or the urge to jump into his arms and claw beneath the skin so he could never leave me again. Now all I had to do was turn around and find out. But I can't. My hands tremble as I set the bowl down, careful not to let it slip from my grasp. I lift my chin, hold my head so high the bones stretch, and walk away.

Walk.Slowly, deliberately, each step measured. I add a little extra sway to my fuller, rounder hips. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's rattled me. I don't look back. Instead, I stride into the main hall, determined to finish what I've set out to do—run this event without letting Trace Arroyo, or anyone else, derail me.

The party is in full swing when I enter the crowded room. The scent of evergreen from the fresh boughs decorating the arched windows and cinnamon from the wreaths fills the air. Winter Fest is the heart of Bear Ridge's holiday celebrations, and the pulsing excitement matches the storm coursing through my veins. I make my way to the stage, my heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. Lowe catches my eye from across the room, giving me a slight nod. Good, we're set—he'll bid for me, just like we planned. I focus on the task at hand, settling my attention on the table and double-checking the auction items as the bidding starts.

When it's my turn, I step up to the microphone, faking my cheer despite the turmoil swirling inside me. "Next up, we have a batch of my famous blonde brownies. Now, I'm not knownfor my cooking," I say, eliciting laughter from the crowd. "But remember, every sweet is accompanied by a sweet. So, for all you students who want a little more time with Ms. Barkley, here's your chance."

The audience chuckles, the mood light and jovial. The bidding starts at fifty dollars, and within seconds, Lowe raises his hand. "Two hundred," he calls out with a grin.

"Two hundred dollars for Miss Barkley's award-winning brownies. Do I hear two-fifty?" Mayor Stanton's voice carries over the murmurs.

I nod at Lowe, giving him a subtle thank you. But before I can step away, a voice cuts through the crowd, smooth and confident. "Five thousand dollars."

The barn falls silent. Everything freezes, even the fairy lights stop twinkling. I don't need to look to know who spoke—his voice has haunted my dreams for years. Heat floods my cheeks as I finally turn to face him.

Trace stands near the back of the barn, looking panty-dropping handsome in dark jeans and a tailored suit jacket that clings to his broad shoulders. His eyes—those deep brown eyes that once made me believe in forever—lock onto mine with an intensity that almost shoves me back in time. I warn myself that he's not the same boy that left Bear Ridge. The years have only sharpened his features, a rugged stubble lining his jaw. Despite my warning, my belly quivers. My body knows this man, and it's eager to fall in line and obey. Ten years later, and not a damn thing has changed.

"Five... five thousand dollars," Mayor Stanton says, clearly thrown off his rhythm. "That's... that's quite a bid for brownies, Mr...."

"Arroyo," Trace supplies, his gaze never leaving mine. "CEO of Arrow Trucking."

A ripple runs through the crowd, whispers spreading like wildfire. My mind races, thoughts tumbling over one another. I want to yell, to demand to know why he's doing this, but all I can do is stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. Trace Arroyo. The man who left me without a word. And now, he's back, bidding five thousand dollars for my dessert—for my time.

Why?

His bid hangs in the air, a grenade lobbed in slow motion. We all wait for it to land, or maybe that's just me. I don't know whether to laugh or scream. What is he playing at? The crowd stirs, eyes darting between me and Trace. But none of it matters. All that matters is him, standing there, claiming something that's not his to claim. Anger flares, hot and fierce. Defiant. Maybe this romance movie scene would have been worked if it hadn't come too little too late. This does not make me swoon or run down the aisle toward the hero. It makes me want to burn this place to ashes. How dare he? Whatever he wants, whatever game he's playing, could have been done in private.

Mayor Stanton recovers before I do, clearing his throat. "Five thousand dollars! Do I hear any other bids?" The room remains silent. "Going once, going twice... sold to Mr. Arroyo." The gavel comes down with a resounding thud, and the room erupts into applause. But I can't focus on any of that. My pulse roars in my ears. All I see is Trace, his dark eyes holding a challenge, a question, perhaps even an apology. I don't know because despite what my body says, I don't know him anymore. Maybe I never did.

I leave the stage. My heels click against the steps, each sound echoing louder than the last. When I reach the floor, Trace steps forward, cutting through the crowd that parts around him like he's Moses and they're the Red Sea. "Mr. Arroyo," I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm raging inside me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

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