BAD FOR YOU
A Dirty Deeds Novel
BY J.Daniels
Release Day: January 23, 2018
He didn't want to
be bad. He just didn't have a choice...
Shayla Perkins isn't
the kind of girl who makes the same mistake twice, especially when it comes to
Sean "Stitch" Molina. So when he gives her the world's biggest
rejection, that's it--she's done. Until the sexy, silent, unavailable Sean
makes Shay a very personal offer. Of course, it still doesn't mean he's
interested in her. Or does it?
Sean has done things
in life. Bad things. And he's paid the price. All he wants now is to make up
for his past by doing good in the present. And no one deserves more good than Shay.
Beautiful on the inside and out, Shay is the kind of woman who should be cared
for and protected--especially from a man like Sean. He's tried to keep his
feelings for her in check, but a single, reckless impulse pulls them closer
than ever before.
Soon the two are
sharing their biggest dreams and satisfying their deepest desires. But what
will happen if the only way to truly give each other what they want most...is
to let each other go?
"The perfect mix
of funny, hot and heartwarming. I enjoyed it immensely!" --Mia
Sheridan, New York Times bestselling author, on Four
Letter Word
About the Author:
J. Daniels is the New York Times and USA Today
bestselling author of the Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series,
and the Dirty Deeds series.
She would rather bake than cook, she listens to
music entirely too loud, and loves writing stories her children will never
read. Her husband and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in
at a close second.
J grew up in Baltimore and resides in Maryland
with her family.
Twitter: @JDanielsbooks
Instagram: authorjdaniels
Sign up to receive her newsletter and get
special offers and exclusive release info: http://authorjdaniels.com/newsletter/
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Shayla
I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to lie to Gladys or Dorothy,
whatever this sweet old lady’s name was seated in my section, and say we were
fresh out of ranch dressing, and the little cup of it that came with her large
garden salad was the last drop. If I didn’t and obliged her request, it would
mean walking back over to the kitchen window I avoided like the plague and
speaking to him—Sean “Stitch” Molina. The keeper of the dressings. The
cook at Whitecaps Restaurant. He hoarded the ranch back there, and the only way
to get more of it was with words.
And we didn’t do words anymore. Not as of eight months ago.
So, instead of doing my job as a waitress, I contemplated the
dishonest route, which could very well get me fired.
Was I willing to roll those dice? Maybe. It might be worth a
shot. My boss, Nate, could overlook my wrongdoing. He was understanding enough.
We’re fresh out of ranch, I could tell the lady. And all
other dressings, for that matter. I am so sorry. Could I maybe get you another
refill? Or something else not located in the kitchen?
I thought on this plan—it could work. Maybe she would believe
me. Or maybe she would rethink her request and decide she no longer needed more
dressing.
Help a fellow woman out here, Millie. Christ.
“I just need a little bit more,” the lady requested with a
gentle smile. “Would you be a dear? I won’t trouble you for anything else, I
promise.”
“Of course,” I replied, the response compulsively leaving my
tongue. I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t lie. I’d feel terrible.
Besides, this was my job. If someone requested more ranch
dressing, I got them more ranch dressing, even if it meant speaking to the man
I was completely and pathetically infatuated with, no matter how badly it hurt
me to do so.
I gave the lady a smile in return before moving away.
My steps were slow as I weaved between tables and headed toward
the kitchen. I tried to keep my head down, to focus on the tile floor disappearing
beneath my feet, but I couldn’t.
I had to look.
Who was I kidding? I wanted to look.
As I approached, Tori was leaning close to the window that
separated Sean’s domain from everyone else’s. She slid two plates of food off
the ledge, commenting, “Looks good. Thanks, Stitch,” before walking off to
deliver her orders, winking at me as she passed.
Sean only went by Stitch when he was here, I was assuming. I
wouldn’t know for sure since I’d never spent any time with him outside of work.
It was a nickname Tori and I had given him when he’d cut himself a bunch of
times during his first week on the job, and he didn’t seem to mind being called
that.
Back then, he didn’t seem to mind a lot of things, like
listening to me talk and talk about anything and everything, putting my
problems on him in between waiting tables, my stresses, my fears, needing a
person to vent to and him being the only person I wanted to vent to because of
the way he listened and looked at me.
No one had ever seemed so interested in what I had to say
before.
Like what I was saying meant everything to them. Like it was a
privilege just to listen.
And no one had ever looked at me the way Sean
did—glances that only ever lasted a few seconds at a time, but those few
seconds of eye contact—holy crap. I thought my skin was going to combust it
would tingle and heat up so quickly. The man had a stare unlike any stare.
Equal parts intense and intimidating. But his eyes, sweet mother of God, his
eyes were unreal, this rich, golden copper color. And when they were on you,
you didn’t just see that beauty—you felt it.
It was a two-punch combo that turned me into a puddle. No man
had ever affected me that way before.
And that effect wasn’t going away. I was still feeling it.
Even now with us not speaking to each other, or rather, with me
not speaking and him not listening, I still couldn’t get Sean out of my head. I
missed what we used to have, yes, but it was more than that. It was so much
more.
A man I barely knew, who seldom spoke, and who had never showed
interest in me in that way had somehow taken hold of my heart and
twisted it all up. I didn’t understand how it had happened, I just knew it
happened.
Pathetic, right?
I reached the counter silently, which was a miracle considering
how loud my heart sounded in my ears. Keeping my breathing quiet, I looked
through that window and peered into the kitchen.
Sean had his back to me as he flipped burgers and stirred
something in a pot. I allowed my eyes to travel the length of him, something I
hardly ever let myself do anymore. We shared quick glances now, that was it.
Sean was well over six feet tall—way taller than me. His back
was broad. His hair was long, a beautiful caramel color, and almost always
pulled back; his arms were covered in tattoos and roped in muscle; and he had a
thick, short beard that hid what I just knew was a strong jaw.
Sean was beautiful. And he was intimidating. Not just how he
looked, but how he acted too.
He smoked. He drove a motorcycle. He never smiled. He rarely
said a word. Everything about Sean said leave me alone, but eight months
ago I couldn’t.
And eight months ago, I didn’t think he wanted me to.
I thought that was why he looked at me the way he did and
listened so well. I wasn’t even nervous when I finally asked him out after
hearing about a local party. I was excited.
I wanted Sean. I wanted to kiss him and touch him and God,
hear his voice more. I had gotten so little of it. I wanted to do everything
with him. And I thought we would. I thought we’d go to that party together as
friends and leave as something more.
But Sean wasn’t interested in the more I’d been after. He wasn’t
interested in me at all.
Now, that was perfectly clear.
Sensing me, or maybe he was finished minding the burgers and
whatever he was stirring in the pot—I didn’t know for sure, since I was still
letting my eyes wander—Sean spun around and stepped forward, snapping my gaze
off his body in a panic. Our eyes met.
Mine widened.
His narrowed angrily, like I’d pissed him off and he hated me
for it, and further hated me for catching him pissed off about it.
I didn’t understand that look, but no way was I asking about it.
I was doing what I came over here to do, and then, hopefully, staying far away
from this window the rest of the day.
Maybe I could convince Tori to put in my orders.
“My lady needs more ranch,” I informed Sean, swallowing thickly
when my voice came out sounding stressed and distorted. “Could I get a little
more for her?”
Sean’s gaze lowered to my mouth like he was waiting for more
words, which didn’t make sense to me, until I considered the one word I left
off he was most likely waiting for.
“Please?” I added.
His eyes lifted to mine and stayed narrowed. His nostrils
flared. His jaw set.
I almost apologized for being polite and for not lying to that
woman about our condiment supply. Things were so awkward now, I couldn’t stand
it. I missed how easy this used to be.
Memories flooded my mind in an onslaught as I stood there
waiting, and my back stiffened. I pictured Sean watching me with care and
concern. I remembered the smiles behind his beard I used to catch, and the way
his eyes would follow me through the restaurant and brighten when I would wave.
We were friends. I wanted to scream at him for ruining that. I wanted to scream
at myself for still caring. What was wrong with me? He had completely shut me
out. We were nothing now. We were this.
But with a quick hand, Sean snatched a dressing cup off the
shelf and ladled some ranch into it before I spoke another word. He sat the cup
on the ledge, removing his hand before our fingers touched, and briskly turned
back to the grill without giving me another glance.
“Thank you,” I mumbled at his back, turning before I lingered
another second.
He shut me out. I needed to do the same to him.
I delivered the cup of ranch to the sweet old lady, picked up a
check for a table who didn’t wait for change, and took care of their tab at the
register. Then because I didn’t have any other tables needing anything from me
at the moment, I moved to a vacant booth far away from that window and busied
myself filling ketchup bottles.
The next time anyone needed extra dressing, I’d send Tori.
Three Days Later
I am getting one of everything.
Twisting the dial on the radio, I quieted the music I was
listening to when the truck ahead of me pulled forward, allowing room for my
Civic to squeeze up next to the speaker.
Mouth already salivating, I rolled my window down.
“Welcome to Taco Bell. Can I take your order?”
My stomach growled as I surveyed my choices.
I eyed the fiesta taco salad. The quesarito. The never-ending
list of combos and the specialty options. Everything intrigued my taste buds.
I stuck my head out the window and directed my order at the
speaker. “Can I have a number six, please? Chicken supreme with a soft taco?
And a Mountain Dew.”
“That’ll be six fifty-seven at the second window, please.”
I couldn’t pull forward yet, so I kept my foot on the brake, and
just as I was about to roll up my window to keep the cool March air from
filling up my car any more, a song I knew and loved began playing low through
the speakers.
I had no idea what the name of the song was or who sang it, but
I knew every single word. And this was not a song you didn’t crank up and sing
along to with your windows down.
Fingers twisting the dial until music poured out of my car, I
started moving my hips in time with the beat and smacking the steering wheel,
eyes closing and fingers snapping as the lyrics left my mouth.
“Oh oh oh oh oh oh,
You don't have to go, oh oh oh oh oh
You don't have to go, oh oh oh oh oh
You don't have to gooo.”
The drum kicked up. I shook my head and felt pieces of my short,
dark hair lash against my cheeks.
The girl giggled through the speaker.
Smiling and not feeling one bit of shy about the audience I was
entertaining, I leaned halfway out the window and sang to her as loud as I
could, reaching and pointing like she was front row at my concert.
“Ay ay ay ay ay ay
All those tears I cry, ay ay ay ay
All those tears I cry, oh oh ah ay
Baby, please don't goooo.”
She laughed harder this time, whooping and cheering me on.
“How’s that?” I asked. “Think I got a career in singing if all
my other options fall through?”
“You bet!” the girl yelled. “That was sick!”
Giggling at myself, I sat back in the seat and turned the volume
down halfway, noticing through the windshield the space between the truck in
front of me and the car in front of it.
My eyes narrowed. I beeped twice. I was starving, and this was
not the time to be messing around. What was this person doing?
The truck jerked forward, gears grinding over the music, loud
enough I actually cringed. It was an old, beat-up Chevy, covered in dirt and
rusted all along the back, with most of the paint chipped off and the muffler
barely hanging on by a thread. The well loved and very well used
vehicle was probably on its last leg, as was the worn smiley-face sticker half
peeled from the bumper, leaving only one eye and half a mouth showing.
That thing had definitely seen better days.
Staring at all that rust, I had a moment of panic when I
imagined the truck dying on its owner and blocking my path. Come hell or high
water, I’d get my chalupas. Though I really didn’t feel like stepping out of my
car and walking inside where the lunch rush sat. I was wearing sweats covered
in bleach stains, a baggy sweatshirt, zero makeup, and not a lick of dry
shampoo. No way was I presentable for the public yet.
This was why God invented drive-throughs and curbside service—so
women like me could sleep in on their days off and rush out the door when a
hankering hit without even bothering to glance at themselves in a mirror.
But when the truck made it up to the window to pay without a
hitch or stall, most of that panic left me.
And when the driver pulled away after collecting their order and
turned out onto highway, all of that panic left me.
I rubbed my hands together. Come to Momma.
“Hello!” I greeted the young girl with a smile and a wave,
feeling like we had one of those lifelong friendship connections since I’d just
serenaded her.
Grabbing my bag off the floor in front of the passenger seat, I
dug around for my wallet.
“No need for that!” she said, turning my head and pausing my
search. “That guy just totally paid for you. God…I love it when that
happens. It doesn’t happen enough. It’s such a treat!”
I sat up and looked at her more fully. “What? What guy?”
“The guy in the truck.”
“Really?”
Nobody had ever done that for me before, and I used
drive-throughs a lot. Well, shit on my head. My first random act of
kindness, and I had rushed the poor thing along.
I suddenly felt bad for beeping.
“Yep,” the girl said, smacking her gloss-covered lips. “He asked
me how much your order was and gave me enough to cover you both. And he wasn’t
bad looking either.”
I leaned closer to the window, my interest in this mystery man
spiking off the charts. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. He had that dark, smoldering look about him. Real
sexy.”
Nice.
“Did he say anything? Leave his number on a napkin or
something?”
“No.” She shrugged. “Just paid for you and left. He acted in a
rush.” The girl turned to pack up my order.
Huh.
If he was interested, he would’ve gone beyond just paying for my
food. I would think he would’ve at least waited before speeding out of here—at
least pulled over and given me opportunity to thank him.
Maybe he was just doing a good deed?
Letting myself think on that, I smiled and took my drink. “I’d
like to pay it forward. How much is the person’s order behind me? I’ll take
care of them,” I said while blindly digging my wallet out of my bag.
“Really?” The girl clapped her hands together and squealed.
“This is awesome! And they say there’s no good people left in the world.”
I laughed and made a face like I was agreeing with her, though I
really didn’t. I knew a lot of good people. Dogwood Beach was full of them.
And I was blessed to have a lot of those people in my tribe,
supporting me, giving me friendship and love, and others, not necessarily in my
tribe, but around me enough I got to see their good.
Still, I understood this girl’s excitement. It wasn’t every day
a complete stranger did something out of sheer generosity. And selfless to
boot. Who didn’t stick around to take credit when credit was due? That was
practically unheard of.
It’s funny how a simple gesture can affect you. But kindness was
powerful that way. It not only had the ability to alter moods, but it was also
infectious. People wanted to spread that good around once they got it put on
themselves.
Hell, I was doing it. Maybe the person behind me would do it
too, and so on. We could all pay it forward.
Smiling, I thought about that mystery man in the beat-up truck,
wondering if he knew just how inspiring he was. How good he was. I
hoped someone was telling him.
After safely securing my bag of deliciousness in the front seat,
I got the total of the order from the car behind me, paid, got my change,
cranked up my stereo again, and sped off, leaving my window cracked so I could
serenade Highway 355.
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