Yard Sale Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Charleigh Rose

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Yard Sale

  Cover Designer: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Interior Formatting: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author’s note

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  About the Author

  Author’s note

  Yard Sale is a standalone novella that takes place in the Bad Love world, however, the extended epilogue contains spoilers for those of you who haven’t read Bad Habit or Bad Intentions. Hope you enjoy Cam and Mollie’s story!

  When a rider falls so forcefully and ungracefully that all their gear is spread out all over the mountain.

  5 months ago…

  Eat.

  Sleep.

  Ride.

  Fuck.

  Repeat.

  That’s my life. My glorious fucking life. At least, it is during snowboarding season. In the summer, I trade my snowboard for a skateboard. It helps retain that muscle memory and core strength while improving my skills that carry over onto the mountain. I may have started off as a skater, but my drug of choice will always be that snow-white powder. And not the kind that goes up your nose.

  I’m still high on the perfect fucking season, even though it’s August. I spent the entire winter touring and snagged myself another gold medal in the X Games for landing a quadruple underflip. The very first person in history to pull off that type of trick, making it my third medal total. I’ve been back home in River’s Edge for the past three months, living it up, taking advantage of my celebrity status with the local females, until the season starts again.

  “So,” I drawl, taking a swig of my beer in the crowded waterfront bar. “When’s that pretty redhead coming back to visit?”

  “She’s off-limits,” Briar reminds me. Again. Briar is my friend, Asher Kelley’s girl. I don’t know exactly what went down, except that Asher left for a while, and when he came back, he had acquired a girlfriend. It was about damn time. He was a grumpy fucker without her. Well, he’s still a grumpy fuck, but he smiles now. Sometimes.

  I don’t even want her friend. I mean, I wouldn’t throw her out of bed, but truthfully, I just like to tease Briar. Especially about that time she got it on with Kelley in the Jacuzzi when she thought none of us noticed. Spoiler alert: we did.

  “That’s a shame. I bet she likes hot tubs just as much as—”

  “Don’t even say it,” she warns, holding up a palm. I can’t blame her for not wanting me anywhere near her friend. She knows how I am with women. It’s not that I’m a bad guy. I love women. I love the way they smell. I love the way they sound when they’re writhing beneath me. Love how they feel pressed against me. I respect them. I’ve never been anything but honest when it comes to my intentions. We have our fun, and then go our separate ways. No strings. No attachments. At twenty-six, I’m too young, and this world is too big to be settling down this soon. I’m in my prime, professionally speaking, and I want to milk it to the very last drop.

  My brother, Cordell, laughs, and even our broody friend Dare cracks a smile, probably remembering that night. I can tell that I’m testing Asher’s patience by the way he works his jaw, not to mention the death glare he’s sending my way. He knows I’d never break the bro code, but it doesn’t mean he likes to hear other guys joke about seeing his girl get fucked.

  I avert my gaze and take another drink to hide my amusement just as the door to the bar opens and in walks a gorgeous brunette. She hesitates in the doorway for a minute, and I can’t look away. Tiny waist, toned, tan legs. Perky tits. Long, dark hair falling in waves to her waist. Her black and white striped dress—that looks more like a slightly oversized T-shirt—hangs off one sun-kissed shoulder. As if she can sense me watching her, our eyes lock for a long moment before she breaks the connection. She adjusts her dress where it slipped down her shoulder and heads toward the bar.

  I slam my empty bottle onto the table and stand, zeroed in on the way her ass seems to stretch the stripes in her dress as she makes her way toward the bar.

  “Here we fucking go,” Dare says, recognizing the determined look on my face.

  “Don’t wait up,” I say, flashing them a grin before making my way to the bar. Shoving my way through the masses, I manage to squeeze in next to her. I look down at her—she’s shorter than I thought, maybe five feet four—and wait for her to acknowledge me. She doesn’t.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” I finally ask, and I almost roll my eyes at myself. I couldn’t come up with anything better than that?

  “A little cliché, don’t you think?” she deadpans, still not looking my way.

  “I prefer straightforward. You look like a girl who can appreciate that.”

  She finally looks up at me, her big, brown, doe eyes glossy and red, like she’s been crying. I instantly feel like a dick for hitting on a crying chick. But, she doesn’t seem sad. She seems irritated, maybe even angry. She bites down on her lower lip, assessing, before she seemingly comes to a conclusion.

  “I’ll have a Blue Moon. With an orange,” she adds.

  I give her a nod and flag down the bartender, my friend Ephraim, telling him I want two Blue Moons, with oranges, and return my attention back to the girl next to me.

  “Camden Hess. You can call me Cam,” I say, holding out a hand. She ignores it. She doesn’t seem to recognize my name. Maybe she’s not from around here.

  “Mollie Mabey,” she offers after a beat. Mollie Mabey. I like it. It suits her.

  “Where are you from?”

  “San Fran. You?”

  “Here.”

  She nods, not knowing what else to say, and looks down at the bar top.

  “You okay?” I ask, unsure of what to make of this quiet little thing next to me. Usually, I don’t have to work so hard for a girl’s attention. She looks back up at me with a tiny twitch of her berry-colored lips. Our beers arrive, and she takes the orange, sucking it between those lips, before squeezing it into her glass and dropping it inside. Juice from the orange trails down her chin, and I use my thumb to swipe it away, before sucking it off. She tries to hide it, but I hear the small hitch in her breath. The slight widening of her dark-amber eyes.

  “Can I kiss you, Mollie Mabey?”

  I’ve caught her off guard, like I knew I would. Her eyes dart to mine, and at first, I think she’s going to turn me down and maybe knee me in the balls for good measure. Instead, she licks her bottom lip, and her gaze drops down to my mouth.

  Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.

  I decide to capitalize on the moment, curling a palm around the back of her slender neck, my fingers lacing through the thick strands of her hair. It should be weird that I’m touching a complete stranger so intimately in such a public place, but being bold and brash has always worked for me. Chicks dig that shit. I feel her pulse thumping a mile a minute, and I make my move, lowering my mouth to hers.

  But, instead of feeling those soft, warm lips p
ressed against mine, I feel the complete opposite. Ice fucking cold. And hard. My eyes open in confusion to find her glass wedged between us. I raise an eyebrow. Cockblocked by a cup. That’s a first.

  “I don’t kiss on the first date,” she says, with an edge to her voice. I hear my brother’s hyena laugh above all the raucous, and I flip him off, without even bothering to look in his direction, but Mollie looks past my shoulder with a curious expression.

  “Good thing this isn’t a date,” I say, bringing her attention back to me.

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Even better,” I quip, not missing a beat. At that, she laughs.

  “I’ll make you a bet,” she relents, with a devious glint in her eye.

  “I’m listening,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. I’m suspicious, but I’m listening.

  “Give me your beer,” she starts, with a nod toward the counter. “I bet I can down both glasses before you can take two shots. As long as you give me a head start,” she adds. “The only rule is that we can’t touch each other’s drinks. If you win, I’ll kiss you.”

  “And if you win?” I ask out of pure curiosity. There’s no fucking way this tiny ass little girl can out-drink me. Especially when all I have to drink is two measly shots to her full glasses of beer.

  “If I win, I’m going to walk out of this bar, and you’re going to let me.”

  “That’s it?” I scoff. “Not even streaking or jumping into the lake naked?”

  “Nah,” she says easily, lifting a shoulder. “I’m easy.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” I say, and I can’t deny that the blush creeping up her neck turns me on.

  “Ephraim!” I shout. “Give me two shots of Johnny Walker.”

  Mollie bites her lip to hide her smile as Ephraim sets the two shot glasses down in front of us.

  “Ladies first,” I say, giving her the head start she requested. She brings the pilsner glass to her lips and tips the contents into her mouth, while looking me dead in the eye. Impressively, she downs the entire thing in about fifteen seconds, and I have to fight the urge to adjust the growing bulge in my pants. She’s better than I would have guessed, but there’s still no way I won’t beat that time.

  Giving her a cocky grin, I toss back the shot like it’s nothing. She smirks right back, but before I can grab the other, she flips her empty glass upside down, effectively trapping mine inside. Shooting her a confused look, I go to lift the glass, but she stops me.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” she tsks. “Remember the rule? We can’t touch each other’s glass.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Mollie takes her sweet time drinking the second glass, my glass, knowing I can’t do fuck to win now. She fucking played me.

  “Thanks for the drinks, Cam,” she says, wiping the corner of her lips with the tip of her finger.

  “Okay.” I bob my head. “I see you, little trickster.”

  And then she’s walking away from me.

  She walks away from me.

  Before I even realize I’m doing so, I’m prowling after her. Prowling might not be the best description—more like scurrying. Like a lost fucking puppy. Who is this chick, and why do I need her to want me?

  I’m the picture of cool, calm, and collected as I saunter away from Camden Hess. As if I didn’t just break up with my fake boyfriend and lose my job in the same weekend. As if the sight of this cocky, tattooed bad boy didn’t set my insides on fire despite those things. He’s gorgeous. And intimidating. And, I can only assume, a player. He’s everything I don’t need in a boyfriend, but he’s exactly what I need tonight.

  My parents roped me into coming up for a family trip before summer is over. Of course, Tucker was supposed to come with me. But when I got the news that the magazine I’ve been working for since before I graduated college was no longer going to publish a print edition—therefore, leaving me jobless—I came home lost and upset, not to mention recovering from a gnarly bout of strep throat. Imagine my surprise when I found Tucker cozied up to another woman on our couch. His assistant, no less. How cliché, right? It didn’t matter that we weren’t really together. We hadn’t ever talked about hooking up with people and how that fits in with our…unique situation. He wasn’t straightforward with me. Needless to say, he was no longer invited.

  Telling my parents that we “broke up” would open the door to questions I don’t want to answer, so I spilled my guts to my friend, Sutton, who lives in River’s Edge. We met when we were kids on the bunny slope and stayed in touch ever since. We planned to get day drunk and find some gorgeous locals to get my mind off real life. Turns out, Rum Runners and boating don’t mesh well with Sutton, so she’s laid up at home. I hung around until she kicked me out and then went back to our cabin until my parents and brothers started with their barrage of questions. I’m twenty-two. I don’t have to explain myself. But, I don’t feel like rehashing the ugly details just yet.

  If I’m being honest, I’m embarrassed—about losing my job and Tucker—even though I know neither one was my fault. They’re not a reflection of me. Our relationship wasn’t really a relationship so much as an understanding between two people. I wasn’t in love with Tuck, so it’s not like I’m heartbroken. Not in that way, anyway. He was my best friend more than a boyfriend, so the betrayal still stung. It almost made it worse, somehow.

  When Tucker first confessed his feelings for me, I didn’t know how I felt, but I didn’t think it was the way he wanted. We gave dating a try. We were best friends and spent all of our time together, anyway, so what did I have to lose? Our friendship, that’s what. I figured out pretty quickly that it wasn’t what I wanted. It wasn’t fair to Tuck, either, to be with someone who, in the words of Cher Horowitz, “wasn’t majorly, totally, butt-crazy in love with him”.

  Problem was, Tucker’s dad took our relationship as a sign of maturity and told him that if he kept moving in the right direction, he’d give Tuck more responsibility at Hastings Architecture, and eventually, he’d think about making him partner. Tucker has always been wild, if not a little rebellious, but design and construction is one of the few things he does take seriously. So, I told him we should keep up the charade for a while at least.

  And it worked. Tucker has clients of his own now, and he couldn’t be happier. Eventually, I think we both just became too comfortable. Dependent, even. We slept together, but it wasn’t anything more than scratching an itch. I didn’t have the time or desire to date anyone, and something tells me that Tuck was hoping I’d catch some feelings of the romantic variety, so we kept it up longer than necessary.

  So, while I still feel cheated on and betrayed by my not-boyfriend, I also feel strangely…relieved. And for the first time in forever, I wanted to hook up with someone. Someone who just wanted a night of fun followed by an ass slap and a good game afterward. Someone who made me feel good for just an hour. And I found the perfect candidate. It should have been a no-brainer. Except, somewhere between the cabin and the bar, the self-doubt snuck in. I got into my own head and started second-guessing my skills as an art director. My skills in the bedroom. Pretty much everything. I blame the quiet. Silence always turns into fears and overthinking for me. The fact that I chose that moment to check my texts from Tucker didn’t help matters. He said he was sorry, that he loved me, and begged me to call him. I didn’t.

  By the time I walked inside, I wanted to drink away my sorrows instead of finding a sexy stranger to spend the night with. It’s too bad, because Cam looked like he knew his way around a woman’s body. He was arrogant, but weirdly charming, and truthfully, I wouldn’t mind being another notch in his bedpost.

  I make my way out into the fresh air as I push open the heavy door. It slams behind me, shutting the music and chaos inside. It’s cooler than I anticipated, given the fact that it’s August. I visit River’s Edge a couple of times a year, at least, but it’s usually during winter. I haven’t been during the summer since I was a kid. My flip-flo
ps crunch against the dirt and pine needles as I head toward the water that lies mere feet from the bar. I nearly trip over a pinecone the size of my head. What are these things, bionic? They’re huge. I don’t get more than three steps before the door swings open behind me.

  “You said I had to let you leave, but, you didn’t say anything about not following you.”

  I spin around and pin him with an impassive stare as I walk backwards.

  “I can be tricky, too,” he says, wiggling his brows. I shake my head and turn back to the water. I sit down, the rough sand cold against my thighs. I slip my flip-flops off and bury my toes in the wet sand. I’m surprised when Camden lowers himself to sit next to me. He’s fully clothed in a white V-neck and black jeans, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He props his elbows on his knees and stares out at the lake, unspeaking. I use the opportunity to take him in. His dirty blond hair underneath his backward hat, the tattoos on his arms and the ones that cover his throat. The light stubble on his jaw. He looks vaguely familiar, but I know I don’t know him. I’d never forget meeting someone like him.

  “Are you just going to stare at me all night? It’s kind of creepy,” Camden says, still looking out at the water, interrupting my perusal.

  “You’re the one who followed me and sat down next to me without an invitation. If anyone’s winning the creepy contest, it’s you.” The corner of his lip lifts in an almost-smile.

  “Touché.”

  “Why did you, anyway?”

  “What, follow you?”

  I nod.

  “I’m a sore loser, I guess.” He shrugs, and I burst out laughing. Well, at least he’s honest.

  “She laughs,” he says, flashing his perfect teeth in a Cheshire grin. “Does that earn me a kiss?”

  “You’re not going to quit, are you?”

  “Quitting isn’t in my vocabulary.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think a guy like you is only interested in a kiss,” I deadpan.