Spectacular Rascal: A Sexy Flirty Dirty Standalone Romance by Lili Valente Read Free Book Online

pinches my side in a silent warning, but I don’t look down at her. I keep my eyes on Nico, ready to meet his Psycho with my Badass Motherfucker when he finally achieves eye contact, but he glances over his shoulder, instead. “Let’s head uptown, Petey. I need to be at the office no later than noon. Take care, Catherine. We’ll talk soon,” he tosses over his shoulder as he circles around Cat and steps off the curb.
    I turn, Cat still held close, to see a beefy guy who tops out at about five six, wearing a dark suit and standing on the other side of the car, which I now realize is a limo. That explains the short guy’s chauffer cap, but not the look of hatred on his face. The man shoots me a glare that makes it clear he’d like to pull my guts out through my nose and then shifts his attention to Cat, who he clearly has no love for, either.
    If anything, his rage level seems to increase when his gaze lands on her face, and by the time he shuts Nico’s door behind him and opens his own, his cheeks are red and his beady brown eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his face.
    “Nico’s cousin Petey,” Cat whispers through clenched teeth. “I’m pretty sure he’s in charge of disappearing people who piss Nico off.”
    “Small, but feisty, then.”
    “Small, but deadly,” she corrects.
    I nod slowly, knowing further discussion of Petey’s “disappearing” skills have to wait until we’re alone, but inside I’m putting together the pieces of this puzzle to make an ugly picture. Cat hasn’t just gotten on the wrong side of one very bad man. She’s gotten on the wrong side of one very bad man, his very bad friends, and maybe even a very bad branch of very organized fucking crime.
    Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
    Cat never did do things halfway. Why should her psycho-ex-lover situation be any different?

CHAPTER EIGHT
    From the collected notes of Curved for her Pleasure
    and Polka Dot Panties
    Dear Curve,
    I hesitated to write this because I know you’re not into the touchy feely stuff, but then I had another beer and decided what the hell? You only live once!
    So I’m writing to thank you for shutting down that whiny little shit Marty this afternoon. As you know, I take great pride in winning races fair and square, with a combination of superior skill and keen intellect.
    To be accused of kissing you where you pee in order to get the specs of the trails ahead of time was insulting, not only to me, but to my entire gender. That freshman dick’s assumption that the only way a girl can win as often as I do is if she’s getting preferential treatment from the man in charge is a huge steaming pile of bullshit.
    If you hadn’t set him straight, I would have had to kick his ass, and that would have sucked because I’m committed to nonviolent conflict resolution since that time I almost killed a man in Kathmandu.
    So basically, you’re awesome, and I respect the shit out of you for making a club that could have become a big, fat, unwelcoming-to-girls-and-other-decent-people testosterone fest an enjoyable place to be for folks of all sexes, races, and sexual orientations.
    Rock on with your bad self,
    PDP
     
     
    Dear PDP,
    The phrase “kiss you where you pee” is probably the cutest thing I’ve ever read. I debated the wisdom of telling you that you’re cute because I know you’re probably a super-soldier sleeper spy who’s going to lose your shit in a flashback someday and take out anyone who ever reminded you that you’re also an adorable redhead, but I couldn’t help myself.
    I’ve had a few beers, too.
    Related: drunk-note-writing is a lot more work than drunk-dialing.
    Maybe we should exchange numbers so I can text you when you’re being cute? Let me know. I would like to experience in real time your irritated responses to things I write.
    Will keep rocking on with my bad self,
    Curve
    P.S. No worries about shutting down that dirt-surfing snot goblin. No one fucks with you on