Bad For You Read online

  BAD FOR YOU

  ALEXA KAYE

  Copyright Alexa Kaye 2016

  I have known her for years. I have wanted her for years.

  There are a million different reasons why I should walk away from Taylor. Let’s start with the obvious: she’s so young-- sweet, pure…innocent. I’m her older brother’s best friend. I’ve been around the block once or twice or a hundred times. Plus I race cars for a living. Not the most stable career.

  But my heart and body know what they want. And what they want, I will have. No matter what it takes.

  The question is: will the woman I can’t stop thinking about give me her heart willingly?

  Or will she make me fight for it?

  Warning: This story is a sweet, dirty, sticky, over-the-top story of forbidden love and illicit lust. If you’re looking for a wholesome Amish romance, try Samantha Price.

  Are you looking for sexy, cheesy insta-love stories that’ll make your Kindle melt?

  Looking for something that won’t take a month to read but is satisfying, with a hero who deserves his happily ever after and would never cheat on his woman?

  Look no further! Alexa Kaye promises to deliver exactly what you want! Short brimming-to-the-top-with-tropes reads with plenty of sexy times and to-die-for heroes who make sure their women are satisfied…in all ways.

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  Chapter 1

  Taylor

  Oh crap.

  He’s here.

  Robert. My other brother.

  Technically, Robert isn’t my brother at all. He’s my brother’s best friend. But he’s always treated me like a brother…Correction, he used to treat me like a brother.

  Lately, he’s been totally ignoring me. For no reason.

  I don’t like it.

  I glance his way.

  What’s he doing here? He doesn’t even go to this college. My first weekend at school—my first college party—and he decides to show up? Coincidence?

  Probably.

  Maybe.

  I decide to go find out.

  I weave through the throng of beer-toting students, each of them holding a plastic cup of cheap beer dispensed from the keg, and in various stages of drunkenness. There’s not a stick of furniture in the place. Not a single chair, even for a staggering, sloppy-drunk girl to plunk onto. Me, I’m sober. Haven’t had a drop. Yet. It’s as good a time as any to fight my way through the crowd to the keg. It gives me a valid reason to pass Robert.

  Robert. That name.

  It used to be Rob. And he used to be nice. He used to take me to his races. He races stock cars. On dirt tracks. It’s so exciting. I loved watching, smelling the dust, the burning rubber and exhaust. He used to call me Princess. And Baby.

  But not anymore.

  I don’t know why everything has changed. The last time I saw him he insisted I call him Robert. Not Rob. Rob-ert. The name doesn’t suit him.

  I shove through a wall of cute college boys and find myself in the center of a circle of them.

  “Hey,” one cutie shouts to me, grabbing my arm and giving it a tug. “Haven’t seen you around before. Freshman?”

  I don my best flirty smile. “Yes, I am.” The sad truth is I’m no good at flirting at all. In fact, I suck at it, thanks to my all-girl’s Catholic school education. I haven’t attended a school with boys in four years. And, outside of my occasional interaction with my brother Carl’s, friends, I’ve had very little exposure to guys. But a guy can’t tell that I’ve only been kissed twice and haven’t done much else, can he? I give my new friend an up and down lookover. He’s on the thin side for my taste, and a little under-developed. His facial hair is scant (and that’s being generous), and where he should be thickly muscled he isn’t. He’s still in that wiry, long-limbed teenager stage.

  But who am I to judge? I’m no Victoria’s Secret model.

  “Where are you heading?” he asks.

  “To the keg to fill this.” I wave my cup.

  “The line’s a mile long. But I know the guys who live here. I can fill it for you.”

  “Thanks!” I shuffle toward a little open space next to the wall where I won’t be trampled to wait for him to return. This puts me very close to Robert, who’s been holding up said wall since he arrived.

  “Hello, Rob-ert,” I say, giving him a faux cheery wave.

  His brows scrunch. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same. After all, the guys in this house go to my school. You graduated a hundred years ago,” I say, exaggerating slightly. In reality, Robert’s only eleven years older than me. “You don’t even belong at a college party.”

  “Neither do you.” His gaze peruses my person. “Especially dressed like that.”

  I look down.

  T-shirt. Skirt. Shoes. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?

  Okay, so my skirt is a smidge short.

  And my t-shirt a bit snug, but I see plenty of girls wearing sluttier outfits than mine.

  “What’s wrong with—“ I cut myself off. “Never mind. What I wear is none of your business. Just like what I do.”

  His jaw clenches for a split second. It’s one of those micro expressions I’ve read about in psych class. In the next instant it’s gone, and I’m left wondering if I saw anything at all.

  He looks…I don’t know. Disinterested. Bored, even.

  If he’s bored, why doesn’t he leave?

  “Hunting for some fresh meat?” I ask, teasing him. There’s a part of me that likes to see Robert riled up. It excites me. I mean, it really excites me. In a shocking way. “What’s wrong with girls your age?”

  “Women,” he corrects. “They’re women. And so are you.”

  “Nice of you to notice.” I bend slightly, hoping to give him a little glimpse of my womanly cleavage, peeking out of my t-shirt.

  “How could I not notice? Every asshole in this place has.”

  A thrill zips through me. So Rob—er, Robert—has noticed I’ve grown up.

  I wonder what else he’s noticed? My tits, which are huge?

  My round ass? My smooth, silky thighs?

  Maybe I’m playing with fire by poking Robert, but I’m having fun. There’s a genuine rush in playing cat-and-mouse with a guy. And if any man is safe to play games with, it’s Robert.

  That is, if he’ll play.

  I want him to play. Correction, I need him to play. He’s so handsome. Like, Hollywood movie star hot. Like, fantasize-about-while-touching-yourself hot. “What are you talking about? No, they haven’t noticed me at all. You’re wrong.” Hoping to egg him on further, I wriggle my ass, hoping my skirt will ride higher up my thighs.

  It works.

  Robert stabs a hand out, nabs me by the arm and next thing I know it, I’m slammed against the wall with a snarling Robert towering over me. “What are you trying to do? Get yourself raped?” he growls as he grabs the hem of my skirt and give
s it a sharp downward yank.

  “Who’s going to rape me?” I taunt, “You?” I run my hands up his chest, feeling the defined lines of his muscles under his well-fitting t-shirt. Now, this is the way a man should be built. Like Rob. His shoulders are wide, his chest broad, his stomach a series of deep ridges cut between granite hard slabs of muscle. And the dark shadow of a day’s beard growth darkens his jaw.

  He’s big. And sexy. And powerful.

  He’s all man.

  And I like it!

  I also like how sexy I feel when he looks at me.

  “If you tried raping me, I might not fight it,” I taunt.

  “Fuck, no!” He jerks backward as if he’s been burned. “I’m not going to rape you.”

  “Well then…” I give him a haughty look as I shove at his chest. “Get out of my way.” If he isn’t going to play, I’ll find someone who will. Like that nice boy who went to fetch me some beer.

  Robert takes one step back. But he glares at me as I saunter past his big, bullying body. He catches my wrist as I go by. “You need to stop this. Right now!”

  I blink. “Stop what?” God, this is fun! Why didn’t I realize this before? I mean, I recognize I’m being a total cock tease, but if anyone can handle it, it’s Robert. As much as I want to flirt with other guys, I would never act like this with anyone else. Robert’s safe.

  Robert leans closer until his breath tickles my neck. “You know what.”

  “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”

  His jaw grits.

  I glare at his hand, still clamped around my wrist. “If you don’t mind.” I glance over his shoulder, catching sight of my new friend, holding a plastic cup, his gaze combing the crowd for me. I wave. “Over here!”

  Robert lets go of my wrist.

  I’m free. Which is good and bad. I was having fun getting a rise out of him. The tension buzzing between us made me feel tingly all over.

  Unlike how I feel when cutie hands me my drink. “Here you are,” he announces.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip. My first. My throat collapses in on itself.

  Holy crap, that’s nasty. “How does anyone drink this stuff?” I mutter.

  “Drink more. You won’t taste it after a few swallows.” He nudges the bottom of my cup, pushing it toward my mouth.

  I decide to give it another shot.

  Once again, my throat closes up. This time I gag. “This is awful!”

  “Do you want something else? We can go upstairs. They have more to choose from. Vodka. Tequila.”

  “Sure.” I hand him my cup and he sets it on the nearby fireplace mantle.

  “This way.” He takes my hand and shoves through the crowd, leading me to the stairs. We clomp up, climbing around and over people sitting, standing, making out. At the top, we turn down a hallway. He knocks on a closed door.

  It opens.

  “We’re looking for some vodka. Got any?” my new friend asks the guy who answers.

  The guy opens the door wider and invites us inside with a wave. “Sure.”

  It’s a bedroom, I realize.

  There’s…one, two, three…four guys spread around the room. No, make that five, including the one standing beside me, holding my hand. Do I have anything to worry about?

  Nah, I’m sober. These guys aren’t going to force me to do anything. For one thing, Robert and Carl taught me self-defense. I can take down a guy three times my size.

  “Have a seat. I’ll get your drink,” my escort tells me. He passes through a door at the other end of the room.

  I glance around the space. There’s only one place to sit—the bed.

  Okay, now I’m a total newbie to this world of wild college parties and boys and drinking. And my roommate Hannah told me these guys (assuming the guys in this room, live here) are totally cool. Science majors. On scholarships. Honors College students and members of the Academic Club.

  But even this newbie is getting a bad feeling about the way the guys in this room are looking at me—like a pack of hungry wolves would eyeball a juicy little rabbit.

  Hmmm. I can take down one science geek just fine. But five?

  I stagger backward, my butt bumping the closed door behind me. “You know what? I changed my mind.” My hand feels the door, searching for the knob.

  “Don’t go yet! We aren’t going to hurt you.” One guy stands and slowly lopes closer, hands raised, palms out. He’s smiling, trying to look unthreatening, but his expression doesn’t quite ring true. It’s the predatory gleam in his eyes that gives it away.

  Is this guy really an honors science student? Am I being silly, overreacting?

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re not going to hurt anyone. But I…my friend is downstairs somewhere. He’s going to be looking for me.”

  The guy standing in front of me turns around, glancing over his shoulder. “Your friend?” he echoes to his buddies.

  “Yes. He’s downstairs. His name’s Robert. I was talking to him right before that guy,” I say, stabbing my index finger at the other door, “before he brought me up here to get something to drink.”

  That Guy pokes his head into the room. “I didn’t see you with anyone.”

  “I was.”

  A cup in one hand, he circles around the bed and hands it to me. “Here you go.”

  I sniff the yellow concoction.

  “It’s just vodka and orange juice,” That Guy tells me. “Actually, it’s orange drink, if you want to get technical.”

  Against my better judgment, I sip. I don’t want to believe there’s anything threatening in the way these guys are watching me. No. This is my first party. I came to this one because Hannah said it would be okay.

  I just want to have fun. And laugh. And flirt. And meet new people. You know, normal stuff.

  This drink does taste better than the beer. It’s tangy, fruity but with a kick. I should be okay as long as I don’t drink a lot.

  “Better?” That Guy asks.

  I nod. “What’s your name?”

  “My name?” he echoes.

  What? Did I ask a trick question? Do people not exchange names at parties? Am I that clueless? “Yeah. You haven’t told me your name.”

  “Oh. It’s Simon. You?”

  I offer a hand, and Simon looks at it like I’ve sprouted a second head. Evidently I am that clueless. “Taylor.” Feeling a little foolish, I let my hand drop and take another swig of my drink. It’s not the best drink I’ve ever had in my life, but it’s better than beer. And I feel a little less conspicuous now that I’m drinking like everyone else at the party.

  Make that, everyone except Robert. I don’t remember him having a cup in his hand.

  Poor Robert, having to hang out at college parties because he doesn’t have any friends anymore. My brother Carl moved to Arizona recently for a job promotion.

  A pair of the guys sits on the bed. One of them produces a pack of cards from somewhere and starts shuffling them.

  They’re going to play cards? With a raging party going on downstairs? Okay, these must be the honors science students. The nerds. Who else would play cards during a wild party, right?

  I’m good with that—I’m used to hanging out with the less popular kids.

  I plop on the bed between them, the mattress bouncing. “What’re you playing?”

  “Poker,” the boy who’s shuffling says. He’s okay-looking. Not overwhelmingly hot. None of the guys in the room are. They’re all pretty average, normal college kids—except the cutie who brought me up here. Wearing golf shirts and jeans. The rest of them find seats, all of us forming a circle on the mattress. The dealer starts doling out cards. When he gets to me, he asks, “You in?”

  “I’ve never played poker,” I confess after swallowing several more chugs of my fruity drink. Simon is right, after a while the alcohol doesn’t taste as strong.

  “We’ll teach you,” the dealer offers.

  “Okay.” I’m in an agreeable mood. Is it the alcohol? I don’t know. I’ve
never had alcohol before. I’m not sure what it’s going to do to me. But I do know this. I feel sort of giggly. And happy. And very, very relaxed. And that can’t be because of the alcohol. I haven’t had much at all. I chug the rest of my drink so I don’t have to hold my cup anymore then snatch up my cards as they’re dealt.

  I splay them out, but for some reason I’m having a hard time reading them. It must be because I’m sooooo relaxed. Why? It can’t be the alcohol. I set down my cards.

  Simon asks, “Are you okay?”

  “Ssure,” I say. “I’m gooood. Need to lay down.”

  I’m floating. Feels so good.

  Everything feelsssss goodddddd...

  Simon, wonderful Simon, hovers over me. “That’s it, baby. Relax. You’re going to enjoy this.”

  “Yesssss.” I’m still floating. It feels like I’m adrift on a river of air.

  Faces appear before my eyes. I don’t know who they are. I don’t care. Am I dead? I don’t feel anything at all. My arms. My legs. It’s like I’ve left my body.

  Simon is hovering over me, his face contorted. He’s breathing hard. Why?

  Oh, who cares!

  I’m floating!

  Simon disappears. But I don’t care.

  Then I see Robert. Rob-ert. “Hiii, Robbbbb-erttttt,” I say. Is he really there? Or am I dreaming?

  I think I’m sleeping.

  Yes. Colors shifting, creating beautiful arcs.

  In my dream I’m soaring through space. Adrift among glittering stars. I feel nothing. Nothing at all. Just peace.

  * * * * *

  “Taylor.”

  Where am I?

  I look around.

  Rob. Rob is standing next to the bed.

  The boys are gone. And I’m in a bedroom, but it’s not the same bedroom I was in before. I’m not in the party house…or am I? I push upright and my head spins. My stomach flips. Oh God, I feel like crap. I ease back down, wrapping the sheet around myself.

  Alcohol is poison! I’m never doing that again!