Bad Boy Valentine (6 page)

K
ate watched
Jagger yank the shirt over his head, shove his arms into his leather jacket, and scoop the helmet into the crook of his arm, a rapid-fire move so familiar to her, so comfortable, it felt like she was watching a scene from her favorite movie. She’d memorized all the lines, all the stage directions, everything that came before and after.

God
, they’d known each other so well, for so many years, and then it was just… gone. Years of love, of shared secrets, of passion, of hopes and dreams, all of it vanishing in a single night. Maybe even in a single minute—the moment he’d made the decision to walk out their bedroom door that night.

For more than a decade, Jagger had been the first thing on Kate’s mind every morning, the last every night. She’d be lying if she said that still wasn’t the case.

There was a hole inside of her the exact same shape of him, and nothing else could ever fill it. She’d missed him so much over the years.

She missed him still.

“Jagger,” she said softly, unable to meet his eyes. In a trembling voice, before she could talk herself out of it, she whispered a single plea. “Take me with you. Please.”

The room had fallen silent, and when she finally looked up, she found him watching her, assessing. She couldn’t tell whether he was trying to talk himself into something or out of it.

Say yes. Just say yes.

“You comin’, or what?” His jaw was clenched, his mouth set in a grim, severe line.

But there was fire in his eyes.

The hint of a dimple.

And finally, there it was, the full-on Jagger Barnes smile.

“Yes!” Kate had to stop herself from jumping up and down like a little girl. “Give me five minutes to put on some jeans and lock up.”

“We talkin’ regular person five minutes,” he said, still smiling, “or Kate Molina five minutes? I don’t have all day, you know. My boss is kind of a—”

“Hey!” Kate laughed, all the tension between them gone. “Regular person minutes, okay? And let’s make it three instead of five.”

Maybe even two.

She had a date on the back of a motorcycle with Jagger Barnes, and she wasn’t about to waste a single minute of it.

“
H
old on
real
tight
,” Jagger said, pressing her hand against his rock-hard abs. Kate was wedged in behind him, straddling the bike, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. His voice was muffled by the helmet he’d insisted she wear, but she could still hear him. “When we turn, lean into it with me. And try not to smack me in the back with the face shield.”

“I remember all the bike passenger etiquette,” she said.

“Yeah? What else do you remember?” Jagger asked.

She felt the deep rumble of his laugh and knew exactly where his mind had gone, because hers had already beaten him there: their first ride together. Kate’s first time. Her
real
first time.

Kate closed her eyes, losing herself in the pleasure of the sweet, sexy memory. She’d just finished out her junior year of high school, and Jagger had just graduated, the hot as hell bad boy all the girls simultaneously feared and dreamed about. He’d grown up in Red Hook, but had transferred to her school for his last year after getting kicked out of his own school for starting one too many fights, a last chance kind of deal. On the outside, he was a hardass, the guy with nothing to lose, the guy no one fucked with. But Kate? She knew the true size of his heart. His endless capacity for love. His fierce loyalty. His silly side.

They’d been together all that school year, and that night, after a campaign months in the making, he’d finally convinced Gran to let her go for a ride on his motorcycle. He’d taken her up to Bear Mountain, to a perfect little spot in the park where they could be alone and just unwind, away from the crush of the city, from their friends, from Gran and his Uncle Max. He’d even packed a picnic, made a whole playlist. It was so damn romantic. After the picnic, they’d gotten back on the bike and rode to a secluded overlook to watch the sunset. He’d told her he loved her, that he wanted to spend his life with her.

She’d straddled him right there. Right on the bike. It was magic. Awkward and uncomfortable, of course. But magic, full of passion and laughter, full of fire that only got stronger—not to mention a hell of a lot sexier—with each passing year together.

In the hundreds of Harley rides she’d taken with him after, she’d never
not
been able to think about that night.

Including right now.

“You’ve got a dirty mind, Miss Molina,” he said, still laughing.

Kate head-butted him between the shoulder blades, but she was laughing, too. It was like the bike was a time machine, whirring them back to lighter, happier times, way back before all the fighting and the drama.

Way back before the end.

“Ready?” he said, squeezing her hand once. She squeezed back to let him know she was good to go, and then he gripped the handlebars, jumping on the kickstart. On the third try, the engine roared to life, the bike rumbling between Kate’s thighs like a loud, wild beast, hungry for the open road.

It sent a rush of adrenaline through her body that she hadn’t felt in years.

Jagger pulled away from the curb, weaving into the crush of Woodside Avenue traffic, eventually navigating them onto the BQE. Traffic was choppy across Manhattan, but once they hit the Palisades Parkway on the Jersey side, the road was clear and open, begging for them to tear it up. Jagger shifted gears, and Kate felt the muscles in his body loosen, lengthen, the tension draining right out of them.

The sky was clear and jewel-blue, the sun beaming as they rocketed along the highway. Within minutes, the thick tree-lined border of the Palisades faded into a blur of skeleton bone branches, waving them along to some distant place.

Kate was so happy, so relaxed, she didn’t even feel the chill in the air. Like Jagger’s muscles, Kate’s seemed to be unknotting themselves one by one, stretching out and relaxing in the crisp spring air. She felt like she could fly.

The contrasting sensations made her head spin. She was soaring above the earth on a rocket ship, but she was still grounded, rooted by the pure physicality of it—of the bike rumbling over the pavement, of Jagger’s warm body sitting in front of her. The whole world rushed by, but Kate and Jagger were right
here
. Together. Untouchable. Invincible.

On the back of Jagger’s Harley, Kate had always felt like she could accomplish anything.

Jagger had done that for her, and she’d done the same for him. As teens, they were troubled. Angry. Lost. But somehow, they’d found each other. And together, as the rest of the world spun around them, they’d built a safe haven from the storm. A home. An epic love full of passion and fire, never wavering.

Fighting, fucking, laughing, riding the bike… everything they did together was pure passion. Love. Lust. All of it. They’d belonged to each other once, and there was a time when Kate would’ve died before she’d let anything change that.

But in the end, she hadn’t been given a choice.

Something
did
change it. Jagger changed it.

God, she was so confused. She should hate him, shouldn’t she? She
did
hate him. But that’s where things got muddled. Lots of people believed that the opposite of love was hate, but Kate knew better. The opposite of love was indifference. And whatever her feelings for Jagger were now, she certainly wasn’t indifferent.

Far from it.

As if he could read her thoughts, Jagger grabbed her hand again, pinning it against him and squeezing hard. It was possessive, that touch. But it was protective, too. Kate kept her hand firmly in place, closing her eyes and letting her body sense everything at once—the snap of the wind against her arms and legs, the growl of the machine vibrating between her thighs, the warmth of Jagger’s body before her, his hand holding her steady.

On the Harley there was no talking. No fighting. Nothing but the road, the sky, the sun, and the wind as they sped away from the city, from their troubles. They rode for hours, all the way up the Hudson, through Bear Mountain State Park and past West Point and beyond before Jagger finally turned them back toward home.

It was dark and cool when they finally pulled up to Sweet Bliss. Most of the other storefronts were closed at that hour, but the Irish pubs in the area were just getting started for the night, their muffled bass and music floating on the air. Jagger was lucky his parking spot was still open.

They sat unmoving for a moment, the bike ticking beneath them as the sounds of the city slowly infiltrated. Across the street, a yellow cab blared its horn, narrowly avoiding a collision with a Chinese food delivery guy on a moped, who’d let out a colorful string of curses. On the elevated tracks overhead, the 7-Train rumbled into Woodside Avenue—61st Street station, finally screeching to a halt.

“Woodside and Sixty-First,” the conductor announced over the intercom. “Transfer here for the Seven local and Long Island Railroad. Flushing-bound Seven express. Next stop, Junction Boulevard. Express, express. Seven express. Stand clear of the closing doors.”

Kate had heard the spiel more times than she could count, but tonight it felt wrong, invasive. She didn’t want to go back to reality. Not yet.

Jagger finally hopped off the bike, turning to offer her a hand. He’d worn his safety goggles to keep the wind out of his eyes, but his hair was wild and unkempt, swept back off his face by the constant wind. He only had the one helmet, which he’d insisted Kate wear, and his cheeks were red and—she imagined—cold to the touch.

But his eyes sparkled, and his body seemed relaxed and happy.

Just like hers.

Taking his hand, Kate climbed off the bike, her legs a little wobbly from the long ride. She took off the helmet and shook out her hair, her whole body buzzing and alive. The night air was cool on her skin, her heart was pounding madly, Jagger was watching her with an intensity she hadn’t seen in his eyes in years, and Kate lost all sense of right and wrong.

Love him? Hate him? She wasn’t ready to decide. All she knew right now was that she did
not
want her night with Jagger Barnes to end.

S
he’s so fucking beautiful
.

Kate looked so happy, so at peace after that ride. Staring at her like an idiot, Jagger felt drunk. Everything else around him was just noise, a blur, a dull gray haze interrupted only by the color—the blazing light—of Kate.

Jagger walked her to the bakery door, fighting the urge to grab her hand. As she fumbled with her keys and he stood there like a trained monkey, he couldn’t help but laugh.

You got no game, asshole.

“What’s so funny?” she turned to look at him over her shoulder, her smile almost shy.

Jagger just shook his head, grinning like a first-class moron, thinking about all the times he’d walked her to her grandmother’s door when she was still in high school. She’d fumble with the keys, the two of them laughing their assess off as they tried to sneak Jagger inside, desperately trying not to wake her Gran. Half the time they’d succeeded, and Jagger spent the night curled up behind Kate on her tiny-ass single bed in a room the size of a toaster oven.

The other half the time, Gran was chasing him out the door with a broom or whacking him with a slipper, threatening to call the cops.

“Remember that time I showed up at your house after curfew,” he said, “and Gran lit my ass up?”

Kate leaned back against the bakery door, folding her arms over her chest. “Jagger. It was after midnight. She and I were already in bed, and you were
wasted
. She thought you were an axe murderer or something.”

“
Me
? She was the one brandishing a weapon.”

“A soup ladle.”

“Hey, that shit was heavy as hell.” Jagger rubbed his shoulder, remembering the pain. “I had a bruise for a month.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t crack you in the skull, which is what I would’ve done.”

“Yeah? That’s not what you said that night.” Jagger stepped closer, pinning Kate with his gaze. She bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes.

He dropped his voice, leaning in close, teasing her. “As I recall, you pretended to tell me off, made me climb up and wait on the fire escape, then snuck me into your bedroom the minute she went back to bed.”

“You wish.” Kate still wasn’t looking at him, but she couldn’t hide that damn smile.

“Matter of fact,” he continued, “I don’t think either of us got any sleep after that. I’m surprised your Gran snoozed through it.”

“Sometimes I think she just let us believe she didn’t know what we were up to in there because it was easier than dealing with us head on.”

“No doubt.” Jagger laughed again at the memory of that night and many others just like it. He’d thought a lot about Kate’s grandmother Stella over the years—Stelladora, he’d always called her—grateful that Kate had someone to turn to after he split. He’d heard from his uncle that she’d moved back in with Stella after everything went down, and Jagger wasn’t surprised. The woman had raised Kate from the age of four on up; the two had always been tight.

Stella had scared the piss out of him, but he respected her like no one else. She was hardcore and didn’t take shit from anybody, especially not from Jagger.

“How
is
ol’ Stelladora, anyway?” Jagger asked. Part of him wished she’d wander in to Sweet Bliss one day, just so he could say hello, maybe goad her into another well-deserved soup-ladle assault. “Must be pretty proud of you. She still here in Woodside?”

As soon as the question was out of his big fat mouth, he regretted it. A chill settled in between them.

“Oh, Kit-Kat. I’m… shit. I had no idea.” He didn’t know. He’d stopped asking his uncle for news about Kate after the first year, all part of his grand plan to forget about her.

Yeah, how’s that working out for you
now
, dickhole?

Kate’s eyes were shadowed when she looked at him, but she forced a smile anyway. “It was peaceful, at least. No pain. I was living with her, you know, after…. everything. So I got to be with her right up until the end.”

“When did it happen?”

“Three years ago now. On her birthday, actually. She always said she wanted to live to eighty-eight. And she did—exactly. I swear that woman was a witch.”

Jagger offered a small smile, nudging Kate’s shoulder with his. “You always used to say that.”

“Well, I was right. Maybe I’m a witch, too.”

Jagger didn’t know what else to say. He should’ve been here. It was one more thing he’d missed out on, one more burden he’d left Kate to bear on her own.

“I have to get a few things set up for tomorrow.” Kate jingled her keys again and nodded toward the bakery door. “Do you maybe want to—”

“Yes.” Jagger didn’t let her finish. Whatever she was offering—a cup of coffee? A night of awkward silence? A kick in the nuts?—he’d take it. As long as he got to spend even a few more minutes with her, he was in—no question.

“Where are you staying, anyway?” she asked, finally unlocking the door and leading them inside. She flicked on one of the lights in the front room and dropped her jacket and keys on the counter. “Back in Red Hook?”

Grateful for the subject change, Jagger nodded. “Yeah. Uncle Max is down in Florida for a few more months with his grandkids, so I’m at his place until I get back on my feet again, or until he gets back home. Whatever comes first.”

“Grandkids?” Kate asked. “Wow, Charlie had kids?”

Jagger smirked. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he dropped this bomb. “Nah. Mikey.”

“
Mikey
? Get out!” She turned to face him again, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. Jagger’s cousin Mikey had been an even bigger fuckup than Jagger, but he’d straightened his shit out real quick once he met Marcy.

“Believe that?” Jagger said. “Got married five years ago, had twins last summer. He’s Mr. Family Man now. Spends his weekends at Chuck E. Cheese and Ikea.”

“Bet that took some getting used to after all his time on the club scene.” Kate laughed. “So, you guys are still close?”

“Not… exactly. Uncle Max always has my back, you know? But my cousins… yeah, we kinda drifted after I went upstate.”

Jagger’s uncle had raised him after his parents died, and his cousins—Charlie and Mikey—had been like brothers to him. But just like with brothers, some shit just didn’t fly. Jagger’s arrest and sentencing turned out to be one of those things. Despite the fact that Mikey had gotten into his own heavy shit back in the day, he’d never been caught, and for him and Charlie, that had meant the difference between a good guy and a bad guy.

Kate lowered her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

After an awkward beat, she finally looked up at him again.

“Okay. Can we make a deal?” she asked. “No more apologizing? I mean, at least for the rest of the night. Or until you do something else to piss me off.”

“Deal.” Laughing, Jagger grabbed her hand and shook. Her skin was warm and soft, and for a minute, neither of them seemed to want to let go. He took a chance, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.

Kate finally pulled away, heading back behind the counter and flipping on one of the big machines. Thing practically had a motor on it. “You still down with night coffee?”

Night coffee had always been one of their things. Didn’t matter what time it was—if someone was awake in that apartment, the coffee was on, hot and fresh and never-ending. Jagger was glad to see some things hadn’t changed.

“Hell yeah, I’m down.” He sat on a high stool at the counter while she made the coffee, taking it all in. He really was proud of her—the bakery was a nice place. Yellow and sunny up front, deep red in the back once the work was done. It was cozy. He wasn’t surprised that Mr. Fancy Pants Brit had chosen Sweet Bliss for their big event.

“How long you been here, anyway?” Jagger asked. “The bakery, I mean.”

“About two years now,” she said. “Gran left me a little money, and then I was able to get loans for the store and equipment. The kitchen needed a lot of upgrades to get it up to code. But now I love it. Baking in there is a dream.”

Jagger cracked a smile, remembering her obsession with baking. She’d always made it work in their tiny galley kitchen, but dreamed of having a big, open space, with huge countertops and lots of storage for all of her creations. “Hey, you still make those chai cookies?”

She stilled for a moment, and Jagger kicked himself for bringing it up, for saying the wrong damn thing yet again. But then she just shrugged and turned her attention back to the coffees.

“Which ones?” she asked casually. “I make a lot of different stuff.”

You know damn well which ones.

Ignoring the burn in his gut, Jagger dropped it. “At least you finally got your dream kitchen, huh? No more baking in a shoebox.”

“You can say that again.” She retrieved two mugs from beneath the counter, and Jagger watched with awe as she made two frilly drinks with strong coffee and steamed milk, dusting them both with cinnamon. Damn, they’d come a long way since their cheap-ass coffee-in-a-can days back in Bushwick.

“Guess I never gave you a proper tour,” she said, setting a steaming mug in front of him.

Grateful that her easy smile had returned, he took a gulp, enjoying the burn of it as it rolled down his throat. “Nah. You were too busy bossing me around, Miss Molina.”

Kate laughed and took a sip of her coffee. When she set the mug down, her upper lip was coated in a thin line of white foam that had Jagger thinking all sorts of dirty thoughts. She must’ve noticed him staring at her like a dog looking for a piece of meat, because she rolled her eyes and swiped her fingers across her lips, dashing his fantasies.

“Once a pervert, always a pervert,” she chided.

“Baby, you have
no
idea.”

“I beg to differ.” She picked up her mug and nodded toward the back kitchen. “Come on, perv. Let me show you around before that filthy mind of yours gets us
both
into trouble.”