Bradford Bastard (Bradford Bastard 1)

I don’t know who this girl is, but she’s got a feisty attitude. I’ve never seen her hanging around here, and now I see her twice in as little as twelve hours. Riley was right, she’s got a nasty bite, but it was her bark that intrigued me. I can’t say that any chick who’s drenched me in beer and called me out has ever gotten me hard like that, but she did. Maybe it was the fire in her eyes, or maybe I’m just into petite blondes now.

Riley’s end of year party was a drag. At least, for me it was—he had a fucking great time. It was supposed to be my last shot at relaxing, forgetting all the bullshit, and chilling out with the boys before school starts, but nothing has been the same this summer. The party was flooded with losers from the public school just outside of town, bringing their problems to our turf as though we give a shit about them.

Riley’s party though, Riley’s rules.

If it were me, I would have locked their asses out and watched them beg for attention. Not Riley though. He’s a flirt. To him, any hole is a goal as long as she’s eager, willing, and wet, and when carloads of chicks he’s never played with turned up, the fucker couldn’t say no.

Not gonna lie, he’s a dick, but he’s my best friend, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stepping back from my bike, I reach for my helmet and pull it over my head. My eyes immediately snap up to the girl in the window as a shit-eating grin stretches across my face. Her eyes bug out of her fucking head and it’s damn near the funniest shit I’ve ever seen.

Panic surges through her wide stare, and I can almost hear her fear pounding through the glass, desperate to get out. She scrambles like a terrified mouse, darting behind the curtains, and it forces my grin wider.

I wasn’t wrong, living next to little miss no name is going to be fun. A lot of fun.

What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall inside her bedroom, to brush my fingers over her pulse and feel the rapid thrum as her heart races with fear, to watch her hands begin to shake and hear her soft gasping breaths as she tries to calm herself.

She fucked up last night. She might not have known who I am or just how fucking stupid it was to mess with me, but she’ll learn quickly. No one throws down a challenge that I don’t rise to, and if a rivalry is what she wants, then who am I to deny her?

Not gonna lie, the fact that she’s absolutely stunning is just the cherry on top, and I’m going to enjoy watching her purse those full lips around my cock, but not as much as I’ll enjoy fucking her. It’s only a matter of time.

Knowing damn well that she’s not about to risk looking down here again, I make my way inside, following the sound of my mother’s heels clicking against the Italian marble she imported last year.

“Tanner? Is that you, honey?” she calls out from the living room.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. I love my mother, but sometimes she needs to think before she lets the words fall from her lips. “Who else would it be?” I throw back, making my way across the foyer and past the kitchen. “Expecting anyone else with a motorcycle?”

“Ha. Ha. You know sometimes I forget how funny you are,” she says as I finally reach her, only to find her scrambling for her things, most likely on her way out. “You get that from your father.”

“Wow. Woke up and chose violence,” I tease. “Fuck, Mom. I wish you’d given me the heads up. Maybe I would have waited until you left before coming home.”

Her soft eyes narrow into a hard glare. “Watch your language, Tanner Morgan. I brought you into this world, and I sure as hell can take you out of it.”

A wide smile stretches across my face, one I know she can’t resist. “You wouldn’t dream of it.”

Mom holds my stare as if to say, try me and I let out a heavy sigh, knowing damn well that she would win this round. She’s no idiot. She’s the woman who raised me and the one I could never hurt. I don’t know what kind of motherly black magic she’s got going on, but she has this way of putting me in my place without even saying a damn word. What can I say? I love my mom.

“Heading out?” I ask, moving across the living room to the fruit bowl Mom keeps on one of the many decorative tables. I grab an apple and grin at her as I take a bite. She fucking hates it when I do this. Apparently, this particular fruit bowl is for decoration only. Its contents are not to be consumed and the bowl is not to be fucked with.