The Wrong Order (Boston Mishaps Book 1), page 1
The Wrong Order
Boston Mishaps Series
Riley S. Baron
Copyright © 2023 Riley S. Baron
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 permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Riley S Baron
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. Any reference to events, popular culture, corporations, teams, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Book Cover by S. Anderson
Contents
Dedication
1. ONE
2. TWO
3. THREE
4. FOUR
5. FIVE
6. SIX
7. SEVEN
8. EIGHT
9. NINE
10. TEN
11. ELEVEN
12. TWELVE
13. THIRTEEN
14. FOURTEEN
15. FIFTEEN
16. SIXTEEN
17. SEVENTEEN
18. EIGHTEEN
19. NINTEEN
20. TWENTY
21. TWENTY ONE
22. TWENTY TWO
23. TWENTY THREE
24. TWENTY FOUR
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgements
Also By
To all the nerdy girls with superheroes in their hearts and just want to be seen.
I see you.
Don't ever change. Not for anyone.
And if anyone ever tries to make you choose between Batman and Superman….
It's always Superman. Always.
one
Lenny
It wasn't often that I imagined creative ways a person could be killed, but today, I was up to thirty-six ways, and only adding more with each passing second. Between worrying about the state of the narrative assignment I had yet to finish, the video that I had yet to film and post, and the glaring asshole at Table Three, I was ready to call it a day.
Pouring more black elixir of life into the white mug in my hand, I lifted my gaze to where he sat, waiting for me to replace his coffee. His dark eyes met mine from behind his black-framed glasses, irritation furrowing his brow, and I tried to ignore how my tummy fluttered at his narrow-eyed glare.
I was lucky that I came into work in a shit mood because I'd always been a sucker for sexy grumps, and the guy currently glaring a hole into my ass had it going on in spades. I could all but see the storm clouds hanging over his head while he ground his teeth to dust.
It hadn't been my fault that he'd received the wrong order. I'd only followed Marcus's orders when he handed me the coffee and told me to deliver it to the man by the window. He should have been a bit more specific because there were several men by the window. I'd simply taken a chance, my Jedi senses failing completely when I set the regular black coffee in front of the man who had ordered the espresso macchiato.
The frothy milk getting dumped down the front of the dark hoodie he wore was definitely my fault. And I wasn't about to apologize for doing it either.
He deserved it. In fact, I'd gladly shove his handsome face right into Nana's famous key lime pie if I thought it'd make me feel better.
"You keep scowling at the guy, he's going to think you don't like him," Marcus teased, bumping my shoulder with his.
I turned my scowl on my best friend. "I don't like him," I bit out angrily, wishing that I could add a little 'you suck' art to the milky foam on his drink, just to let him know that he was an asshole. "A simple mistake, which you caused, by the way, and he was a jerk about it."
Marcus laughed. "How was he a jerk? I haven't seen him get off his phone since he sat down."
"I overheard him call me the hot blonde bimbo who couldn't make an overpriced coffee the right way," I informed him angrily.
"Doll..."
"Don't you dare say I'm overreacting!"
He held up his hands in surrender. "I was actually going to say that he thinks your hot," he grinned. "And doll-face, that man...I'd let him call me anything as long as I got to call him daddy."
I rolled my eyes at him, picked up the correct order, and stepped out from behind the counter. I used the short walk to study the man, taking advantage of his distraction to look him over from head to toe.
I'd noticed him the moment he walked in but had been busy with other customers. He was tall, fit, and so good-looking it was borderline disgusting. His dark brown hair curled at his nape from beneath the backward cap he wore, longer than was popular for men his age, which I'd pegged as in his early thirties. I'd gotten only a glimpse of his eyes but I knew they were dark, with lashes that most women would kill for.
It had taken all of a minute after he'd given his order to Marcus to drop down at one of the prime tables by the front window and slip a pair of sexy AF reading glasses on. He hadn't moved since.
Every single woman in the shop had their eyes glued on the guy. I deserved a huge thank you for dumping milk all over the guy because he'd stripped off the hoodie, leaving him in a white Henley that did nothing to contain the bulging muscles of his torso. He'd shoved the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing heavily inked forearms that made my mouth water.
Bad Lenny. You don't really want to take a bite out of the mean, grumpy asshole.
His head lifted, eyes meeting mine and I swear I could feel a little zing of pleasure straight to my core. His dark gaze scanned over my body, taking in the stained T-shirt the color of coffee beans that was too big for my skinny ass and my cream leggings that had seen better days. His full lips turned up in a smirk at the combat boots I wore, and I had a sudden urge to kick him in the shin like a toddler.
The second I was close enough, I all but dropped his coffee mug on the table to ditch and run, but his hand shot out and closed around my wrist.
"You mind waiting...wouldn't want you to have to make another trip if this isn't the right drink," he grumbled, a distinct edge to his deep voice that sent delicious shivers down my spine.
Ignoring how good his long fingers felt wrapped around my wrist because I could all too easily imagine him wrapping that big, calloused hand around my throat, I cocked a dark eyebrow at him and shook him off.
"I think you might appreciate the cheap shit down the street," I all but snarled at him, reaching for the mug to take it back and send him out the door.
What was it about this guy that set me off and made me want to plant my foot in his ass while simultaneously wanting to jump his bones?
He moved before I could take it back, lifting it to his mouth and taking a tentative sip. Eyes the color of storm clouds closed as he took another, adam's apple working with the deep pull and I swallowed against the urge to lick up the thick, corded column of his neck like a greedy hussy. His eyes opened and met mine as he set his mug down and I resisted the need to squirm beneath the intensity of his gaze.
"Satisfied?" I asked with a bit too much sass than was warranted.
That damnable smirk lifted one corner of his lips. "Far from it." He shifted in his seat, tossing an arm over the seat beside him and sprawling long, denim-clad legs out before him. The look on his face was one of pure confident bliss.
It was a really good look for him. I could hear the little whispers of female ovaries everywhere as they swooned at the sight of his stormy eyes softening as the sweet notes of caffeine hit his bloodstream with all the stealth of a wrecking ball. Even his shoulders seemed to relax.
It was a look of complete and utter bliss. One that my horny brain latched onto and queried if it was the look he'd wear when he was balls-deep inside a woman.
"But at least the coffee's good."
The little daydream of him thrusting into my body I'd briefly indulged in was shattered at the sound of his deep voice, making me scowl down at his sprawled form. Either I was more tired than I thought, or this guy was walking sex on two legs and had shorted out my brain because guys never had this effect on me. Men fell to their knees ready to worship at the altar of my body, not the other way around.
"Probably has something to do with having the best coffee around," I pointed out, before turning to head back to work. I needed to get away from this guy and the tantalizing pheromones that were turning my body to mush before I did something embarrassing like climbing his solid body like a spider monkey.
He was all kinds of delicious...even if I thought he had the personality of a dung beetle.
two
CAL
If looks could kill, Blondie would have incinerated my ass long before she had returned with the right order. Her big, green eyes blazed with the fires of hell, daring me to drop the pissy attitude and coax a smile or two from her. I wasn't usually such a dick about what I drank, but I was fucking pissed at the world and ready to throw down.
Sure as hell didn't help that the girl had dumped a carafe full of warm milk all over my favorite hoodie. By the time I got to practice later, it was going to stink worse than my buddy Cormac's lucky socks.
She made to leave and I cleared my throat, sitting up a little straighter to grab her attention again. I didn't miss the way she rolled those big eyes in exasperation or the way her pink lips turned down just a bit. My eyes drifted over the shirt she wore, looking for a name tag or something else to identify her with, but found nothing but small, perky tits that were shamefully hidden beneath the oversized tee.
With the way this chick was trying to ice me over, I wasn't the only one having a fucked up day. She had this sweet girl-next-door vibe going on but the second that I met those big eyes I could see the wild that she tried to hide. Made me wonder what kind of trouble she got into, what it took to unleash that wild child, and what it would take to be the one that she unleashed on.
Giving my head a shake, I took another long pull of rich espresso before meeting her irate gaze.
The pain in my knee had been keeping me up and it had taken months to find this place, that was the only excuse I had for being a prick to her. The Coffee Drop had been a surprising little find, and even though it cost enough to cover the price of my favorite protein powder on Amazon, I couldn't deny that sitting in the modern café with its soothing jazz filtering through the overhead speaker calmed the anger and frustration eating away at my insides.
"Did you think my tits were going to start talking to you?" Blondie asked, one dark eyebrow raised in a sexy little arch.
"Can't say they'd have much to say," I shrugged, inwardly wincing at the hurt that flashed through her emerald-colored eyes. "Thought I might find a name so I could...thank you," I rushed to clear up, though the damage had already been done.
"Sure," she rolled her eyes, turning her back on me to leave.
I instantly wanted her back. I wanted her name. Hell, if I was being real, I wanted her pouty, pink lips wrapped around my dick while her mischievous eyes stared up at me, but I was pretty sure she wanted to stick her combat boot so far up my ass, the team doctor would need to pull it free.
"Hey..." I called out to her, making her look back over her shoulder. She shoved a lock of blonde curls back behind her ear, that dark brow arching up making me question if she truly was a blonde. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"
She tossed her head back and laughed, confusion settling over me at what could possibly be funny about me asking for her name.
"Nope." She took several steps away before shooting a glance back at me from over her shoulder. "You can just call me Blonde Bimbo," she shot back at me, her husky voice chillier than the arena.
It took a hot second for me to realize she'd overheard the comment I'd made to Cormac earlier, right before she had dumped milk all over me. Guess that made sense now, I'd have probably done the same thing if I was her and I'd just been called a bimbo. I deserved no less, which pissed me off because I wasn't this asshole.
The only woman I'd ever intentionally insulted without provocation was my little sister, and that was simply a brother's right.
She didn't wait for me to respond, heading straight back behind the counter to return to work. I watched as the dark-haired guy leaned over and whispered in her ear, which had another laugh ripping from her and I wanted to march over there and steal all her laughter away.
It didn't make a bit of sense, why this girl made me want to rile her up, to pull every bit of sass that I could from her. Right before putting her over my lap and spanking the brattiness out of her. I could all too easily picture that sweet ass of hers bare, the delicate honey tone of her skin flaming brilliantly with the print of my hand.
Fucking Christ Almighty, I needed to get laid.
Picking up my phone, I tore my attention away from the tempting view of Blondie and all her lithe curves, returning it to the contract that was a million times more painful than the fucking blown-out knee and months of physical therapy I'd undergone. It was part of the reason I was in here, drowning myself in espresso and jazz, when I should have been on the ice, making sure that I was ready for another season.
My final season from the looks of it. Boston was cutting me loose after the end of the season. They weren't benching me. They weren't trading me. I was done all because my physical therapist couldn't guarantee the coaches that my knee was back to full strength, even after all the work I'd put into getting it strong again.
It hadn't made a fucking bit of difference.
I'd had my last seasonal contract sitting in my hands for the last two weeks and I was no closer to wanting to sign off on it than when my agent Miles had placed it in my hands. There was a part of me that wanted to say fuck them all- throw away the money, the fame, the game that was in my fucking blood- all to prove a point.
My last season had been cut short when I'd taken a hit that had blown out my left knee. I'd had my fair share of injuries in my hockey career. Even had some that had benched me for a number of games. It was inevitable when you'd been playing the game since you were old enough to walk. I'd always bounced back, coming back stronger, faster, more determined.
Not this time though.
Absently, I rubbed at the pain that knifed through my leg, my head dropping back against the chair. I needed to figure out what I wanted to do. How I wanted to handle the situation that I found myself in.
"Do you plan on sitting here all day with a single coffee?"
I cracked my eyes open, giving a negligent shrug of my shoulder. "Haven't decided, Blondie. You got any better ideas?"
"Yeah, order another drink or free up the space."
She was wiping down the table next to mine, so it wasn't as though she had come to single me out specifically, but I still wanted to believe that I hadn't completely fucked up my chances with her. I leaned forward, curious to see if there was a way I could make her forget the bullshit I'd spewed out earlier.
"I'm betting if I ordered a bottle of Fiji, you'd dump it on my head." I propped my elbows on the table, giving her a contemplative look. "Even if I apologized for what I said earlier."
She stopped mid-swipe over the table, bent over just enough to give a nice pop to her ass. "What makes you think I care what you think of me?"
"I wouldn't be doing it for your sake, but for mine," I answered. "It wasn't your fault my order was messed up, and even if it was, calling you a bimbo was uncalled for. I'm sorry for that."
Emerald eyes narrowed and I could see the wheels turning in her head, trying to figure out if I was being honest or if I was playing her. After a moment, she nodded in acceptance.
"Thank you..." her voice trailed off, a hint of a smile turning up her lips. "But I'm still not giving you my name."
I grinned at her, amused as hell at her sass. "Fair. How about another drink then? Your favorite heavy-on-the-caffeine drink."
She arched that damn brow again and I just knew, that whatever she planned on fixing, was going to be something out of the coffee God's nightmares.
And I was going to have to drink it all.
three
LENNY
Wrapping my arms around Marcus's trim waist from behind, I propped my chin on his shoulder. "Whatcha doin'?"
His head turned to mine, lifting a hand to remove the earbud from his ear. Only then did I notice his phone in his hand and the video playing, my face heating with embarrassment. My eyes darted around the shop, grateful for the quiet morning that kept the place empty.
"I can't believe you're watching that!" I groaned, ducking my head against his shoulder as he continued to watch the video I'd posted just that morning.
"What? Just because you happen to be my best friend, doesn't mean that I can't enjoy the pure perfection that is that ass," he teased, pausing the video so that my lacy thong-covered ass was front and center and turning in my arms until he could face me. "I still don't understand why you hide all this," he waved his phone in my face, "under all that." His eyes dragged down the bulky Boston College jersey I wore over ripped skinny jeans.
"I should never have told you about this," I sighed regretfully. "It's so fucking weird that you watch these."
Marcus and I had been besties since kindergarten and my mom and I had moved in next door to his family. Where I was the girl carrying around a book or a sketchpad and couldn't seem to make any real connections outside of him, he was the complete opposite. He was the point guard on the basketball team, the guy that everyone wanted at their parties, and didn't bother discriminating against where his next date came from. Everyone loved him, and for some unknown reason, he remained my best friend. We didn't keep secrets from each other.
