Your Neighborhood Bastard (The Neighborhood Book 2) Read online

  Your Neighborhood Bastard

  The Neighborhood Series #2

  Tarrah Anders

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Dear Friends,

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Tarrah Anders

  Sometimes, a Bastard is a good thing.

  COPYRIGHT © 2019– TARRAH ANDERS

  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 in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Tarrah Anders | Tarrah Anders, LLC [email protected] |www.tarrahanders.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Formatting: Tarrah Anders, LLC

  Cover: Jess Bryant Designs

  Ordering Information: The Neighborhood Bartender

  One

  I had avoided The Neighborhood, despite being the only well-run establishment in town. Only because I made a stupid promise to my mother to keep my distance from the Baker family, but eventually curiosity got the best of me, and I found that despite the fact that Noah Baker was previously known as a cocky, give no fucks- type of guy. I’ve actually begun to like the guy.

  I am not entirely sure what prompted me to apply for a bartending position specifically at the Neighborhood. But I did, and even with no experience, I was hired. My resume was not impressive; I worked at a coffee shop while I was in college at the University in Hollybrooke, so I figured, ‘how hard could it be?’. I had a degree in Marketing and instead of staying in the city and taking the job that I was offered after my internship, I left and came back home.

  I liked him even more when Valerie, his girlfriend came into the picture and he did a complete 180 in all areas of his life. He went from being a total douche and knowing it, to being a pretty decent guy.

  Noah was the owner of The Neighborhood Bar.

  His father had an old affair with my mother.

  In addition, he was also my brother, except he didn’t know that part.

  “Miles, you have a hot little thing at the end of the bar, asking for you.” Noah teases me from the doorway.

  I’m in the stock room, getting a few more twelve packs to restock the fridges under the bar, trying to fit as much as I can in my arms when he nearly startles me out of my balancing act.

  “What’s she look like?” I ask, unsure of who in Mercy would be looking for me. I didn’t really know anyone in town, I stuck to myself and only hung out with my ‘Ma and on a rare occasion - some of the other staff here at the bar.

  “She looks like trouble.” Noah winks and retreats from the room.

  I groan. I don’t need any distractions, or anyone getting up in my business and I’ll be damned if I need a woman that looks like trouble. With three cases of beer strategically placed, I take my time returning to the front of the bar.

  I almost drop all of the cases when I see her. It’s like how you would imagine love at first sight being, except - it wasn’t because, this isn’t the first time that I have seen her.

  Missy.

  What the hell is Missy Donahue doing in Mercy, of all places?

  I take my time depositing the cases on the back counter of the bar, wipe my hands on the front of my pants, take a deep breath and then finally approach the woman who had no clue how in lust that I used to be with her. Once upon a time, the woman that said hateful things about me our senior year of college and who shattered my heart to pieces.

  “Missy. Mercy is a little too country for you, what are you doing out of the big bad city?” I lean an elbow on the bar and hope that I sound unaffected as I approach my old college love interest.

  “I went to look for you at Stokman and Meyers and they told me you turned down their offer just to move back to Mercy. So, I figured that I would come here myself and see what the big deal is.” She shrugs all while smacking her gum.

  “Well, you’ve seen it - you can go now.” I hope to shoo her away.

  “Oh Miles.” She flips her hair and I get a whiff of the tangerine hair product that she uses. “I don’t know why you act like you hate me? We were once friends.”

  “That was before I knew that you were a backstabbing bitch.” I almost let the curtain drop and show the emotion that I’m feeling, but I reign it in and clear my throat, cross my arms over my chest and widen my stance.

  “Harsh words,” she breathes, her eyes wide.

  “Listen, what do you want? I really would rather not have your drama come into my place of work.”

  “I just bought a home outside of Mercy. I was hoping for a friendly and familiar face, but I guess I was wrong when it comes to you.”

  “The way that we left things? You thought that everything would be copasetic? You must be delusional.” I shake my head and sneer.

  “I would rather go with hopeful,” she offers a small smile. “It’s been two years and things have changed. I’ve changed. I think that we left things up in the air, with you ignoring me and all.”

  “Not too much could have possibly changed in two years.” I mumble.

  She looks at me and picks at the folded napkin in front of her, waiting for me to say something more, instead the stare-off continues and I refuse to continue.

  “I’ll be around, and I hope that we can be friends again. It would be nice.” She stands, smooths down the flannel shirt that she’s wearing, pivots on her heel and walks away.

  I watch as she leave the bar. In college, she was all straight lines and solid colors. She rarely strayed to patterns and jeans, but here she was in Mercy, wearing just that.

  What the hell is Missy Donahue doing in Mercy? Really?

  And why does she look so similar, yet so different?

  Two

  It only makes sense that later that night, when I finally crept into the dark and old house of my mothers on the outskirts of Mercy, that I would Facebook stalk, today’s surprise cameo.

  From a glance at her semi-public page, she seems to have downsized on the amount of friends that she used to have, the last post she had was a fundraiser for some 5k that she was taking part in and her profile photo was of her reading a book, upside down.

  I clicked through the rest of her photos and she didn’t have much. I didn’t see a million selfies and endless photos of her in designer clothing on the arms of other socialites in Hollybrooke, which surprised me. After all, that was the crowd that she favored over real friendships, like the one that we started to have, until it got too real.

  I clicked out of her profile and brought up Instagram. Nothing recently posted there that would show the type of person she is today. Her feed is full of inspirational quotes, the lake nearby and trees.

  Who is the person that Missy turned into? Her Facebook
feed comes off as down to Earth, which is far from the uptight and prissy Missy that I knew.

  She was hoping for a friendly face when she came into the bar today, but instead she got me. The person she was hoping for, but I’m thinking not the reaction that she was wanting.

  Does she not know that I overheard her talking to her other friends about the ‘poor small town guy’? That I was just a charity case for her, and she was just leading me on because she felt bad for me?

  It’s too early in the morning to be cornered in the kitchen by my ‘Ma. She doesn’t approve of my working at a bar; even though she doesn’t know which bar I’m working at, and would rather have me move back to the city to work in a job that’s going places. I moved back to Mercy, because she needed help around the house and every day she gives me hell for it.

  She was older and not as mobile as she used to be once the multiple sclerosis got worse. Some days were better than others, but I knew that once I graduated, that coming home to help her would be what needed to be done, whether she liked it or not.

  “You were out late again last night. You should try to work more day-time shifts,” she proclaims while pointing to the glass beside my head in the cabinet.

  “If I worked day shift ‘Ma, I wouldn’t be around during the day if you need something.”

  “You’re not my caretaker boy, you’re my son. You shouldn’t have to turn your life upside down to take care of me. It’s not right that you have to take care of your mother. It should always be the other way around.”

  “You took care of me for my whole life, let me pay it forward.”

  “I don’t like this.” She shakes her head.

  “I know you don’t, but I’m a grown man and I’m taking care of you. You can’t change my mind.”

  This is an endless conversation that we’ve had time and time again in the few years that I’ve been home.

  She shakes her head and wordlessly rummages through the junk drawer. She finds what she was looking for and then leaves the kitchen.

  I sip my morning coffee slowly and my mind wanders back to Missy.

  After college, I didn’t bother to keep in touch or spend any time stalking the social media accounts of my previous classmates. If they wanted to be friends, we would be friends in the real world. Moreover, up until last night, I had written Missy Donahue off my friends list. Of any list, really.

  Her features were hardened, and she didn’t have the soft curved face any more. Her previously platinum blonde hair was now a honey blonde and her eyes had bags under them, which was out of character for her. She never seemed to leave her dorm room without her make-up and her hair in primo condition, whatever that meant for a chick. I overheard Valerie say it once.

  I just know that I liked the way she looked back then, and last night when I saw her, it was as if seeing her for the first time. I liked what I saw and won’t deny the tightening behind my zipper upon seeing her.

  When she stood up, I was equally shocked to see that she was wearing normal clothes, and not the type of clothes that looked to cost a fortune.

  The truth of the matter is, when I saw Missy last night, my heart skipped a beat. Then it continued to beat, louder and louder as if it was trying to get my attention. She still captivated me and a part of me wanted to reach out to her and touch her to make sure she was really there.

  But I needed to put up a wall and tell my fucking heart to stop being so dreadfully annoying. The woman was toxic and just because it’s been a few years. I sincerely doubt that anything has changed.

  I mull around the house doing some odd work throughout the day until I need to head to the bar and start my shift. I could get a job in home improvement with all the fixing up of my mother’s home that I’ve done, if bartending doesn’t work out.

  I unzip my jacket and hang it up in the back room before rolling my sleeves up and heading to the opposite wall to punch in.

  My shift starts out like any other. I wash; I dry, socialize, pour and make drinks.

  We have a few regulars who come into the bar, and Noah and I take turns on who serves one of them.

  “One for me and one for you.” Lewis says pushing one of the shot glasses my way.

  “Lew, I’ve got to cut myself off. I still need to drive home, operate the tap and the till – you know work-like things.” I say jokingly.

  “Oh, don’t listen to him Lew, Miles here can drink you under the table.” Noah slaps me on the shoulder and winks to our regular.

  “One more.” I hold up my finger.

  I shoot the contents down and cough, grab my glass of water and take a quick sip. When I look up my eyes meet the very same eyes I was trying to get away from on my last shift.

  Missy is sitting at one of the high tables with another woman. They look awkward like they’re on a first date. I’m not sure how long she’s been at the bar, but, I’m trying to not care either. However, my mind is fuzzy and my eyes keep wandering over to her.

  I watch the way she brushes her honey blonde hair behind her ear as she listens intently to her companion. The way she throws her head back when she laughs, how she toys with the napkin in front of her when our eyes meet.

  I wasn’t staring.

  Not at all.

  She wasn’t looking beautiful in the skintight blue jeans and black halter-top. She wasn’t looking beautiful, as her smile would reach her eyes when she would catch me looking at her.

  Even though I’m doing what I can to not give a shit about her, I notice that in front of her and her friend were several empty glasses and I hope that neither of them are driving tonight.

  Three

  My back hits the wall and the photos lining the wall fall to the ground, glass-breaking echoing through the space. Lips roughly move down my neck, fists grip my shirt, the buttons on my shirt fly across the space as my chest is bared and her hands roam across my skin.

  My hands grip her hips, I take control and our positions are changed. Her back is against the wall and I’m caging her there. My body is pressed against hers as I swallow her moans.

  My shirt drops to the floor and my hands go to her thighs I hitch it up to cradle my hip and press the erection that is straining against my jeans against her center.

  Our mouths move together, our tongues exploring and our bodies moving against one another in a frenzy. I press myself into her, so she can feel me and so I can get some form of friction.

  I know that I currently have Missy Donahue pressed up against the wall and I’m seconds away from defiling her.

  This is what I wanted in college. I wanted the girl and now she is in my arms, but I don’t like her. I despise her for the things she said. Alcohol is the common denominator here with allowing me to ignore the past and to fuel this attraction. I need to stop this, but I. Cannot. Stop.

  Is this something that she wants too? Is alcohol fueling her desire for me? In college, a relationship other than friends between us would have been unheard of.

  “Missy.” I groan.

  How the fuck did I get here?

  She slides her leg down and takes control. Blindly steering us down a dark hallway and through a doorway. We fall into the bedroom and I push her up against the dresser directly beside the door.

  “This doesn’t mean anything. This is just a fuck.” I tell her.

  “It’s more than that -.” She starts, mumbling against the kiss.

  “It’s just a fuck Missy. This doesn’t mean anything further,” I say sternly.

  “Fine. Hate me later, for now - just fuck me.”

  She somehow gains control and with her hands, she places her palms against my chest and pushes me down onto the bed and then climbs atop the bed and hovers over my lap.

  She crisscrosses her arms in front of her chest and pulls her top up and over her head baring her bare breasts to me. Through the moonlight from the window beside her bed, I can see her pert nipples begging for my mouth to lavish them. I can see the beauty mark just above her left nipple, lean in, and kis
s it.

  “Your jeans,” she says leaning up on her knees.

  “Your jeans,” I counter.

  Her hands eagerly unbutton the buttons and her hand snakes in. She pulls out my cock, licks her lips and scoots down my body. She lays on her stomach between my spread legs, her hand on my cock and an over-zealous look on her face as she licks her lips. She leans in and lashes her tongue against the crown, then angles her head for her tongue to run down my shaft with her eyes searing into me. I breathe in a shaky breath and hold it as her mouth encases my cock and she begins to move up and down while squeezing my shaft and pumping it.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I definitely cannot stop this now.

  I cannot think clear when this perfect, ever so fucking perfect mouth is sucking me off.

  Her hair falls over her face and blocks the view of her taking me, shielding her eyes that are glued to mine. I gather her lush mane in my hands and with my hand guide her movements. I show her wordlessly what I like and fuck, she does it well.

  I groan in satisfaction as her teeth lightly brush me and I begin to feel the telltale signs of my release. I concentrate and pull her off me.

  “Let me take off these pants, fish a condom out of my wallet and sink my cock into you. I don’t want to blow my load down your throat.” I say, with a slight slur to my words.

  She sits up as I pull my jeans down my legs, grab my wallet and pull the foil wrapper out. I sheathe my cock and fist it by the base. She removes her jeans, along with her panties and my mouth goes dry from seeing her bare pussy.

  She eyes my fist and then plants herself on my lap, hovering her pussy over my cock and then slowly and methodically sinks down on me.