So Bad (Bad Boy Next Door #1)(33)

Not sure I’ve ever seen a floor so clean—hate to be the poor bastard who has to keep it maintained.





The buffer vibrates under my hands.

Burn it and buff it. That’s what the guy said. Use the coarse pad to heat the wax already on the floor, and then buff using the softer pad to make it shine.

Guess I’m the poor bastard shining the floors today. Before that, I was the guy who swept and mopped. Yesterday I was the one who cleaned bathrooms and restocked shelves in the pantry. The day before that, I unloaded a box truck of donated clothing and paper goods. I’ve never seen so many rolls of toilet tissue in all my life.

This isn’t what I thought I was volunteering to do. But maybe Mo will see I’m not just all about a piece of ass. Okay, I am all about a piece of ass, but I want a particular piece, and if this is what I have to do to get more of it, then I will.

Every once in a while I get a glimpse of Mo as she walks this kid or that down the hall from one place to another. The most I get from her is a half-smile. Somehow she’s managed to avoid me altogether at home.

I guide the buffer back and forth, back and forth, gliding over the linoleum tiles, watching the door Mo went through earlier. When someone taps my shoulder, I flip the switch, turning off the machine.

A petite girl with huge brown eyes smiles up at me. She throws herself against me. “So, I’ve been nominated to find out your name. We’ve been watching you.”

What the fuck? I back up, but she stays with me.

She slides her hands under my shirt. “I’m Roxie. Want to take me out for a drink or something?”

I grab Roxie’s wrists through my shirt before she gets them to my pecs. The door I’ve been keeping an eye on opens and Mo walks into the corridor. Her eyes zero in on me—and Roxie.

Mo mouths something. Beer.

Ah, fuck.

I slide sideways out of Roxie’s hold and tuck my fingers into my front pockets. “Thanks. Really. But I can’t.”

I try not to be rude, but Roxie’s lip pokes out in a pout anyway. Normally, I’d have totally taken this chick up on her offer. But somehow, it just isn’t as appealing as it would’ve been a few weeks ago.

Mo passes by. Under her breath, she mumbles, “Brewery.”

I jog after her.

Roxie calls, “You’re missing out.”

I shrug. “Sorry, got things to do.”

Mo pushes through the swinging doors at the end of the hall.

I catch the door as it swishes back through the opening, following her. “So, where you headed?”

Shaking her head, she keeps walking. “Work stuff. You know, that’s why I’m here—to work.”

I snag hold of her elbow, pulling her to a halt. “Hey, I’ve been working. That girl approached me. Practically attacked me right there in the hall.”

Mo turns, hands on her hips. “Yeah, because you’d never do anything inappropriate in a hallway where anyone might see? You forget who you’re talking to, Danny.”

She strides away, head high, hips swaying just enough to tease, but not so much as to be over-the-top wanton.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I throw up my hands and head back to finish my stinking job. Who the fuck volunteers to be a janitor? Me, that’s who. And why? Because I want Mo. I want more than just her body. What the fuck am I thinking?

A voice calls down the hall after me. “Danny, I have good news.”

I let out a sigh and smile at the assistant director of the facility. “Hey, Cindy. What’s up?”

“Your background check came through. You’re cleared to work with the kids. So, if you want to go check it out tomorrow, you can.”

I nod. “Great. Thanks.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.





Mo leads me into a room that looks as though a paint store exploded on the walls. Every color imaginable has been used. The upper half is a mural of the Land of Oz, I guess—not sure. The lower half has hundreds of handprints of all different colors on a black background.

The room bustles with volunteers, all dressed in deep purple, collared shirts, and children…everywhere. They range in age from wailing, non-mobile baby-blobs, to snot-nosed kiddos at all the stations around the room.

One kid paints, giant brush smearing watercolors on a big white paper at an easel; another has a tower of Lego blocks on a rug printed with a road, while three tikes squabble over a yellow dump truck. More run, play, and squeal.

I’m going to get a fucking migraine. I should have quit when they handed me the toilet brush the other day. What the hell was I thinking? Mo comes into my peripheral.

Oh yeah. She’s what I was thinking.

A frazzled woman shoves a diapered kid with a big yellowish stain covering the lower back of its shirt into Mo’s arms. “Thank God you’re here. Selena didn’t show up so we’re short-handed. Can you change Xavier? He had a blow out.”