Read Online Spectacular Rascal: A Sexy Flirty Dirty Standalone Romance by Lili Valente - Free Book Online

of their relationship.
    I remember that was the exact phrase she used, but it’s hard to imagine Cat being swept up by anything.
    She isn’t that kind of person. She’s levelheaded and logical, passionate, but a woman who reserves her fire for issues of societal injustice, not interpersonal relationships. In fact, aside from that one night when she seemed as carried away by the chemistry between us as I was, I’ve never seen Red lose control. Get angry, get loud, get feisty—yes. But never lose control.
    Even that night in the woods, the lapse in her restraint had been physical, not emotional. She wasn’t in love with me; she’d just wanted to get rid of her virginity with a friend she could trust.
    So what happened?
    What opened up a practical woman like Cat to the ravages of a dysfunctional kind of love?
    “This is kind of weird, isn’t it?” She swirls her straw through her thick shake.
    “How so?” I take a deep pull on my drink, approving of the lime to cucumber and kale ratio.
    She shrugs, an uncertainty in the gesture that isn’t like the Cat I remember, either. “I mean in some ways we’re old friends, but in other ways we’re strangers. I know what will make you laugh, but until today I didn’t even know your name, let alone anything about your past or what you’ve been up to for the last eleven years.”
    “It is kind of strange, I guess. But that’s what makes Dasher clubs so great. You get all the fun of a close group of friends with none of the real life drama.”
    “You’re right,” she says, with a wistful smile. “We did have a lot of fun. Maybe I’ll get back into the lifestyle when all of this is over.”
    “I run with the Lower Manhattan Dashers. We have a good time.”
    She nods, casting her gaze down at her drink. “That’s a little far for me, but I hear the Brooklyn club is good.”
    “If you like hipsters in fake retro T-shirts with your alcohol poisoning.”
    “And who doesn’t,” she deadpans. “Though I prefer gladiator types in overpriced organic tee shirts.”
    I grin. “How could you tell my T-shirt was organic?”
    “I’m an Apache scout, remember?” She points two fingers toward her eyes before swiveling them in my direction. “Nothing’s getting past me.” Her smile curdles at the edges. “Except all the things that got past me for the past six months. Like my ex being up to his elbows in dirty money and having mob connections going back five generations.”
    I sigh, not enjoying having my organized crime suspicions confirmed. “The mob. No shit? What tipped you off, the creepy goons who work for him or the thousand-dollar suit?”
    “Touché,” she says wryly. “But in my defense, Nico was good at hiding things he didn’t want me to see. At least in the beginning.” She runs a hand through her hair with a long sigh. “Which is where I should probably start. Or maybe even a little before.”
    “Go for it.” I sit back in my chair and get as comfortable as I can on the unpadded metal seat. “I’ll cut in if I need clarification, but otherwise, talk until you’re talked out, and then we can go back and fill in any holes.”
    She nods and gives her shake another stir. “It started when my dad died. It was right after that crazy March snow storm last year, the one that knocked the power out for almost a week.”
    “I remember. And I’m sorry,” I say automatically, though her voice is steady, and she actually looks less upset than she did a few minutes ago.
    “Don’t be,” she says, before adding with a shake of her head, “I mean, you can be. That’s fine. I’m sorry, too, but not for the obvious reasons. I respected my father, and I’ll always be grateful to him for many things, but our relationship was never what you’d call easy.”
    She sighs again. “I spent the first fifteen years of my life trying to be just like him and the next fifteen wavering between being too scared to show him who I really was, and trying my best to