Flirting with the Bad Boy: Roca Springs Sweet Romance, #3

By Amy Sparling

Lanie plays by the rules. Working at the family business has her constantly under the watchful eyes of her three older brothers. If she breaks any rules, they'll know about it. And if she dates someone they don't approve of? Well, they won't allow it. Now that she's out of college, Lanie is tired of being treated like a kid. She decides to find a broody, bad influence and bring him home to the family. You know… just to annoy her brothers.

She doesn't expect to fall in love.

Kris has been on more first dates than he cares to think about. Finding a date is easy, but wanting to go on a second one? Impossible. He just doesn't feel anything with the women who flirt with him. He wants something real. Something worth fighting for. But when the cute girl who works at his supplier asks him on a fake date, he agrees to go along with it.

Because after all, it's not like he'd want a second date. Right?

This sweet romance novel is the third in the Love at the Gym series, a collection of heart-warming, page-turning full-length romances that all feature a strong love story and a happy ending. These books can be read in any order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Sparling
• Release date: Oct 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393032502

Amy Sparling

Amy Sparling is the bestselling author of books for teens and the teens at heart. She lives on the coast of Texas with her family, her spoiled rotten pets, and a huge pile of books. She graduated with a degree in English and has worked at a bookstore, coffee shop, and a fashion boutique. Her fashion skills aren't the best, but luckily she turned her love of coffee and books into a writing career that means she can work in her pajamas. Her favorite things are coffee, book boyfriends, and Netflix binges.  She's always loved reading books from R. L. Stine's Fear Street series, to The Baby Sitter's Club series by Ann, Martin, and of course, Twilight. She started writing her own books in 2010 and now publishes several books a year. 

Book preview

1

Kris

With one hard twist, I finally loosen the rusted bolt on the frame of this old Harley. I reach up and wipe the sweat from my brow, then turn the wrench until the old threads give away and the bolt breaks apart, dropping onto the floor of the garage.

This old bike will require a lot of work—who am I kidding? It’s already required a lot of work—but I’ll get it restored and running one of these days. It might not take as long if I’d actually bring it to a nearby motorcycle shop and let the pros do it, but the time doesn’t matter to me. This is my project. It’ll just have to take as long as it takes, getting worked on here and there in the short number of hours I have available each week.

I still can’t believe my luck at finding this old thing. A 1975 Harley Flathead, in all its rugged and dilapidated glory, was right here in the garage, buried under and old canvas tarp behind a shelving unit filled with tools and all my grandmother’s craft supplies. I spent my whole life knowing my grandfather used to ride a motorcycle back in his glory days, but like everyone else, had assumed he didn’t own one anymore.

My grandmother passed when I was ten years old. Granddad held on longer, living until I had just barely turned eighteen. When he died of kidney failure, it was a surprise to everyone that he’d left his entire estate to me. The only grandkid. Not my mom or my uncle who are his actual kids. But me.

My uncle has always had a gambling problem, selling off everything he owns and borrowing money until he has no friends left, so it makes sense that he didn’t get anything from my grandparents’ will. And my mom? Well, I guess that makes sense, too. She all but abandoned me when she married some guy the year I was in kindergarten. And when that didn’t work out and she remarried another guy two years later, I saw even less of her. Once again, in fifth grade, my mom met Paul, who she deemed the love of her life and moved off to Colorado to live with him. I stayed here at my Grandad’s house, not wanting to leave my school behind. I think, in a way, Granddad didn’t want me to leave him behind either.

So I guess since my mom prioritized her various romantic partners over me, her son, my grandad felt she didn’t need the house.

I shudder to think that I’ve become exactly like my mom. Not the multiple marriages and unwanted children, but the fact that I’m terrible at love. At relationships. I can’t even find love or a relationship.

I can find dates, sure.

As if right on cue, my phone dings with the familiar chime from the Crush dating app. Someone has just messaged me, looking to make a connection after reading my online profile. I spray some grease on the next bolt on this old bike frame and slide the wrench onto it. The phone alert can wait for now. There are more than enough girls on that app and I’ve probably already dated half of them. None of them turned into a girlfriend, or even a second date. No one even came close.

My knuckles turn white as I grip the wrench, trying to work loose the next stubborn bolt. They say hobbies are a great way to distract yourself from all the other problems in your life, and it does work sometimes. Just not all the time. Maybe some problems are too big for a hobby distraction.

I take off the remaining bolts and then curiosity gets the better of me. For all I know, my soul mate could be on the Crush app, waiting for my reply. That’s probably just some wishful thinking, but I can’t shake the idea. I want a soul mate. I wipe my hands on my jeans and then reach for my phone.

The notification is from a woman named Carly. According to her dating profile, she’s twenty five, a dental hygienist, and fairly average looking. Not beautiful, not unattractive. Just… average.

I don’t know why I let a sliver of disappointment creep into me as I stare at her profile. It’s actually a good profile. She seems sane, and educated, and doesn’t have anything in her photos that makes her look like she’d be a bad person to meet. So many girls post obviously photoshopped pictures to make themselves look better, or their photos are all taken at some raging party where they look like the kind of party girl I want nothing to do with. This girl Carly doesn’t have any of that going on. She seems nice enough. But the disappointment lingers anyhow. I think it’s because deep down, every time someone reaches out to me on this app, I secretly hope I’ll get this burst of—well, I don’t know—something. A feeling? An intuition? A thumping of my heart?

Something that tells me this new girl is the girl. My soul mate, if you want to use terms like that. The one. The girl I’ll fall madly in love with and propose to and marry and live happily ever after with.

But of course that never happens. I should be used to it by now. I should be expecting it to not happen. Instead, every time I look at my matches, I get just the slightest bit disappointed because I want something I just won’t ever get.

For the millionth time, a little nagging intuition in my gut tells me I won’t be able to find what I want from a dating app.

I look through Carly’s profile again. Her message is simple, and also lets me know that she’s probably a decent, nice person.

Hello! You seem interesting. I also live in Roca Springs. Want to get a smoothie at that place off Main Street?

My tongue slides over my lip as I read the words, thinking them over. I’ve gone through phases lately, where I’ll go on a date with a new girl each night, and then I’ll just stop cold turkey for a few weeks. Lately, I’ve been dating. It keeps the loneliness away.

So I guess it won’t hurt to try one more date, despite not feeling any kind of cosmic connection to this woman.

I type out a reply, telling her I’m free any day this week before five, which is when I go to work.

She replies back instantly.

How about tomorrow? :)

I take a deep breath. Sure. Why not.

2

Lanie

My heels clack loudly on the black marble flooring in the Arctic Protein lobby. I like the sound, the clack, clack, clack that announces my presence the moment I walk in. It makes it easy to pretend I’m some high-ranking attorney with a terrifying demeanor that makes people sit up straighter when I enter a room.

Instead, I’m not even close to being someone that confident and powerful. I’m no lawyer, or big-shot. I’m the office manager of my family’s business that researches and makes high quality protein powder and nutrition drinks.

And the word manager is used kind of loosely in my job title, because I don’t manage anyone. I just hang out and do all the boring admin type stuff around here that my dad and brothers don’t want to do. The great thing about having a dad who owns a successful business? You just get handed a job after college. No scary interviews or resumes for me.

But the bad thing about having a dad who owns a successful business?

You have to work with family.

There’s someone standing in front of my office door.

Your hair is purple.

Speaking of family, my oldest brother Julian is staring at me as if he thinks I owe him an explanation for my hair.

It’s not purple, I say, pretending to look at something important on my phone. "It’s lavender."

I don’t care what color it is, it’s not the right color. Julian is tall and broad shouldered like my dad, but of my three brothers, I’m the least scared of him. He’s much more mature than my other two brothers.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not a little scared of him. My brothers love me but they are extremely overprotective. It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty four years old. They still treat me like I’m twelve.

Right color? What’s a right color? I say, lowering my phone and walking past him on my way to my office. I let the sound of my heels give me some fake confidence. A kick butt attorney wouldn’t let her older brother criticize her hair.

Well, let’s see, Julian says, falling into step with me. The heavy clunk of his work boots starts to drown out the clicking of my heels. It annoys me more than it should. You were born with blonde hair, and that’s the kind of hair you’ve always had, and now it’s slightly purple. Why?

I roll my eyes, stopping when I reach my office door.

Lanie Archfield, the silver plate next to my door says. Office Manager.

Manager of nothing, I think dryly to myself. I spin on my heel and look my brother in the eyes. It’s this new shampoo that slowly makes your hair a pretty color every time you use it, I explain, even though it doesn’t matter and I shouldn’t have to explain myself to him. We have other employees with brightly colored hair, so my subtle lavender isn’t a big deal. Plus, it’ll wash out if I stop using the shampoo.

Those other employees aren’t high ranking employees, Julian says, following me inside my office even though I don’t invite him. They’re retail or warehouse workers. You’re upper management. You have to make a good impression.

I do make a good impression, I say, standing tall. I’m dressed really nice today, in a cream blazer and matching skirt, and outfit that helps prove my point.

Julian heaves a sigh. I’m just looking out for you Lanie.

No, you’re being annoying, I say, folding my arms across my chest.

Morning, losers! My brother Jack calls out as he passes by my office door. Then his shoes screech to a stop on the tile and he backs up, his eyes raking down my body.

What are you wearing?

James, Jack’s identical twin brother suddenly appears. What’s going on?

Jack and James are also my older brothers, but they’re younger than Julian. Our parents waited two years between having each kid. Why two of them were twins… I don’t know. There aren’t any other twins in our family. Maybe my parents had some bad karma coming their way. Or maybe I did. Maybe I was born with bad karma because my three older brothers have done nothing but hassle me my whole life. They say it's because they care about me, but really they just like being annoying.

I