Handcuffed Hussy: Beach Squad Series

By Marika Ray

I should have known better than to flirt with a hot cop.

 

 

Jack

In my world as a police officer, things were either black or white. Right or wrong. Then Bailey arrived, challenging all my principles. She had a mouth on her, the level of sass matching the exaggerated swing of her hips. I couldn't get her out of my head, even knowing she wasn't right for me. I tried to stay away, I really did. But once I had a taste, I kept coming back for more. Something didn't add up though, and I would figure it out even if it ultimately meant we couldn't be together. 

 

 

Bailey

The only thing sexier than his dimple was the set of handcuffs the hottie detective threatened to use on me. If only he'd give me a chance to show him I was more than the tough-girl exterior I'd carefully crafted over the years. Oh yeah, and if I wasn't engaged in criminal activity that would land me in handcuffs...and not in a sexy way. More like an orange jumpsuit way, and I can tell you now, no way in hell would I be caught dead in an ugly jumpsuit. 

 

No matter which way this thing ends, I'll be in handcuffs. The question is, will Jack join me in the grey area? Or will I have to do the impossible and admit I was wrong?

 

 

Handcuffed Hussy is a companion novella in a series of small town romance novels with more than a splash of humor from a USA Today Bestselling author. If you like strong, sassy heroines, witty banter, and happily ever afters set at the beach, then you'll love Marika Ray's Beach Squad series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marika Ray
• Release date: Feb 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9780999298169

Book preview

1

Past - Bailey

---

The resident asshole was staring at me the moment he walked through the door of the science lab. I could tell he was the school asshole by the perma-sneer on his face and the way he walked into the room with an exaggerated swagger that only the coolest of cool kids adopted by the time they hit middle school. His was a well-practiced swagger by now, causing all lesser-than students to dart out of his way while flashing hesitant smiles, hoping for validation in the form of a cool-guy head nod in return.

I rolled my eyes and yawned, having seen this exact scenario too many times before to be impressed. Besides, I was pissed off, having been forced to attend a new school as a freshman, facing day one with less enthusiasm than my mom when she had her first mammogram. If I looked like I cared about this dipshit, I'd break from my pissed off routine and I was committed, goddammit.

I examined my nails, seeing the first chip in my black polish. I'd only painted them last night, you'd think I'd be chip-free for at least one day. Perfect. Messed up manicures fueled my pissed-off attitude. It was this thorough nail examination that made me miss the prolonged look from dipshit, right before he changed directions and sat down next to me.

It was the obnoxious mouth breathing that snagged my attention. I couldn't stand loud breathing and especially chewing. Ugh, it was so disgusting. Like nails on a fucking chalkboard.

I looked up to find him leaning over his small desk to enter my air space, smirk a bit more pronounced as he looked me up and down.

You're new.

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, he led with the lamest line ever. It was so bad I would have laughed, but figured that might encourage his kind.

You're observant, Neanderthal. I didn't bother looking at him since that's what he wanted me to do.

He chuckled hesitantly, probably trying to figure out what Neanderthal meant. Or maybe he thought I was just so overcome by his majesty's attention I couldn't squeak out more than three words.

You got a name, beautiful?

I do. But you can't have it. The conversation continued, him talking to the side of my face, me talking straight ahead to the chalkboard.

You like to play games, huh? I can think of a few games we could play, he drawled, then burst into obnoxious laughter.

I finally turned to him, drew as close as I could stand without vomiting, and made sure he got a nice view of my cleavage. I laid my first and last flirty smile on him. How about we play my game first? It's called Go Fuck Yourself with Your Tiny Dick.

He jumped back like I'd physically attacked him, brain trying to process rejection. His leer turned to a sneer. Like I'd have anything to do with you, freak. He jumped up and stomped across the room to another chair, whispering to his friends and looking back at me.

I just smiled and winked at his buddies, excited to be making friends already.

Another warm body slid into the chair next to me, this time a blonde girl. Not a mouth breather. She had a very peaceful way about her, sitting in her chair observing the goings-on of the room.

When she glanced my way, I asked, You got something to say to me too? Might as well weed her out right now. Her preppy, good-girl outfit didn't bode well for a blossoming friendship with the likes of me.

Yeah, I do. I love your outfit! She leaned forward, a mischievous gleam entering her eye. Teach me how to do that.

I tilted my head. Do what?

How to tell those assholes to go 'eff themselves! I've been wanting to do that for years, but I can't seem to get the words out.

I squinted, wondering if I wanted to go there. If she was worth breaking my pissed-off streak. Something about the way she held no judgement as she looked at me pulled me in. Made me want to open up to her. Made me want to give this new school, this new life, a solid try. What did I have to lose?

All right. Here we go. Let's do this. I smiled the first genuine smile in years, pleasantly surprised my face remembered how to do it.

---

I think I was ten when it dawned on me for the first time that I was a real-life, living cliché. My mom was a poor, single mother, raising me the best she could with two jobs and all the stress of keeping a home and raising a daughter without any help. My dad had escaped the cliché life when I was just a baby, choosing wide open pastures instead of diapers and sleepless nights. I never knew him long enough to miss him, but his absence left a raging pit of resentment toward him and all his kind.

The anger and lack of parental supervision led me down a rough path. My friend circle was full of the unsavories, mad at the world and making sure everyone knew it. I fit right in with my teased out Afro and my brightly colored clothes. The more ripped up and mismatched the better. And that was only middle school.

My mom finally stepped in the summer before my freshman year and called my bluff on the escalating bad behavior. She moved us out of state, all the way to California where she got a better job. I had to enroll in a new school without any familiar faces.

Adding insult to injury, she also forced me to start going to church with her, saying she'd failed me by not taking me before then. I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms and sent out dirty looks and negative energy, gaining me few friends. I actively fought it, I really did, but after only a few weeks a particular family took my mom & I under their wing, my mom all smiles and gushing profuse thanks. I went kicking and screaming but went I did.

And the only reason I put up with such coddling was because it was Esa's family. After our friendship pact that first day in science lab, we were inseparable. My mother rejoiced, having barely saved me from being a pregnant high school drop-out, or some other such malady she swore I was destined for. I mean, I saw her point, but a little optimism from my own mother would have been nice.

Esa's mom and dad, Mr. and Mrs. Grant, treated me like their own daughter, telling me I could be at their house anytime I wanted, no prior invitation or even knocking on the door required. Since we lived only a few blocks from each other, they might have gotten more than they bargained for when I was at their house pretty much every day. When they started regularly stocking my favorite brand of yogurt, I knew I'd found my second family.

They were a churchy couple, praying at the dinner table, attending church every week, and volunteering their time at the homeless shelter. They always dragged Esa and I with them, which we agreed to since they were so nice all the time. The least we could do was volunteer alongside them. I wasn't down for the church stuff as I didn't believe in it, but I took to the volunteering like cotton and spandex.

It was at the homeless shelter that I gained insight into a life I vehemently did not want to experience. The hard shell I'd carefully constructed around my heart crumbled when I saw the conditions in which these people lived. I had perfected the tough-girl schtick around my peers, but the truth of the matter was that I was a marshmallow underneath that faćade. Only Esa, her parents, and the people at the homeless shelter ever saw that side of me.

By the time I graduated high school, I'd lost my angry undertones thanks to Esa's parents and the volunteering, but I'd kept my signature sassiness. I'd also kept my love of flashy clothing and funky sense of style. I was accepted into the fashion design program at UC San Diego, where I'd room with Esa in the freshman dorms.

Life was the best I'd ever known those first two years of college. I was living with my best friend, attending