The Rake (Boston Belles #4) by L.J. Shen

“Without blinking.” I pressed her knuckles over my lips, relishing the privilege of touching her. “You told me what made a hole in your heart, and this is why I have one in mine. This is why I’ve never gotten married. Why I hadn’t started a family. Something inside me knew that getting all the things I prevented Lou from having was just … wrong. I owe her my life.”

“She did what any decent person would do.”

“Is that so?” I asked idly. “Perhaps I haven’t met many decent people in my life.”

“Not wanting to be alone is not a sin.”

“Then why’d you give yourself the exact same fate?” I murmured into her hand.

She drew back, making a snow angel on the carpeted floor. Pouting and struggling to keep her sniffles to a minimum, she looked half-girl, half-woman.

A pregnant vision stuck in limbo between two worlds.

Too wise for her years and too scared to fall in love.

“Look what you’ve done. Now I can’t even hate her properly,” Belle sighed. “She saved you, after all.” She used that fake, exaggerated British accent she put on to hide her feelings when she was hurting.

I laughed, rolling over her, kissing her face, licking those salty tears away, my knee prying her legs open as I flicked my thumb along her nipple.

It was just like me to fall in love with the craziest woman on the planet.





Fourteen Years Old.



Coach Locken comes back to school four days after his son, Stephen Locken Junior, is born. His chest looks broader, his smile bigger, and I don’t know why, but I swear he looks more grown-up. His sudden maturity grosses me out.

I show up to practice. There’s no reason to leave a perfectly good scholarship on the table just because this guy is a grade-A asshole. But if he thinks I’m going to let him eat me out again, he is in for an unpleasant surprise—and probably a kick in the balls too.

Practice goes smoothly, considering I want to keel over and throw up every time I feel his eyes on my legs. I catch Locken trying to lock gazes with me a few times, but I avert my stare to avoid him.

When practice is over, he lets everyone go and claps my shoulder like a friendly uncle. “Penrose, come see me at my office.”

“I have calc in five minutes, Coach. Can we talk here?” I ask very loudly, straightening my spine to show off my height.

Everyone stops and stares. Ross raises an eyebrow. I realize that while I was under a teenybopper-induced haze, everybody on the team figured out there’s something going on between Coach and me. My face feels hot from the inside.

For the first time, I see Coach looking lost and a little shell-shocked. He recovers quickly.

“Yeah. Sure. Here, let’s sit on the bench.”

We do. We sit at a respectable distance from one another, but I still feel sick. I want to punch him in the face. I hate feeling stupid, and I feel like he took advantage of me. I play with the hem of my shorts.

“Congratulations on Stephen Junior,” I blurt out. “And the Kia Rio.”

I can’t keep the anger from my voice, and you know what? Screw it. I don’t need to. He lied to me.

“Ah, so that’s what it’s about.” He scrubs his stubble with his knuckles, looking like he hasn’t slept all week. “You knew I was going to become a father, Emmabelle.”

“I didn’t know you’re still with her.” It’s weird even talking about it. I feel like a grown-up in a TV show. I’ve only started getting regular periods three months ago, so this is a bit out there.

“I wasn’t,” he says urgently, and I can tell by the twitch of his hands that he wants to gather me in his arms and demand my attention, but he doesn’t. “I haven’t been with her for three months. Brenda giving birth in Boston was always the plan. And the week she came back ahead of her due date … well, one thing led to another and we decided to give it another chance. For Stephen.”

“Did you sleep with her?” I ask. I don’t know what authority I have to ask him that.

He looks away, his jaw clenching.

I snort out a humorless laugh. “Of course you slept with her.”

“What was I supposed to do?” he asks through gritted teeth. “It’s not like my girlfriend puts out.”

His girlfriend. That’s what I was now. Even though I thought I’d feel good about it, all I felt was dull regret. How could I have been so stupid? To start this with him?

“I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not even sure I’m your harrier. But what I definitely am is out of here.” I stand up.

“Penrose,” he whisper-barks. “Sit your ass down. We’re not done yet.”

I do as I’m told, but this time—and this is the real kicker—not because I want to hear his lame excuses, but because I have to. He’s my coach. And now I’m starting to see the similarities between Locken and that geography teacher creeper.

“Look, this thing with me and Brenda … it’s not gonna last. It’s you I want. I’ve made that clear.”

“I don’t want to come between you and the mother of your child.”

As I say it, I realize it’s not only because I feel like a piece of flaming shit for doing what I did with him, a married man. This whole thing’s just lost its shine. Days ago, in the cafeteria, as I craned my neck to listen to crumbs of information about him and his wife from the lunch duty teachers, it dawned on me that this was all a huge mistake.