Mister Naughty (Smalltown Secrets #6) - Cat Johnson
MISTER NAUGHTY
a Mudville novel by
New York Times & USA Today Bestseller
CAT JOHNSON
STONE
How I went from working the fall harvest to secretly writing online dating and sex advice for the males of Mudville, I can’t figure. All I know is I blame Harper for it. Apparently dating an author has done something to my brain.
But that’s not the worst of it. Oh no. My bigger problem is that my youngest brother is sprinting to the altar, intent on a Christmas wedding with a woman he’s known for barely a year. Boone beating us to “I do” is not going to sit well with my girlfriend. It should go over about as well as the news that I’m the anonymous writer she loathes.
What will happen when I finally confess that I’m secretly Mister Naughty, the man she’s declared her arch enemy? Hell if I know, but I don’t need any advice column to tell me that if I don't fix this, and fast, my holidays this year are not going to be merry.
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ONE
Harper
Rocking beats pumped out of the bakery’s speakers, telling me Johnny Wolf, aka the Wolfman and self-proclaimed child of the eighties, was currently in the booth at the local radio station.
To the strains of a Van Halen guitar solo, Bethany slid two plates onto the small café table where Red and I sat inside Honey Buns.
“Pumpkin spice cupcakes. Your favorite,” Bethany announced in a sing-song voice.
I hadn’t ordered yet, but after the couple of years we’d known each other, Bethany knew I couldn’t resist her pumpkin spice cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.
In fact, I lamented every year when she took them off the bakery’s menu after Thanksgiving. Although, since she replaced them for Christmas with red velvet cupcakes, also one of my favorites since they too featured mounds of sweet fluffy cream cheese frosting on top, I managed to survive until pumpkin spice’s return the next autumn.
“Mmm. Thank you.” I reached for the plate as Red cleared her throat.
Glancing up, I noticed she hadn’t touched her cupcake, or her coffee for that matter. For a coffee addict with a sweet tooth, that seemed odd.
“So we have something to tell you,” Red began.
Bethany, still hovering near the table, pulled out a chair and sat. I glanced between them and noticed their matching expressions. They appeared serious. I daresay concerned. Wary, even.
Frowning, I asked, “What’s going on?”
Bethany drew in a breath, stretching the Honey Buns—We’ll leave you sticky T-shirt she wore as her chest expanded. I noticed she'd changed the blue streaks that had been in her highlighted hair to a deep wine red.
She drew in a breath. “You’re not going to like it.”
Red’s compressed lips as she watched my reaction told me she agreed with Bethany’s assessment.
I didn’t know what they had to tell me, but I did know their beating around the bush and making me feel like I was the subject of some kind of strange coffee shop intervention was annoying as hell.
They were my closest friends, so it was with love that I threatened, “Either you two tell me right this minute or else—”
“Bethany heard the old biddies talking about you,” Red spewed out on a single breath.
With that sentence as the prelude, I wouldn’t be surprised by anything that came out of my friends’ mouths next. But chances were good whatever they said was going to piss me off.
The old biddies talked about everyone in Mudville. They acted as if it was their job.
They performed the task with a single-minded dedication that would be admirable, if it wasn’t gossip they were so keenly focused on.
I rolled my eyes at how nothing had changed. “And? What else is new?”
Bethany looked pained as she said, “They have a nickname for you.”
A nickname. For little old me? Well, that was new. “What is it?”
The two exchanged glances before Red finally said, “Ms. Naughty.”
A laugh burst out of me. “Ms. Naughty. Wow. That’s surprisingly creative of them.”
I supposed I couldn’t be too angry. I had my own nicknames for some of them too. And mine weren’t always so nice either. That didn’t mean that I liked them having one for me.
“And what have I done to earn this nickname? Is it because, devilish siren that I am, I’ve lured Stone into having carnal relations with me without the benefit of marriage? Carnal relations . . . Ooo. Actually, that’s a good title for a book. Hang on. I have to write