As Bad As Can Be by Kristin Hardy Page A

I’ve worked every night since we opened six weeks ago. I’m overdue for an evening off.” Her voice turned silky. “But I can certainly understand if you can’t pull yourself away from O’Connor’s. I’ll be sure to give you a full report,” she added smoothly.
    â€œDon’t bother. I’ll go with you.”
    Too much to hope she could have gotten out of it, she thought. “I admire a man who’s not afraid of a challenge.”
    â€œI look at it as less a challenge than an education. Speaking of which, do you have plans for tomorrow during the day?”
    Mallory glanced at the calendar on the wall. “Nothing scheduled, why?”
    â€œThere’s something I want to show you.”
    Her mouth curved. “Are you asking me out on a date, Shay?”
    â€œHardly. Consider it more of a field trip. I’ll pick you up in front of Bad Reputation at ten.”
    Â 
    M ALLORY LEANED ON THE FRONT wall of Bad Reputation, looking out over the tiny park that constituted Washington Square. Traffic zipped around the odd-shaped quadrangle, headed off in any one of a number of directions. Clearly Newport had had some city planning early on, but it hadn’t extended to anything remotely resembling a grid. One of the charms, and occasional annoyances, of living in a town that had its heyday more than a hundred years before was the tangle of streets that intersected at obscure angles, frequently dotted with parks to further tangle the intersections. The same characteristics that made driving hellish made for charming walks, though, and Mallory figured the good balanced out the bad.
    She wondered if she’d ever say the same about Shay. She frowned at the low, black wrought-iron fence that encircled the park, wondering just what he was up to. Be patient, he’d said. That particular quality was not her strong suit, but wondering about it all night while she was pouring drinks had made her none the wiser. In all honesty, she hadn’t a clue what to expect. It gave her a little buzz of anticipation.
    A gold-colored Volvo station wagon turned the corner and she stepped forward in anticipation. It was so Shay—practical, safety conscious, conservative. She swept her hair out of her eyes, but only watched in surprise as the Volvo swept by.
    Perhaps she should reevaluate. He didn’t seem the type to put a lot of money into a car. He’d probably drive some midprice sedan, or maybe a light truck. Yep, that was it, she thought, as a turquoise truck swirled around the square with the traffic and slowed as it approached. Practical, but the color was the tiniest bit edgy. That was Shay living wild, she figured. She stood hipshot and gave an inviting smile.
    The driver, who wasn’t Shay, tapped out his appreciation on his horn as he zipped by. Disgusted, Mallory moved back to her earlier spot against the wall. A late model sedan cruised by, but she wasn’t about to bite. Not even Shay would drive that conservatively, she thought. The motorcyclist behind it apparentlyagreed, whipping out to pass it on the right, and pull up at the curb. The rider flipped up his visor. “Hop on,” Shay said.
    Mallory blinked and pushed away from the wall. It wasn’t often that people surprised her. “Nice bike,” she said, admiring the gleaming chrome and black paint. “You know, I was taking bets with myself on what kind of vehicle you’d drive.”
    â€œReally.” He reached behind him and handed her a helmet. “And what did you decide?”
    â€œI figured you’d show up in something witheringly practical like a station wagon.” Mallory pulled her hair back and slid the fiberglass shell over her head.
    â€œIn a city with very little parking, a motorcycle is practical.”
    â€œYou sure that it’s not just a little bit of Shay’s wild side trying to get out?” she asked, straddling the bike.
    He turned and gave