Troublemaker (Troublemaker, Book 1)

TROUBLEMAKER (TROUBLEMAKER, BOOK 1)

By Ava Parker

© TROUBLEMAKER. 2014, all rights reserved.

Today is so crazy busy. I have to finish up my shift here then race home to meet my dad’s new tenant for the summer, which I can’t screw up. Then it’s off to Long Beach to meet up with Jessie. Then again I guess I’m used to being busy since I nearly killed myself these past few months trying to be the perfect student. Gotta live up to my reputation I guess.

But finals are over. If I can get through today then summer officially begins for me. And with my
father gone for a little while, I can finally breathe.

“I’d like a sixteen ounce carrot and ginger and
a sprouted hummus wrap.” A woman in her forties dressed in full-blown yoga attire places her order. She has the body of a twenty-two year old, aside from the carefully hidden wrinkles under her eyes.

“That’ll be $13.50.” I look over at my boss who’s already halfway through making the sandwich then I sneak a quick glance at the clock.

Forty-three minutes to go. I can make it. Slaving away at Gina’s Organic Café is not exactly my dream job, but it keeps my father happy.
Sort of.
Having some down time was never exactly encouraged by my father. Or having any fun at all for that matter. I better get in as much chill time as I can while the cat’s away.

“What’s up sweetheart? I’ll take two large strawberry and banana smoothies.” I look up
and see two shirtless surfer type guys in their late teens. I see a lot of these kinds of guys in the café. And I’m pretty sure I haven’t been very impressed by a single one of them.

“Sure. That’ll be $12.15,
” I say, glancing over at the second boy who has his head still buried in the menu. I can’t help but notice his ridiculously hot body.
I guess I’d go shirtless too if I was him
.

“Dude, are you gonna order or what?” Mr. Smoothie jabs his friend in the arm. Nothing. No flinch.

“Yeah, I am gonna order.” The second surf rat punches his friend in the arm, sending him totally off balance. 

“Do you guys serve any real food here?” Hottie asks, still not bothering to look up at me.

This is either the first raw vegan restaurant he’s ever set foot in or he’s a total asshole.

“The
only
thing we serve here is real food,” I fire back at him. I take advantage of his anti-social antics and catch a glimpse of a woman’s name tattooed on his right forearm.

What kind of a loser tattoos his girlfriend’s name on his arm? Everyone knows that’s the kiss of death.

“There’s a McDonalds about 2 miles away. Maybe you would be better suited by their menu?” I hold my arms out in disgust, waiting for a response.

“Oh dude, she nailed you bro!” At least his goofball sidekick thinks I’m funny.

Hottie drops his shoulders down and looks up from the menu. I make a microscopic gasp as his eyes meet directly with mine.

He. Is
. Gorgeous.

I immediately drop my hands down to my side as
I find myself completely taken aback by how ridiculously good looking he is. I glance over to a side table and notice two sorority girls gawking at him like he’s some sort of a movie star.

“McDonalds?” he asks, completely deadpan. “Are you always this quick to give up on your customers?” He lets out a hint of a smile, but I can’t tell if he’s being passive aggressive with me or just trying to make his bird brain friend laugh. Either way, I can’t move my lips for some insane reason.

“I… I just don’t want my customers to go hungry. So if McDonald’s is the answer then…” I shrug my shoulders awkwardly and catch myself unable to break eye contact with him.

He slowly nods his head up and down, also re
fusing to break his gaze with me. Then he tilts his head to the side and tosses the café menu on the counter. He grabs his board and I spot his forearm tattoo pop out through his muscles.

“I’ll take a raw falafel sandwich.” He smiles. “Can you at least nuke that thing for me for a minute or two?”

Not sure if he’s messing with me or just totally clueless, I regain my composure and respond, “No microwaves here, just dehydration ovens.” Now
I’m
getting ready to head to McDonalds myself. Especially with my father away, it’d be my only chance to chomp down on something greasy without getting lectured about it.

No lectures for the next week or so
. No disapproving looks either. And no more you-better-not-embarrass-me speeches. For now at least.

“You got any ketchup?” he asks.

“Organic ketchup.” I grab a small container of our house-made ketchup and place it on the counter.

Surfer hottie boy cringes. Even the ketchup gets a reaction from him. “You might wanna triple that ketchup for me.”

“No problem. If you want you can have a seat while you wait.”

“
Thanks.” He turns away from me and I see another tattoo on his right shoulder.
Semper F
i. Hot surfer boy is a Marine! Just like my father, Colonel James B. Miller. Except hot surfer boy looks like he’d last about an hour in the Marines, especially if he had to deal with anyone even close to resembling my father.

McKenzie, up and at em! Let’s go girl. Are you a Miller or are you an embarrassment
? I want more from you if you want to call yourself my daughter.

Ah, the memories. The incredibly painful past, and the not-so-much-better present, with Colonel James B. Miller.

Hot surfer guy sits down in his chair and I’m pretty sure he and his friend are laughing at me. Whatever. It’s not like he’s anything even close to my type. He’s basically a bum who apparently thinks it’s a good idea to tattoo his girlfriend’s name on his body.
Forever
.

“Order up,” I call out.

Hottie glances at my nametag. “McKenzie, you’ve been one helluva server today. I can’t say I’ll ever be back, but I’m glad I came.” Surfer guy smirks and nudges his buddy who seems to be drowning in his second smoothie.

I blush. I actually blush. Why the hell would I be blushing over a guy like this? I don’t date guys with tattoos and bronze skin darkened from months of doing nothing in the sun. I definitely don’t hang with guys who look like high school dropouts.

But this guy. There’s a look. A cocky but somehow all-knowing glare behind his eyes. And his chest and biceps don’t hurt either.

Jesus my father would throw up if he ever saw me with a boy like this.

* * *

Shit. I look up at the clock and realize I gotta
punch out and get back home to

greet our new tenant. My father entrusted me with the sole responsibility of finding and approving a new tenant for our in-law suite for the summer.

Don’t screw this up McKenzie. If you’re going to start your own firm someday

you should at least be able to
find a decent soul to rent our apartment.

I rush home and freshen up. I
take a super quick shower, then throw on my

bathing suit since I’m meeting
Jessie at the beach in an hour. I toss a sundress on over my bathing suit just to look presentable. I don’t even know why I bother. We always get the same person every summer, some young artist who comes here for a couple of months to paint pictures of the Gloucester coast. Dreamers, as my father likes to call them all.

But not us McKenzie. The Millers are doers. Doers make a living. Doers can raise a family. Doers leave a mark on this world
.

Hence, I have one last year
at Boston College before I start law school.

The Colonel’s master plan for me. To take over his prestigious firm someday.

I feel nauseous just thinking about my destiny.

I hear a car come to a screeching halt outside our home. I look out and see the end of a
n old convertible Cadillac parked half on the street and half on the sidewalk- the kind of parking job that drives people in our neighborhood crazy. I grab my father’s checklist and head out through the back door.

I can see th
e tenant from behind. It’s a male artist this time. He has a nice build from where I stand; strong, muscular back and shoulders, fit legs. Most of the artsy types that come through here aren’t this athletic looking.

Then he turns around…

Holy goddamn crap. Him again
.
Hottie surfer dude from the café
. I fumble my clipboard and watch it go spinning wildly out of my hands, sending papers across my entire back walkway.

Smooth move McKenzie
. My father would already give me an “F” at this point.

“Wow, y
ou really keep yourself busy.” He grins, holding a duffle bag in one arm and a ukulele in the other.

“And you really make yourself at home,” I say, looking down at his belongings. He’s probably one of those guys that prides themselves on their overly simple lifestyle; the kind of guy that goes above and beyond to prove himself as a professor of relaxation.

“Whenever possible, I always choose comfort.” He drops a wide smile. I feel like a blob of jelly.

“Whatever, no problem
. My dad said that as long as you agree to the terms, can pay the rent, and appear to be a reasonably mannered tenant, you were good to go.”

He hold
s out his hand to greet mine. “Cage.” Another crazy beautiful smile follows. “Cage West.”

I reach out my hand in return. My entire body shutters from the energy of his hand engulfing my own. “McKenzie. Nice to meet you.” I look away, our hands still connected for way too long.

This. Is. Not. Good.

“So it’s up to
you at this point?” he asks, his cocky smirk back in action.

“Yeah, I’m in charge.
My father’s away for a bit.”

Way too much information McKenzie. Why don’t
you just give the guy the combination to the safe while you’re at it. Or better yet, just give him the key to the main house and let him know what my shower schedule is.

“The rent is four hundred a week. Due on the Friday of each week. I need some s
ort of proof of income,” I say, holding onto my clipboard for dear life.

“Here.” Hottie pulls out a wad of cash too thick for someone who spends his su
mmer bumming around with a surfboard. “That should take care of all eight weeks.”

I count the cash. Thirty two hundred even.

“Also, I’m supposed to tell you that you can only have one guest per night.” He’s strumming his ukulele as I’m talking to him.

He tosses the instrument on a beach chair and looks around.
“Nice view, just like the ad said.” Cage stares off into the distant ocean view. “Must have been nice growing up in all of this.”

Nothing was nice about the way I grew up.

“I guess,” I say dismissively. “After a while you start to just forget the ocean’s even there.”

He nods his head at me and widens his eyes, not too keen on my dreary outlook.

“If that’s your choice.” He turns away from me to look out at the Atlantic again.

My choice? The last thing I need is to be lectured on the meaning of life from some meathead.

“Also there’s no pets allowed and no smoking,” I say, looking over my father’s checklist hoping to make him proud of his daughter. Not that that’s actually possible.

“Crap. Where am I going to store my pet giraffe?” His teeth are
beaming. Damn his smile is addicting.

“Oh, I meant no pets,”
I pause, “except for giraffes. Just make sure his head doesn’t crack our ceiling.”

“You mean
her
head.” He seems to be getting off on our little banter.

Strangely. Sadistically. So am I.

“Whatever floats your boat,” I say, turning away from him as I pull out the spare set of keys. “Just keep the noise down after 10:00. People like things quiet around here.”

I’m beginning to like playing landlord with this guy.

“How about you?” His voice gets serious suddenly. “Do you like things quiet?”

I turn and see his shit-eating grin. And it seems like the more he tries to mess with me the more attractive he becomes.

Stop it McKenzie. Stop this madness. You have a job to do here.

I hold up the spare keys
. “Come with me, I’ll show you to your place,” I say, walking around back to the entrance of his apartment.

“
I’ve never seen you around here before. Where you from?” I ask as we make our way to his door.

He looks down. He
seems almost bothered by my trivial question.

“I’m from here originally. I’ve been gone for a couple of years but I had to come back, take care of some business.” He pauses and looks out over the
Gloucester shoreline. “Don’t worry, I’ll be heading out to the west coast in a couple of months. You can rest easy now,” his lips reveal a mix of joy and sorrow somehow all at once.