Scrap Read online

  Scrap

  The Bristol Collection, Volume 3

  Josephine Myles

  Published by Josephine Myles, 2017.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  From the Reviews

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

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  Further Reading: Einstein's Peep Show

  Also By Josephine Myles

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright 2017 by Josephine Myles

  Originally published by Samhain Publishing, 2015

  Cover Art by Lou Harper

  All rights reserved.

  From the Reviews

  “The story was well written and paced perfectly. I enjoyed both of the MC’s... Their snarky conversations with each other drew me in and I loved watching them slowly fall for each other and start to trust. ... I highly recommend this book as well as the first two in the series.”

  ~ BookGirl at Night Owl Reviews

  “I LOVE THE ENEMIES-to-lovers formula. You can tell the tip of hatred and loathing hides the iceberg of chemistry and attraction. For readers looking for the sharper edge of steam, of a cutting spark of attraction, you’ll really enjoy the back and forth between heroes Dare and Grant.”

  ~ Jessie Potts at Happy Ever After, USA Today

  “WHAT I REALLY ENJOYED about Scrap was the characters and the plot both had depth to them. It’s not a light, fluffy read. All in all, I’ve found myself a new author I would gladly read more from, and Scrap won’t end up on the scrap heap. It’s ended up on my permanent faves list as a re-read.”

  ~ Kim at The Novel Approach

  “IN THIS UNLIKELY COUPLE, Myles pens a beautifully written, charming romance for these two characters in a way that had me smiling from ear to ear by the end...The natural chemistry still shows through, making Scrap my favorite of the series.”

  ~ Annie Tegelan at Fresh Fiction

  “I KEPT WAITING FOR Grant to ruin Dare, and this kept me reading far too late into the night... The book falls squarely in the HEA category, with a well-paced narrative and delightful British slang... A brilliant story I’d read again.”

  ~ Veronica at Joyfully Jay

  Dedication

  For Rachel Maybury, who has been an absolute star while I’ve been writing this book—giving me heaps of moral support and days out at the spa.

  Also, huge thanks and hugs to the usual crew: Jamie Merrow, Lou Harper, Prue Tremayne, Jen Read and my editor, Linda. Your feedback and support has been invaluable.

  And even more thanks to everyone who supported my crowdfunding campaign to help get my big Samhain backlist republished. You’re the best!

  Special thanks to the following supporters: Amy Bell, Tracy L. Carver, Kirsty, Julie,Kate Ferguson, Johnny, Sadonna, Laura Elmufdi, Sarah Evans, Amanda, Liz (aka Bugetta), Liberty, Sarah M., Steve Craftman, Juli-Anna Dobson, SWF, Pamela Bartual, Amanda M., Jutta (Jbelle) Tolbert, Mary, ButtonsMom2003, Deanna Ferguson, BJ Williams, Kaija, Karin, Susan, and Helen Bender.

  And to the supporters who wished to remain anonymous and didn’t want anything in return for their help: thank you from the bottom of my heart. You truly are stars.

  Chapter One

  It was dark on the street outside Cabbages and Kinks, Mas and Perry’s launch party now hidden behind the fogged up windows. It hadn’t exactly been Dare’s scene, but right now he’d rather be back in there than filling in as an unofficial bouncer.

  “I wasn’t going to start any trouble. Honest.” The drunk bloke in the fancy suit stumbled into Dare’s shoulder. Bleedin’ hell. His breath was so loaded with spirits, it was probably flammable. Dare and his helper managed to steer their intoxicated charge into a sheltered shop doorway. Drunk Suit collapsed into the corner, buried his head in his hands and began sobbing. Not loudly or anything, but the hitching breaths gave him away.

  “What do you reckon we should do with him?” the other bloke asked.

  Dare took in the sneer of distaste on the big fella’s face. He didn’t know either of his companions from Adam, but didn’t fancy leaving the sobbing bloke with this gorilla of a man who looked like he could crush his skull without breaking a sweat.

  “It’s all right, mate, I can take it from here. I’ll make sure he gets home safely. You get back to your missus.”

  Skull-crusher hesitated. “He’s pretty drunk. Might need someone to stay up with him in case he chokes on his own vomit.”

  Okay, so maybe Dare had misjudged the bloke. “Yeah, no worries. I know the drill. Been there enough times with my brother. Go on. Get back to the party. I don’t have anyone waiting at home for me, so I can take care of him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Skull-crusher gave him one last sceptical look—which Dare met with his most open, honest face. He used that one when he needed to. People were always assuming the worst of him, what with his shaved head, tattoos and gauges through his ears. The “trust me” face must have been enough to convince Skull-crusher of his good intentions, because the giant nodded once and headed back in the direction of Cabbages and Kinks.

  Drunk Suit was still sobbing silently, but the heaving of his shoulders seemed to be slowing. Thank fuck they were in the maudlin stage now. He’d looked pretty bleedin’ angry with Mas back in the shop. And with Perry too, especially after the bloke had thrown that glass of wine in his face. Not that Dare wasn’t capable of handling an angry drunk—like he’d told Skull-crusher, he’d had enough practice with his nearest and dearest—but it was always easier when they’d got past that stage.

  “So, where do you live?” Dare asked, pulling out his phone.

  “What’s it to you?” Drunk Suit peered at him through his fingers before straightening up and folding his arms.

  Okay, it was going to be like that, was it? “I’m going to need to know an address to give the taxi firm.” Dare used his calmest tones. No point fanning the flames, even though he’d thought Drunk Suit had been kind of sexy back there in the shop, radiating fury and macho possessiveness. Definitely a good-looking bloke, what with the chin dimple, bright blue eyes and dishevelled black hair. He might not have been Dare’s usual type—way too slick, for a start—but he was attractive enough to proposition if he hadn’t been five sheets to the wind. Ah well. You couldn’t have everything.

  “I’ve got a car.” Drunk Suit stumbled out of the doorway and looked up and down the street. He fumbled a set of keys out of his pocket. “Left it outside a bar. It’s near here somewhere. Maybe down on the main road. You know, tha
t weirdo’s place with the caterpillar on a mushroom in the garden.”

  Dare snatched the keys out of his hand. “Oh no you don’t. There’s no way I’m letting you behind the wheel of a car right now.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “You’re pissed, mate. Totally rat-arsed. Come on. If you need your car getting home, I can drive you there.”

  Drunk Suit straightened up. He was almost as tall as Dare, but not as brawny. If it came down to it, Dare could take him in a fight. And from the way he dropped his eyes submissively, Drunk Suit seemed to realise that. He still had some fight left in him, though. “You think I’m going to let some random thug drive my car?”

  Dare smiled. “I don’t think you’ve got much choice, mate. Now, why don’t we try to find it before you end up getting it clamped.”

  They found the car down on Stokes Croft, right outside the Zam Zam Shisha Garden, as promised. It was the kind of wheels Dare had expected from a man dressed in a suit that fancy. A sedate but classy black Beemer, the inside all in cream leather and with a lovely walnut dash. He whistled as he ran his hand reverently over the bonnet. “She’s a beauty. Is she the 7-series?”

  “She certainly is. You see why I don’t want you to drive her?”

  “Yeah, but I bet you don’t want to risk wrapping her around a lamppost either. So why don’t you just settle yourself down in the passenger seat and let me do my thing.”

  “You ever driven a BMW before?”

  “No, but I’ve driven just about every other make of car and van there is. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I’ll get you home in one piece.”

  Drunk Suit visibly deflated and pulled open the passenger-side door. Dare smiled to himself as he seated himself behind the wheel. Fuck, she even smelled expensive. Now why hadn’t his dad ever had cars like this coming through the yard? Maybe if he had, Dare wouldn’t have switched over to camper vans when the old man kicked the bucket.

  He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred to life. Beautiful.

  He looked across to his reluctant passenger. “Now where is home, exactly?”

  “Surrey.”

  “You’re having a laugh, mate. I’m not driving you all the way to fucking London. You got somewhere closer I can drop you off? A hotel, maybe?”

  Drunk Suit gave him a crooked grin. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a flat over in Hotwells too. You know Riverside Place?”

  “That’s more like it. What, you’ve got two homes, have you?”

  “That’s right. One with the wife in Surrey, and one over here so I can have fun.” The bloke laughed, but it came out bitter and kind of lonely sounding.

  “It’s all right for some, eh? The rest of us commoners have to make do with one, you know.”

  Drunk Suit just sniffed.

  Dare entertained himself by passing comment on the various old haunts of his they passed by on the way. Most of them had been tarted up by now, and a few had been razed to the ground. But that was the way of things near the riverside. What had been a run-down dock when Dare was growing up was now some of the most sought-after real estate in Bristol. Drunk Suit didn’t make much of a response to Dare’s monologue, but that was okay. Dare was used to talking to his dog for hours on end, and she rarely gave him more than a snort in response. Maybe an enthusiastic hand licking on occasion.

  He could do without one of those from Drunk Suit. Enthusiastic licking of other body parts wouldn’t have gone amiss, though, if the bloke hadn’t been quite so out of it. Right now, he wouldn’t trust the bloke not to pass out or throw up before they got down to business.

  Time to distract himself from horny, Friday-night kind of thoughts. “Hey, you got a name? Mine’s Dare.”

  “Dare? What kind of a name is that?”

  “My name. Don’t wear it out.”

  “Sounds like you made it up.”

  “It’s short for Derek, if you must know.” When Drunk Suit didn’t respond, Dare prodded some more. “Come on, I can’t just say ‘oi, you’ when I want your attention, can I? Well, I suppose I could, but I thought you’d prefer me to use your name, seeing as how you’re all posh and that.”

  Drunk Suit sighed heavily. “It’s Grant. Happy now?”

  “Absolutely fucking over the moon, mate.”

  “Do you think you could stop calling me mate now you know my name?”

  “I don’t know, mate, what do you reckon?”

  Grant huffed and turned to face out the window. “You need to take the third right. The parking’s round the back.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Riverside Place wasn’t all that far from his yard, after all. Not that he’d tell this Grant bloke they were practically neighbours. He had a feeling that wouldn’t go down so well. People who could afford the swanky wharf developments didn’t usually like sharing riverfront with the likes of him. Which was what made Dare’s home address all the more satisfying, if a bit lonely.

  Dare parked the car in the space Grant directed him to and got out, but when he made to take Grant’s arm and help him up out of his seat, he was shrugged off.

  “I don’t need any more help.”

  “I think you do.”

  “I’ll be fine. My flat’s just over there. I can manage a few steps by myself, thank you very much.”

  “How much have you had to drink today?”

  “What’s that to you?”

  “How much?” Dare crossed his arms and refused to budge. If Grant wanted out of the car, he’d have to push him out of the way, and somehow he didn’t think the bloke had the strength for that.

  “Look, I just had a few gin and tonics. I’ll be absolutely fine. I’m hardly slurring and passing out.”

  “Yeah, but you’re unsteady on your feet. And some people are a hell of a lot better than others at appearing sober when they’ve sunk enough to fell an elephant. I’m thinking you might be one of those. And so I need to make sure you get inside safely and that you’re not going to throw up in your sleep and choke on your own puke.”

  “Oh for God’s sake. Go on, then. I suppose you can take me to my door. But no farther.”

  “Why, worried what your neighbours will think if they see you entertaining rough trade?”

  “Hardly.”

  Grant made a show of setting off by himself, but then faltered, leaning his body weight into Dare’s as they made their way up the steps from the car park to the rear entrance. Once inside, there was a lift to take them up to Grant’s sixth-floor flat, which was good as the bloke was kind of heavy. Dare hadn’t much fancied heaving him up all those flights of stairs.

  When they reached a door marked 6A, Grant fumbled in his pockets. “Where the hell are the pesky things?”

  “You looking for these?” Dare dangled the car keys in front of Grant. He’d noticed the extra house keys on there earlier.

  “Give them to me.”

  Dare held them out of Grant’s reach. “Not until you promise I can come inside.”

  “For Christ’s sake.” Grant’s momentary fury gave way to a sly smile. “You do realise I’m gay, don’t you? Straight guy like you probably wouldn’t want to hang out in a gay man’s flat.”

  Oh please. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m as queer as they come, then.” Dare pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, striding in before Grant got a chance. “Hmmm, nice place. Like the view, anyway. Lived here long?”

  Either Grant had monumentally bland tastes, or he’d just moved into the ready-furnished show home. It reminded Dare of the high-end caravans featured in some of the trade magazines he took. Everything looked to be top-notch quality, but there was no personal touch to the space. It barely looked lived in. The only saving grace were the large prints of Bristol on the wall. One was a particularly gorgeous shot of hot air balloons above the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Looked like it had been taken during the annual Balloon Fiesta. “Hey, where’d you get this? Reckon I could do with a smaller version in my office.”

  But Grant was still st
anding in the doorway, apparently shell-shocked. “You’re not gay.”

  “You’ll have to tell that to the bloke I was shagging last night.”

  “But you can’t be. You don’t look gay.”

  “Right. Well, I’m sorry to fuck with your head, but maybe you’ve just been hanging out with the wrong crowd. We’re not all label queens like yourself, or cute little bottom boys like Perry’s new fella. Hey, what’s going on with you and him, anyway? Are you his ex or something? Shame he’s moved on. I guess money can’t buy you everything.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. Besides, I mostly top.”

  “Yeah?” Grant stepped up to Dare, giving him a bleedin’ obvious once-over. “Well, I always top.”

  “Good for you. That makes you feel like more of a man, does it?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I think we already decided that ain’t gonna happen.”

  Grant looked like he was about to argue, but then he wobbled on his feet and the fight drained out of him. “Wouldn’t want to sleep with you anyway. You’re not pretty enough.”

  Dare guessed he was meant to feel insulted, so he laughed instead. “You said it, mate. Now, which way’s your kitchen?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” Dare began opening doors, finding first the master bedroom—as bland and expensive looking as the living room, but with more beautiful framed landscapes on the walls—then a smaller office, a bathroom and finally the swish little kitchen. Ever a connoisseur of ways of fitting kitchens into tiny spaces, Dare rooted through the cupboards and admired the nifty space-saving storage solutions. Gave him a few ideas for the camper van he was currently renovating.

  “Do you mind?” Grant huffed behind him.

  Dare grinned into an almost empty cupboard. “Not in the slightest. Now, where d’you keep your coffee?”