Bad Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A

said. “It’s an old fifties song.”
    “It is not. Pearl Jam writes all their own material,” Jeff said.
    “Wanna bet?” Laura asked, raising her brows in a dare.
    “Why don’t we bet each other a dance?” Jeff said. “Then I’ll win either way.” Tracie looked back at Laura, whose eyes had widened to match her brows. Wordlessly she extended her hand, and Jeff, who had to be less than half her size, took it and pulled her out onto the dance floor. God knows, Tracie thought, I’d rather give my jewelry to Allison than dance with Jeff.
    “Where’s Bob?” Phil asked.
    “Yeah. Where is he?” Frank echoed, obviously disgusted by Jeff’s departure. He and Laura were really getting into the music. Tracie had forgotten how well Laura danced. “I ask myself what would Guns N’ Roses do if they were here?” Frank continued.
    “Pull out an automatic weapon,” Phil told him. Tracie had to laugh.
    “Man, Axl Rose would turn over in his grave if he saw this,” Frank added.
    “Is Axl Rose dead?” Tracie asked.
    The band members turned to look at her as if she was crazy. “What are you talking about?” Frank asked.
    p. 28 “You said he’d turn over in his grave. I just . . .”
    Phil put his arm around her. “She’s not smart, but she sure is beautiful,” he told Frank by way of excuse, then gave Tracie a long, wet kiss.
     

Chapter 3
     
    Jonathan Charles Delano rode his bicycle through the morning fog on Puget Sound. The road wound along the misty shore. He wore his Micro/Connection jacket ‌ —only given to founding staff with more than twenty thousand shares ‌ —and a baseball cap. The wind caught him broadside as he made a turn and then, as he swung into it, the wind inflated his open jacket as if it were a Mylar balloon. Riding was good therapy. Once he hit a rhythm, he could think ‌ —or not think, as he required. This morning, he desperately wanted not to think of last night ‌ —a night he’d spent standing in the rain getting stood up ‌ —or of the exhausting day ahead. He was actually reluctant to get to his destination, but he pedaled his heart out as if participating in the Tour de France. Mother’s Day was always tough for him. For years now, he had been following this p. 29 tradition, one he had invented out of unnecessary guilt and compassion. He figured that as Chuck Delano’s son, he owed something. And anyhow, as an only child, these visits were the closest he got to extended family. Anyway, that’s how he rationalized the visits.
    As he pulled around the next curve of the coast road, the fog cleared all at once and a breathtaking view across the Sound opened. Seattle appeared as green-fringed and magical as the Emerald City ‌ —and he noticed that Rainier was out, the towering mountain that reigned majestically over the city when visibility was good.
    As one of the four actual natives of Seattle ‌ —it seemed everyone else had moved to the city from somewhere “back east” ‌ —he’d seen the sight a thousand times, but it never failed to thrill him. Now, though, he could only take a moment to enjoy it before he continued pedaling across Bainbridge Island and finally up to a shingled house. Jon jumped off his bike, pulled a bouquet out of the basket, and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked at his watch, cringed, and bolted up the path to the front door. The name plate on it read MRS. B. DELANO .
    He knocked on the door. A heavyset middle-aged blonde in a zippered sweat suit opened the door. Jon couldn’t help noticing Barbara was even bigger than last year. She had an apron on over her sweats. That made Jon smile. It was so . . . Barbara.
    “Jon! Oh, Jon. I didn’t expect you,” she lied p. 30 in the sweetest way as she hugged him. Barbara was his father’s first wife, only slightly older than Jon’s own mother, but somehow from a different generation.
    Jon tried to be all the things he should be: in touch with his feelings, a good son,