Bad Boys Break Hearts

by Smeltzer, Micalea

  “Cole—”

  My protest falls on deaf ears and he’s up and out of his seat, heading for the exit.

  Mascen lets out an amused chuckle, shaking his head with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing the black baseball cap again, only today it’s pulled forward, shadowing his eyes.

  “What?” I snap at him, knowing something sarcastic must be sitting on the tip of his tongue.

  “Nothing.” He wets his lips, trying to hide his growing smirk.

  “Spit it out, Lucifer.”

  His lips quirk the tiniest bit, his eyes drifting to me half-hidden beneath the brim of the hat.

  “It’s just amusing how whipped he is.” He looks down toward the table and then back up at me. “Must be some damn good pussy you’ve got there.”

  My cheeks heat, and embarrassment tightens my chest, but I refuse to cower to him. “What kind of flavor is jealousy?” I snap at him, tilting my chin down as I gather my stuff, my food unimportant since I’m no longer hungry. “Because you look like you’ve eaten something sour.”

  Shrugging my bag onto my shoulders, I grab my tray and dump the uneaten food in the trash. What a shame, I wanted those pancakes just ten minutes ago. Leave it to Mascen to steal my appetite.

  Pushing the doors open onto the rainy campus, I tug my hood up and walk in the direction of my class.

  Footsteps sound behind me and somehow I know it’s him. But I won’t look back. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  The steps stop and I keep going.

  “Don’t be so sensitive, Princess!” He yells after me, his voice a rumbling roar above the pounding rain.

  I swing around, ignoring the other students dressed similarly to me, just trying to get to class. “Then don’t be an asshole!”

  Anger bubbling in my veins, I turn back around, keeping my head down.

  I’ve only walked maybe a minute longer when I hear, “Rory, whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s wrong?” I pause, Cole jogging up to me, his blue raincoat slick with the wet stuff, the hood barely shielding his face. “Did you forget I was getting you coffee?” When I blink at him, his face falls. “What happened? You look upset.”

  I look over my shoulder even though I know Mascen is long gone. “No, nothing. I … I realized I didn’t have as much time to get to my class as I thought. I’m so sorry.”

  He smiles but it looks a little forced. “It’s okay. Here, take your coffee. I won’t keep you since it’s pouring.”

  I hold my hand out for the coffee and he slips it in, at the same time ducking his head and sealing his lips over mine. It catches me off guard, but before I can react he’s pulling away.

  “See you later.”

  “Thank you,” I call after him, lifting the coffee.

  He waves, his smile real this time.

  I hurry off to class then. By the time I get there, I’m chilled from the rain and my coffee is far from warm. But the chill that’s settling in my bones has nothing to do with either.

  * * *

  After class the rain has thankfully turned to a drizzle instead of a downpour. I toss the empty cup of coffee into the trash can outside the building and wrap my arms around myself.

  If it was a nice day I’d probably sit outside for a bit before my next class, even if it was chilly, but the rain makes that impossible.

  I wander into the common building, seeking warmth and shelter. I’ve only been here a few times, it mostly houses things like study rooms, and indoor extra curriculars.

  The classic stone walls are lined with photos of alumni, even the most recent photo editions are edited to look worn and ancient. There’s something imposing about all the serious faces looking down at me from above. It makes me feel small, as if I’m being judged here for not belonging. It isn’t even my lack of money I feel judged for, it’s my parentage. The sins of my father passed to us, and I’m just thankful over time people don’t automatically hear my last name and associate me with him or his crimes. It’s a conundrum, because while I know my father did bad things, and took his life instead of face it, I still love him. I was only eight. I didn’t see or know that side of him. While he wasn’t around a lot when he was he made an effort to spend time with Hazel and me. He taught me to ride a bike. He built a tent inside so Hazel and I could camp out. He watched movies with us and even played tea party. It’s hard for me to reconcile my memories with the facts.

  Drawn farther into the building, I realize the sound of a piano is pulling me along.

  I drag my fingers over the wall, heading closer to the sound. Whoever is playing is talented. I’m no musical genius, but I know when someone is good or not.

  I should turn around, go no closer, but I can’t help but want to see the person who is creating such beautiful music.

  Rounding the corner, I see the open door on the left. I drift toward it and pause outside. I can’t see who it is, not with the grand piano shielding them. I lean against the doorway letting my eyes drift closed. The music rolls over me, the melody so lovely, so sweet, unlike anything I’ve heard before. It calms the chaos of my thoughts until all I can focus on is the notes filling the air.

  My head moves with the song and as I open my eyes I drift farther into the room rounding the massive piano.

  Air catches in my lungs when I see it’s Mascen hunched over the piano. His baseball cap sits on the bench by his leg. With closed eyes he gives himself over to the music, his fingers nearly moving in a blur. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s as if him and the piano are one entity. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Music like this is precious and I can’t believe someone so … so assholish could create something this sweet.

  Unbidden, I move even closer to him. When I sit on the bench he still doesn’t notice. He’s lost in the feeling of the music thrumming from the keys through his fingers.

  I wish I could record this moment so I could press play on it later, listen and feel all over again. But I can’t, so I have to hope I remember this well enough to recall it later.

  The music comes to an end. I don’t move and neither does he. His posture becomes tense and when he opens his eyes he turns to me slowly. That sharp jaw is rigid enough to cut stone and his eyes are glacier. There is no warmth in them. No softness in the set of his lips.

  Something tells me I should be afraid, but I’m not. In fact, I stupidly lean closer to him.

  “I didn’t know you played piano.”

  I mean, of course I didn’t, why would I?

  He cocks his head slightly, eyes narrowed. “Most people don’t.” His voice is gravelly and low. My treacherous body feels that tone everywhere and it’s wrong, especially considering I’ve been going out with his best friend, but feelings just happen. Chemistry exists between two people. It can’t be forced. Mascen and I happen to have it in spades. “Why are you in here? Stalking me, Princess?” He tries to give me a cocky smile, but it doesn’t hide the hunger in his eyes.

  I want to give him a sarcastic answer, but I find myself telling the truth instead. “I heard the music. It was so beautiful I couldn’t help but listen.”

  “And you decided to sit beside me?” He arches a lone dark brow, angling his head.

  I shrug. “I couldn’t help it.” It sounds insane, but it’s true. “Who taught you to play?”

  “My mom,” he answers, his long fingers stroking the ivory keys but not pressing. His fingers are long and narrow with dark hair peppering the knuckles.

  “That’s right.” I nod with a smile. “I remember watching her play some. You’re incredible.”

  “I’m mediocre at best.”

  I shake my head adamantly. “No, you’re amazing.”

  His lips twitch into a smile. “Not insulting me today?”

  “Eh, the day is young.” I inhale a shaky breath. Being this close to him is doing something to me. He moves, his bare arm brushing mine. The black t-shirt clings to the definition of his biceps and chest, tapering at his waist. I drop my eyes to the piano
so I don’t have to look at him.

  I startle when his warm finger touches the bottom of my chin, guiding my head away from the keys so my eyes are forced to meet his. I itch to adjust my glasses, but I don’t dare move.

  He stares so intently at me that time stretches and thins. The air becomes a pulsing vibrant thing between us, heavy and pulling us closer. The weight of it presses on my back and it must his too, because our lips draw nearer until our breath mingles.

  Whatever is about to happen shouldn’t, I know it, he knows it, but neither of us makes a move to stop it.

  He hesitates, his lips millimeters from mine. “Fuck it,” he growls, crashing his lips against mine in a bruising kiss. His hands delve into my hair, holding me against him. Our mouths fight for dominance, neither of us wanting to cower to the other, it makes for a heady feeling. I’ve never felt anything as powerful as this before.

  My hands grip his t-shirt in my fists, the fabric bunching and wrinkling beneath my hold. His hands move down my body to my hips, his left hand hooking around my right thigh to pull me onto his lap so I’m straddling him while he faces the piano.

  He deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine. His flavor invades my taste buds, something almost herbal that I can’t quite pinpoint mixed with the tang of a cigarette. He pulls me closer, rocking my hips into his and I moan at the feel of his growing length against the heat of my core.

  I want to open my eyes, to see if this is real and not a dream, but I don’t dare break the spell.

  I follow his lead, letting him guide the kiss, for once not fighting against him because this feels impossibly wonderful.

  No kiss has ever been this … this electric.

  It’s like there’s a current zipping through my entire body. The buzzing spreads through my fingertips as I stroke his freshly shaved cheeks.

  My hips continue to roll against his unbidden, seeking more of the delicious friction. My pussy pulses and I feel like I should be embarrassed that I’m this close to climaxing, but the pleasure feels too good to care.

  Mascen’s fingers tug on my hair, the sting of pain somehow heightening the pleasure. He nibbles my bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth and releasing it with an audible pop before diving back in. My breasts press into his hard chest, my nipples pebbled. His large hands begin to tear at my jacket, shoving it off my body with desperation. I help him remove the article of clothing, letting the jacket fall to the floor.

  He pulls away just slightly, his heated eyes meeting mine.

  Wordless communication passes between us. He hooks his thumbs in the back of his shirt, yanking it off and over his head. His tanned skin looks like it’s sculpted from marble. The muscles too hard and smooth to possibly be real. I barely have a chance to look before he demands, “Up.”

  I lift my arms up and he slowly, inch by inch, raises my shirt up. His eyes are glued to my stomach and then my breasts when my bra is revealed.

  “Fuck,” he growls out lowly, the word drawn out.

  My breasts, while small, look good in the push up bra I wear to give them a little more definition.

  I squeak when he stands suddenly, his hands on my ass. I twine my arms around his neck and he carries me to the back of the grand piano, laying me on top of it. His large body leans over mine. I feel sheltered, protected, and that’s definitely not something I should feel right now. Not when it comes to this guy.

  But I don’t stop kissing him. I don’t think I can.

  His hands wrap around my stomach and he yanks me closer to the edge of the piano so my center is once again pressed against his. I pant against his mouth, wild with need.

  In the past when I’ve hooked up there’s been an almost clinical process to it. It was about mutual release and nothing else. But what’s happening with Mascen … it’s something I’ve never felt before. Explosive. Magnetic. I should’ve known it would be like this, even when we’re at each other’s throats there’s always that thrum of something beneath the surface, the hint that if we ever act on something it’d end up like … like what’s happening right now.

  He bites down on my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, then soothes the nip with his tongue. I grind against him, gasping as my orgasm builds.

  There’s a voice whispering in the back of my mind to stop this, but it’s not loud enough. Or maybe I don’t want to listen.

  When Mascen’s fingers dig into my hips, my orgasm finally hits, shooting through me with a vibrancy that’s nearly blinding. I cry out, my lips wrenching from his as my head drops back with my moans. Someone’s bound to hear. The pleasure seems to go on forever, my pussy pulsing with it and wetness soaking my panties.

  Slowly, I blink my eyes open, my skin damp with perspiration.

  Mascen still hovers above me, his hands gripping my hips tight enough to hurt. His eyes are shadowed, his jaw clenched, and the look of hatred in his eyes steals the last of my breath and not in a good way.

  “M-Mascen,” I stutter his name, a broken plea on my lips.

  He tears away from me, turning so I only see his profile. I know his brows are dipped down angrily. I stupidly want to know what I did wrong to cause this sudden change in behavior, but I remind myself this is Mascen, and there’s no logic when it comes to his mood swings.

  He picks his shirt up from the ground, yanking it over his head and down his torso to hide the sharp defined outline of his abdominals. Next he swipes up his baseball cap, putting it on backwards. In the next blink he’s at the door, yanking his raincoat from the hanger by the door.

  Then, he’s gone.

  The room is silent save for the erratic beating of my heart and my panting breath as I struggle to get enough air.

  Sliding off the piano, I pick up my things, redressing much slower than he did.

  The daze clings to me, refusing to let go. Confusion rattling me. I like being in control, knowing what’s what, but Mascen stole that from me and I let him because I’m a stupid girl.

  Picking up my backpack I head out the door turning the lights off behind me.

  Instead of going to my next class like I should I let Mascen Wade corrupt me further when I return to my dorm, climb beneath the blankets, and cry.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mascen

  Playing Xbox with Cole should be a normal pastime, and it is, except for the detail of making out with his girlfriend weighing on my conscious.

  It’s been three days since the kiss. Three torturous days where I’ve weighed whether or not to tell my friend what I did. My selfishness is showing in the fact that I haven’t fessed up—selfish because I don’t want my friend to be mad at me.

  Pathetic fucker.

  “I’m going for a smoke.” I toss the controller down and Cole glances at me.

  “We’re in the middle of a match man, you can’t leave.”

  “You’ll be fine without me.”

  He shakes his head with a sigh, but doesn’t argue when I heave my body from the couch and dig the pack of cigarettes from my sweatpants. Out on the back deck I light up, leaning against the railing.

  I bring the end to my lips, inhaling the nicotine. I keep telling myself I’m not addicted to this shit, but if I’m honest with myself, I’m using it more and more often to steady my nerves and ease my tension. It’s just about the only time I’m relaxed anymore.

  Leaning forward, I run my fingers through my hair, then down my jaw.

  Pulling in another drag, I hold it in as long as I can before releasing the smoke into the night air. I watch it float away like a cloud, disappearing from existence like it was never there to begin with.

  “Are you happy, Mase?” My mom asked me when she called yesterday.

  “Of course,” I answered. What else was I going to say?

  “You don’t look happy, or sound it. I’m worried about you.”

  I thought about the mounting pressure on my shoulders—the normal stuff, like school, preparing for the baseball season to start, life in general—and then I
thought about Aurora, the way she tasted on my lips like a mix of the best thing I’d ever had and the very thing that could bring me to my knees.

  I ended up telling her I had a big test coming up and it was stressing me out. I hung up with the excuse that I needed to study.

  “Fuck,” I curse, when the ash from the tip of the cigarette burns my fingers since I stupidly forgot to flick it off.

  I put the wasted cigarette in the ash tray I keep on the deck and light up another.

  Pulling out one of the deck chairs, I sit down, stretching my legs out as I lean back. I’ve always found something comforting in being in the outdoors. Growing up, my dad had a treehouse built for us on the property. I spent more time in it than my sisters did, though they used it too, but it became my safe place. A quiet place where I could be alone and think. Too often, even as a young kid, I would sneak out at night and climb the ladder into it so I could lay down on the outer deck around it and look up at the trees, the leaves swaying in the nighttime breeze, with the stars winking in and out of existence.

  I guess I’m more of a loner than people realize, even myself. I have to get away to recharge and settle my chaotic thoughts.

  The sound of the sliding glass door interrupts my musing and Cole walks out.

  “I’m calling it a night,” he announces, “but I just talked to Rory and wanted to run something by you.”

  “Oh?” I sit up, my heart suddenly in my throat.

  If she told him about the kiss before I did…

  But he doesn’t look pissed so it can’t be that.

  “I told her I wanted to take her somewhere this weekend but didn’t say where. I was thinking bowling and thought it’d be fun with more people, so why don’t you come?”

  “I’m not third-wheeling your date,” I growl, finishing my cigarette.

  He laughs, amused by my reply for some fucking reason. “I thought you’d bring a date, too, man. Don’t you have an endless roster?”

  I think of all the girls’ names programmed into my phone, the alphabetical list I’ve been going through on my dates to Marcelo’s.