Badboy Romance

by Lisa Simmons

  “It’s perfect, Reece,” I said honestly. The different colored fairy lights that twinkled above the bar gave the place a soft glow, and I instantly loved it. He pulled a menu from a holder on the edge of the table and handed it to me, which was really just a laminated sheet of paper with options on both sides of it. “You’re not a vegetarian, right?” he asked suddenly as he realized that the menu consisted mostly of burgers and other forms of meat.

  “No, I’m not,” I said, smiling. He looked relieved.

  “Okay, good.”

  “So I’m not failing too miserably yet, am I?” he asked as he grinned sheepishly at me, his green eyes twinkling in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

  “No, you’re doing great actually,” I answered honestly. So far, he had showed up on time and chosen the perfect place. “Very impressive.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “I’m serious!” I protested, my hand reaching across the table to land on his forearm before I realized what I was doing. It was so weird now that we’d decided to actually give this a shot- the smallest of touches seeming like they were against the rules when before we could literally touch anywhere with no inhibition. My hand jerked back as if his skin had sent a shock through my arm, and his eyes dropped the place on his arm where I’d touched him. I sucked my lips into my mouth to absorb the awkwardness. “Um, sorry,” I said, a blush darkening my cheeks for what felt like the thousandth time already that night.

  “It’s alright,” he replied, his eyes raising from his arm to look me in the eye. He surprised me when he reached across the table and let his thumb trail lightly down the knuckles on the back of my hand. The contact only lasted a few seconds before he pulled his hand back, the appearance of a middle aged waitress causing him to divert his attention. My heart pounded in my chest, wishing he’d touch my skin again. He ordered us two beers, the woman walking away without even bothering to check our IDs. “So you’ve seriously never gone on a date before?” I asked, clearing my throat before I spoke. He shook his head slowly.

  “Never.”

  “Why not?” I asked, genuinely curious as to how he’d managed to make it to age 20 without having gone on a date. Actually, it occurred to me that I had no idea how old he was- I had just assumed he was my age. “Wait, how old are you?” I asked curiously, tilting my head to the side.

  “21,” he replied. “How old are you?”

  “20.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Thought so.”

  “Yeah, but why haven’t you been on a date before?”

  He shrugged, the corners of his lips pulling down briefly before speaking. “I dunno. I’ve never had any interest in it.”

  “Never? There’s never been anyone you wanted to take on a date?” I asked, finding it hard to believe that I was the first person he’d ever wanted to take out.

  “Nope. Not until you,” he admitted, his gaze burning into mine. I swallowed harshly.

  “Why?” I pressed, determined to discover his blatant disregard for dating in the past.

  “Why what?” he asked. It occurred to me that I could either be asking why he’d never wanted to take anyone on a date, or why he wanted to take me on one.

  “Why haven’t you ever wanted to date someone else?”

  He sighed heavily. “I don’t know, I’ve never been interested in seeing anyone for more than a night.”

  I tried to ignore the clenching of my heart as he said that, reminding me of his colorful history. My eyes dropped to his hands on the table in front of me. “I see.”

  “Like I said, until you,” he replied, making my eyes dart back up to his to find them intently staring at me. “Even thought I still don’t really know you.”

  I grinned, happy he had said that. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  I sucked in a breath, surprised by his honesty. I felt like entire room had blacked out and all I could see was him across from me, his intent expression commanding my full attention. “Everything, huh?” I asked breathlessly, the sudden intensity of the conversation stealing the volume from my voice. His gaze burned through me, searing through my body and setting me on fire, just as he always did.

  “Yeah, tell me who you are, Abigail.”

  "What a wicked thing to do, make me dream of you; and I wanna fall in love, I wanna fall in love with you."

  Chapter 19

  I had a fascination with Reece's lips- the way they moved and shaped each and every word, their oddly dark pink color, the way they seemed to taste every word that slowly slipped past them, and the way his tongue would dart out occasionally to wet them, everything. I found myself staring at them for ridiculous periods of time when he spoke, my brain seeming to hum quietly as he worked me into a daze. I had to shake my head several times to wake myself from the trance he put me under and refocus on what he was actually saying.

  The second I started thinking about the way his lips felt on mine and the way they molded so perfectly against my skin, I had to physically excuse myself to go to the restroom. I needed a break from the constant onslaught of his undivided attention, which was almost more intense than I could handle. Laser-like focus seared from his eyes as he looked at me, and I got the impression that he could easily see down to my very soul. That in combination with the enchanting way he spoke was enough to ruin me.

  I wasn't sure I was going to survive this night.

  I returned to the booth after a brief respite in the restroom, where I had splashed cold water on the back of my neck to revive me. My senses were absolutely tingling from being around him, and all we'd done was talk. We hadn't even touched since his thumb had grazed my knuckles despite my desperate wishes for more contact. It was like I could feel his gaze on my skin and the way my name fell from his lips when he spoke was like a drug coursing through my veins.

  I suspected he knew, to some extent, exactly what he was doing to me, because he had caught me several times zoning out on his various features. Not only has his lips captured my attention, weird things like his eyebrows or the little mole on the side of his chin had completely captivated me. A smirk fell over his perfect lips as I sat back down.

  "You good?" he asked, noting my slightly flushed face. I had never actually been so physically affected simply by watching and listening to a man speak, but here I was, coming unraveled at the seams because of him.

  "Yeah," I replied. "Okay sorry, what were we talking about?"

  I was desperate to talk about anything, honestly, because I found the tiniest of details about him fascinating. He had told me how he was from about two hours away where he'd grown up with his mom, sister, and stepdad, but didn't offer much more information on the topic of his family besides the make up of it. I got the distinct impression he was very protective of his family from the way he avoided basically any conversation about them, which only made me more curious.

  Despite his reluctance to discuss his family, I'd learned a few things about him in our conversation. He was a surprisingly good student. He didn't do sports. He'd never had a girlfriend, which I already knew. None of these were very shocking revelations, but I was glad to know them because it gave me a bit more depth to him as a person.

  It was easy to see him as some cocky playboy with no real substance, but knowing these little details about him made him seem like a real person just like everyone else. Of course, I had already known there was so much more to him as it was from the cocky playboy thing, but it was nice to know he'd been relatively normal otherwise. Or as far as I knew, anyway.

  I'd been surprised when he'd asked me questions back, as he usually didn't ask anything or only rebounded my own questions back at me. He'd asked about my family after pretty much ignoring my questions about his, and I'd told him I was an only child with my parents still married, nothing special. He'd asked about what I was like before university, but I found myself utterly unable to describe myself. He'd watc
hed me closely with an amused expression, seeming to find it funny as I struggled to find the appropriate words for myself and failing miserably.

  I was thankful that he hadn't really asked about Jack or any of my previous relationships, because that subject was really difficult to talk about. Jack was really my only real relationship, and it had ended about as awfully as one could. I think he avoided the topic because it never seemed to go well, usually resulting in tension or an irritated argument.

  My attention was brought back to the moment when his deep tone washed over me once more, responding to my question I had almost forgotten I'd asked.

  "We were in the middle of a riveting conversation about our favorite colors," he said, an undercurrent of sarcasm to his tone.

  "Oh," I said, laughing. That must have been one of the questions I had somehow managed to ask him while my brain was too busy processing the way his jaw flexed when he smiled. "What was it again?"

  "Blue. And yours is green."

  I blinked, not having remembered saying so but instantly knowing why. There was a very specific green that was my favorite, and I happened to be looking at it at that moment in his eyes. I don't think I'd ever seen such a beautiful shade of green.

  "Very good," I said, smiling. I hadn't told him that I'd meant his eye color, specifically, and didn't really want to. He reached to grab his beer, his hand distracting me as the veins on the back emerged from his skin while he swallowed the remaining contents. We had both finished our meals, or at least eaten as much as possible. He had been right, of course, when he said that the food was delicious; I didn't think I'd ever had a more delicious burger.

  My eyes watched his hand release his beer and slide under the table, disappearing from sight before I felt his fingers close over my knee. Heat immediately seared through my jeans into my skin, the touch I had been craving all night finally making impact. His wide palm completely covered the expanse of my leg, his long fingers easily reaching around the sides as he squeezed lightly.

  "So now what, Abigail?" His gaze burned through me once more as he leaned over the table, his chest pressing into the edge as he spoke quietly to me. What I really wanted to do was jump across the table, but I knew I couldn't do that.

  "Um, I don't know," I said, wracking my brain for something that would help diffuse the tension flooding through my body.

  "We could go back to mine?" he asked. It was impossible to miss his suggestive tone, despite his efforts to appear casual. I was extremely tempted to accept immediately, wanting nothing more than to feel his body and relieve some of the tension that I'd subjected myself to my studying him so closely all night. His hand crept a bit higher up my thigh, his fingers tickling the inside of my leg.

  I jumped when the waitress appeared and set the check down on the table, snapping me out of the spell Reece had cast over me. I shook my head and leaned back, only just realizing I had been leaning ridiculously far over the table towards Reece. I was physically pulled to him, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  He cocked an eyebrow at me, his lips parted slightly and I nearly choked. He really wasn't playing fair, and he knew it. I opened my mouth to protest when he reached for the bill, his hand sliding off my leg to pull his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and slide some cash into the book.

  "Nope, shut up," he said, stopping me before I could even suggest we split it. I snapped my mouth shut and smiled at him.

  "Thank you," I grinned.

  "Yeah, no problem. So back to mine?" he asked again, shoving his hands down the fronts of his thighs and looking at me expectantly. I frowned.

  "No," I replied after an internal debate.

  "What? Why not?" he asked, confusion flitting across his face.

  "The rule, Reece..." I trailed off, my voice dropping in volume as I glanced around. We were basically alone. He blinked.

  "I didn't say we had to have sex," he said. His eyebrows knit tightly together as he studied me. I blushed. Of course he hadn't said that- I had been referring to me. I knew if I went to his house there was no way I'd be able to resist him and keep myself accountable.

  "I know," I said simply, not wanting to volunteer the information that I had very little self-control left already.

  "Okay, we need to get this straightened out right now," he said suddenly, his eyes intently peering into mine.

  "Get what straightened out?" I asked nervously, his exasperated tone making my heart speed up a little.

  "Not every single thing I do is an attempt to fuck you," he said. I winced, his tone seeming far too loud even though I knew there was no one around to hear him. "Not that I don't want to," he added, his lips pulling to the side in a dark smirk.

  "I know, I..." I trailed off, embarrassment flushing though me. "I meant me..."

  "You, what?" he asked, perking up suddenly.

  "I meant... if I go to your house I'm going to be very tempted to cave," I admitted.

  "You can cave if you want, you know," he coaxed, his hand returning to my knee under the table. His fingers pressed lightly into my flesh as he squeezed my leg.

  "No," I said stubbornly, frowning at him in exaggeration. "We're gonna stick to this."

  "Until when?" he pressed, tilting his head to the side. He wasn't pushing me to break it, he was just simply curious as to what my end goal was here. In all honesty, I didn't even know- I hadn't thought that far ahead.

  "I don't know," I admitted.

  "Until you inevitably give in?" he smirked. My frown deepened, regretting this stupid rule more and more by the minute.

  "I'll figure something out," I said, dodging his question.

  "Alright. If I promise not to make a move on you, will you come hang out with me?" he bargained, his hands sliding off my leg and probably leaving a searing hole in my jeans. I bit my lip lightly, pondering his offer.

  "Yes."

  "Great," he said, a grin splitting across his face. "Let's go, then."

  He pulled his long frame out of the booth, his hand flashing up to push through his hair and raising his shirt a few inches to reveal a flash of his stomach. I groaned internally. Even if he did promise to not try anything, it was still going to be next to impossible to resist jumping on him the second we were alone.

  His hand pressed lightly against my lower back to steer me out of the restaurant, his touch only lasting a few seconds but the heat remaining as it burned through to my skin. His effect on me was very quickly ruining me.

  He raised a hand to wave casually at the bartender, who was tending to the lone patron sitting on a stool and shot a nod in thanks at our waitress as we made our way out of the small building.

  "I like this place," I told him, feeling like I needed to reassure his choice and let him know he was actually doing surprisingly well for it being his first date and all. Actually, the more that I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that so far the date had been nearly perfect. Maybe he really did know what he was doing and only claimed not to in order to lower my expectations. Whatever it was, I had had a really good time so far, despite being physically tortured from his mere presence for so long.

  "Yeah?" he asked, glancing down at me as we walked to his car.

  "Yeah, I don't get why there's no one else here," I said. He unlocked his car and we both climbed into our seats.

  "I dunno, it's not exactly the craziest of places," he said, shrugging. He was right- as far as bars were concerned, it was extremely low key and not exactly what most college kids were looking for. Most of them stuck to the main drag of downtown, which consisted of three different bars that people roamed between on weekends.

  I liked the idea of Reece knowing about such a place, maybe hanging out here with friends or on his own if he needed some quiet time. It occurred to me that he had made no mention of friends, even though I knew he had them. Hadn't they positively surrounded him the first few times I'd seen him at parties?

  "What are your friends like?" I
asked, suddenly extremely curious about the other people he spent his time with.

  "Dickheads, mostly," he said unabashedly. "Like me."

  "What do you mean, like you?"

  "Like me, I don't know. Assholes who sleep with anything with legs," he said, his tone kind of flat as he drove down the street.

  "I don't think that's like you," I said honestly. "You don't do that."

  "Yes, I do," he argued, his tone growing stonier. I frowned, unsure how his mood had changed so drastically so quickly.

  "You haven't been, though, have you?" I asked quietly. I was pretty sure he hadn't actually slept with anyone since me, but I wasn't one hundred percent sure; there was always the small chance he hadn't told me. He caught my gentle tone and glanced at me, his features softening slightly when he saw I wasn't asking to fight, simply to reassure myself.

  "No, I haven't slept with anyone besides you since I met you," he told me. Relief coursed through me as I smiled softly.

  "Then they're not like you," I said. "Not now, at least."

  His mouth twitched to the side in a bitter grin. "Not now, yeah."

  He seemed to get kind of stuck in his head after that, his expression indicating his mind was occupied by thoughts of how he used to behave himself and the way his friends apparently still did. I frowned again, not liking the way he'd insinuated that he was no better than his friends, downgrading himself to an asshole with nothing else really to say about himself.

  "You're not an asshole," I told him, wanting him to get out of his head and go back to the playful and smiling man I'd had dinner with.

  "I am, you just haven't really seen it yet," he told me.

  "You're not," I argued, getting frustrated. Even when we had been screaming at each other, he hadn't really been an asshole- he had just been hurt and jealous, which I could understand. "Not to me."