The Bad Boy's Girl (The Bad Boy's Girl Series Book 1)

by Blair Holden

  Half an hour later I’m cowering in my bedroom and pull the covers tighter around myself so that they surround me like a cocoon. My eyes keep darting toward the locked door and the shut windows as if expecting someone to jump right out of them.

  Expecting Hank to break them open is more like it.

  I try to sleep but as soon as I close my eyes, I start remembering and seeing everything that happened and it makes me feel sick. I don’t know what to do anymore, nothing’s helping. No amount of deep breathing or super crappy pop songs. All I can do is overthink and reach the point of hyperventilation as I think about Nicole’s threat, Jay’s expression, and most of all Hank’s hands all over my body. I sniffle and shoot out of my bed as the need for a distraction is driving me crazy. I need to be annoyed the crap out of, if I want to stop thinking about the night and of course there is only one person whose services are available twenty-four-seven.

  I find myself going downstairs and the very first thing I notice is that Cole is shirtless! He’s shirtless and lying on the pullout couch, wrapped up in a throw blanket. He’s got my copy of The Alchemist in his hands and he seems to be pretty engrossed in it so I don’t think he’ll notice if I sneak by him and curl up next to him. But it’s as if he senses my presence in the room and lifts himself up, putting the book aside.

  “Are you okay?”

  I abandon my ninja-like plans and just stand there feeling embarrassed. I mean I basically told him that I didn’t need him to worry about me and here I am acting like the weakling I truly am.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I admit and then find myself explaining it to him. “I was scared and the nightmares kept waking me up.”

  He looks a little dumbfounded and I’m just about to run back up to the room, pretending that I never cracked like this but the way he treats me is surprisingly gentle. It’s as if he knows exactly how to make sure that I don’t break down and shut him out.

  “This pullout bed is big enough for two people . . .” he suggests and I’m shaking my head before he can finish the sentence.

  “. . . or how about you go back to bed and I can crash on the floor. That might help with you being afraid,” he tells me softly.

  Eyeing both the couch and thinking of my bed upstairs, I realize that he’s right. Much as I hate to admit it, I just might need him by my side.

  “Just don’t even attempt to touch me and we’ll be fine. You will stay on the floor.” I warn him as he starts to sit up. I immediately avert my gaze from his naked chest.

  “Relax, shortcake, I promise to be a complete gentleman. No touching, I promise.”

  I think we both find ourselves thinking of the promises he’d made earlier and the debacle that was my first party. I shudder at the thought.

  “Perfect, thanks. Also let’s try not mentioning this to anyone, okay? It’s just a one-time thing. I . . . I don’t usually ask boys to sleep in my room. This is a one-off, have I said that already?” I find myself rambling and his brows furrow in confusion as I rush up the stairs, comforted by the sound of Cole’s footsteps following me. I freeze at the threshold to my room.

  “Tessie,” he says carefully, “what happened?”

  “I’m too tired right now, I’ll explain tomorrow, I promise.” I don’t want him to hear the panic in my voice but it’s there and it’s apparent. He sighs but says nothing else as we work together to create a makeshift bed for him on my floor and I realize that he won’t be asking me any more questions, not tonight, at least.

  ***

  I wake up gasping in the middle of the night after a very horrible and a very vivid nightmare.

  Someone’s calling out my name and shaking me. The idea of someone touching me makes ice settle in my veins. I open my mouth to scream when I hear his voice.

  “Shh Tessie, it’s just me. It’s Cole, you’re okay, I got you.”

  My bedroom is pitch black but the moonlight from the window illuminates his face. I lift myself to sit up straight as Cole gets me some water. Utterly embarrassed, I start worrying about how I’d explain this to Cole. He obviously knows that something bad happened to me but bad enough to give me nightmares? Yeah his imagination must be going wild.

  I start to panic and it starts getting harder to breathe. I’m almost about to ask for a paper bag when Cole sits down next to me and slowly, tentatively rubs soothing circles across my back. He’s hesitant as though not sure how I will react but the circular motion feels so comforting, I almost purr.

  “You’re okay,” he repeats.

  I breathe in and out and let myself calm down. The nightmare is still lingering in my mind but knowing that Cole’s here and that I’m safe within my house makes it easy to push thoughts of the party aside. I lean into Cole, as if seeking more of his warmth and rest my head on shoulder, his very naked shoulder.

  Now my heartbeat’s skyrocketing for an entirely different reason. Despite all my attempts to keep him out of my space, out of my bed, that’s exactly where he’s ended up and I . . . I actually don’t mind. Clearly I’m conflicted because even as I try to shift and put some distance between us, I miss the heat of his palm against my back. Cole’s not trying to make a move, he just sits there with me and holds me. His face is mere centimeters away from mine and I can see every single line and contour of his face clearly. He’s gorgeous, of course he is, I won’t deny that any further but he’s also . . .

  Mean.

  Yet he took care of you today, says a nagging voice in my head.

  Arrogant.

  He’s been sitting with you in all your classes and at lunch since the day he showed up. He obviously isn’t worried about his image, the voice scolds.

  Conceited.

  With a face like that who wouldn’t be?

  I shake the thoughts out of my head before that stupid voice can defend Cole some more. It’s annoying, and I don’t like that any part of me, however small it is, is starting to accept him, faults and all. I do owe him for today but he owes me ten years’ worth of humiliating memories.

  Though that’s not what I think when I shift just a little closer to him, seeking his warmth. His breath fans my face and boy, does he smell good. It’s such an addictive scent making me want to move closer and closer to him. Taking me by surprise, his arm tightens around me and pulls me closer so that I’m now pressed up against his chest.

  I would question his motives but there’s nothing sexual about how he’s holding me, he’s simply trying to comfort me when I badly need it. So even though my breath hitches and my skin tingles I don’t move away from him. I just feel his heart beating against my own and somehow it relaxes me. I stare at his face for some time trying to understand this boy with his delinquent instincts and his irreparable habit of constantly shaking up my life and realize that he’s changed.

  He’s changed; he isn’t the guy who left me four years ago with a stink bomb in my locker as a farewell present. Something’s happened that has made him change his attitude toward me. That something that is stopping him from teaming up with Nicole and joining her quest to make my life a living hell.

  So as I’m having my first-ever sleepover with Cole Stone, I try to think of a reason as to why he’s acting the way he is and honest to God, I’m just too terrified to find out.

  Chapter Eight: You’re Smiling Like A Horny Guy On A Dodgy Street Corner

  I wake up the next morning due to the annoying morning light that seems to be so annoyingly streaming through my window. I groan and roll onto my side so that my face presses into the sheets and mentally curse myself for not drawing the curtains before going to bed. I pull my fluffy purple blanket over my head and try going back to sleep.

  However, even as I’m trying to slip into a deep slumber I can sense that something’s different and it’s irking me. I’m still too warm and comfortable in my bed to actually get up and see why it is that sleeping in—an experience that I cherish more than life itself at times—is getting so bothersome. Then I sense it, the reason why my stupid brain refuses
to shut down and let me get some sleep, I know what the difference is.

  My sheets don’t smell like the peach-blossom-scented detergent our cleaner uses. It’s like the scent has been overwhelmed by something stronger, something much more delectable and inviting. Before I allow myself to greedily inhale more of the delicious scent my brain goes into overdrive and warning bells sound in my head. This smell does not belong to me, this smell cannot be associated with any of my family members because there’s only one person that I know who could leave traces of such a scent, and I really don’t want to think about the hows and the whys regarding that particular situation.

  Sleep abandons me immediately when I realize that I’m no longer sleeping but just lying down and acting like an obsessed stalker while smelling my sheets. Getting up quickly, I groan and grunt, stomping my feet on the ground, cranky because I really could do with more sleep. I yawn, opening my mouth widely, and run my hand through the tangled mess that is my hair.

  “Good morning to you too, Tessie.”

  My eyes are still encrusted by the remnants of sleep so I have to squint and focus to make out the person who has the nerve to bug me when I’m feeling like a cavewoman. Of course it’s him, who else could it possibly be? Cole leans against the door, looking ridiculously good for whatever god darn time it is. I could say that I’ve forgotten about him holding me last night, I could say that seeing him doesn’t have my jaw dropping or my eyes bulging out of their sockets, but that would be a lie.

  “Not in the mood,” I mutter grouchily and lock myself in my bathroom, though I can still hear him laughing outside.

  Even though I took a shower before going to bed last night, I still feel grimy and hence allow myself to be assaulted by the hot water as it rouses me out of my zombie-like state. Once I’m as shiny and new as a baby’s bottom I brush my teeth and pull on my robe. Afterward, I lock my door and walk toward my closet.

  Usually it takes me about two minutes to pick an outfit but somehow today I don’t want to wear my ratty old sweatshirt and jeans. It’s like my hand gets repelled when I try taking something out from my everyday clothes and I frown. It’s the weekend, the perfect opportunity to dress down, but I just don’t want to.

  Sighing, I go to the very back of the walk-in closet and try not to flinch at the amount of pink in there. I like pink, don’t get me wrong, but then there’s only so much of it that you can have in your closet before it starts looking like something the Pink Panther threw up.

  I pick out a fitted long-sleeved gray top with some distressed jeans. Since we’re at home, I slip into a cute pair of sandals. Once dressed I tie up my hair into a messy bun and put on some gloss. Then I bounce downstairs, suddenly finding myself in a good mood.

  I find Cole busy in my kitchen. There are blenders whizzing and pots and pans on the stovetop. He’s got a chopping board in front of him and is going at the vegetables like a pro. For a second I just stand there fixated by his skill and feel slightly embarrassed by the fact the only time I tried to cook I ended up blowing up the oven.

  “Done drooling, shortcake?”

  I stop staring as I register his words and manage to put some bite behind my words even though I’m not really up for an argument with him at the moment.

  “I’m sorry but I don’t bat for your team, Martha Stewart.”

  His smirk drops and he glares at me. “Now you’re just being sexist.”

  “You’re wearing my mom’s old apron; you should’ve seen that coming.” I chuckle and take a seat opposite the kitchen counter.

  “This,” he points to his T-shirt, “is new and cost me fifty bucks; I don’t care if I look like one of the Real Housewives of New Jersey as long as I don’t get pancake mix on it.”

  I notice that he’s changed too; maybe he left at some point to go home.

  “You sound more and more like a girl each day.”

  He gasps audibly and before I know it he’s thrown a fistful of flour at me. “Take that back,” he says and I just sit there in shock while grimacing at the bitter, powdery taste in my mouth.

  “You idiot! I just showered,” I whine as I try dusting off the flour from my face, my hair, and my brand-new top.

  “You questioned my masculinity, bad move, Tessie.”

  “You’re so, so . . . !” In frustration and mostly annoyance at how he’s turned my good bright sunny day into one where I’m possibly in the mood for murder, I grab my glass of orange juice and throw it at his face.

  Though when I realize what I’ve done I gasp in shock and cover my mouth with my hands. I’m not an impulsive person; I always think something over a billion times before I actually go through with it. In fact, I don’t just think, I overthink. I am the queen of the land of the overthinkers, so for me to have done what I just did is just completely out of character. I have somehow managed to pour orange juice all over the guy who’s known better for his ability to keep a grudge than his sexcapades, basically hitting the motherlode of impulsive mistakes.

  “I’m so sorry! I didn’t, I mean you were there and I got angry and I’m so sorry.” My voice is muffled as I cover my face with my hands and peek through my fingers to see if he’s breathing fire and if I should start reciting my last will and testament but to my surprise he looks . . . amused?

  “What?” I ask him as I finally uncover my face and he, in all his OJ-drenched glory, smiles at me. I wonder if he’s suffered any serious brain damage between the hours that I slept.

  “You splashed juice all over my face,” he muses, still smiling.

  “Yes, Einstein, I did, but that doesn’t explain why you’re smiling like a horny guy on a dodgy street corner.”

  He bursts out laughing at that and his laughter is infectious and I find myself joining in though I still don’t know why he isn’t choking me with his bare hands.

  When he stops laughing, Cole takes a dish towel and wipes his face clean. The shirt he tried so hard to protect is now stained so obviously he does what he considers the most rational move.

  He takes it off.

  My eyes widen and my breathing falters as he slowly shrugs out of the now-sticky material. It’s like watching an Abercrombie & Fitch commercial only better because his body is so much more sinful than any of their Photoshopped models. I withhold a sigh as he uses the towel to wipe off his stomach and I nearly faint when I see the eight-pack. Holy cow, eight freaking pack.

  “Try not to burn the house down while I put these in the laundry.” He chuckles, leaving the kitchen with me standing there feeling absolutely starstruck. I know I saw him shirtless last night but it was nighttime and we were in bed. It kind of made sense to be half naked then but now in broad daylight my heart and brain just can’t handle it as they’re both going into overdrive. I stare at his broad, smooth-skinned back and the indentations of his muscles as he walks away from me and to the laundry room.

  I’m vaguely aware of shutting down the blender and trying to flip a pancake perfectly but narrowly missing the floor when I try.

  “The key is in the wrist.” I jump as arms shoot out from behind my waist and take a hold of my hand that holds the spatula. All of a sudden I’m surrounded by the same scent that I was intoxicated by in the morning and there’s no hint of a doubt as to who it is behind me. The sound of his voice tells me that he’s closer than I want him to be and the fact that his arms are around me is seriously destroying my resolve. I don’t want him to know that his nearness is having the effect that it is so I straighten up my spine and nod like I’m listening to his instructions. His fingers are gentle as they clasp on my wrist and help me flick a pancake perfectly in the air before it lands perfectly in the center of the pan.

  “I did it.” Smiling to myself I try to move to face him but at the same time as I turn my head and before I can register the situation, Cole grabs the bowl full of pancake batter and pours it all over my head.

  I squeal as the cool, thick liquid travels from the top of my head, slipping gradually inside my sweater, maki
ng me squirm. I splutter and choke as Cole clutches his stomach cackling like the slimy hyena he is.

  “That was,” he can’t stop his laughter and I see his eyes water because of it, “epic!” He gasps like he could use a tank full of oxygen at this point. I lean against the counter and angrily wipe at every reachable corner on my face but it dawns on me that nothing is salvageable at the moment and I’m going to need another shower.

  “You!” I lunge for Cole, who’s trying to catch his breath but failing miserably. Grabbing a bowl of whisked eggs I take advantage of his distracted state and nearly smash the bowl over his head so that the gooey liquid is smeared all over his gorgeous hair.

  Dye my hair red and call me Brave—eat your heart out, Disney!

  “You didn’t!” He growls and stalks toward me. I smile sweetly.

  “Aww, is the widdle baby hurt?” I coo and pinch his cheeks and apparently that’s what it takes to set off Cole Stone’s fuse since he grabs me by the waist and throws me over his shoulder in a move as fast as lightning.

  “Oh, you’re going down,” he says, his voice dripping with promise and pure evil.

  I really do hate to admit it but I don’t mind the view I’m getting right now. His still-naked back is fully on view, and the fact that he’s walking causes the muscles to flex. His jeans are slung low and I do have to admit that he has a fine, fine backside.

  “Oh no, oh no, please don’t do what I think you’re going to do,” I beg as he jogs lightly in the direction of the pool.

  “You should’ve thought about that before.” The mischief in his voice has a shiver run down my back and I increase the pounding on his back.

  “Let me down, Stone!” I try to put some power behind my words but all he does is chuckle in response; I can tell because his shoulders are shaking. The blood’s rushing to my head as I hang upside down and from behind the curtain of my hair I see us approach the edge of the pool, and Cole’s hold on my waist loosens. I squeeze my eyes and brace myself for the fall.