In the Bad Boy's Bed Read online

  "Warn who?" He stuck his face in Gena's face.

  "Warn you to brush your teeth a little more often," she said, stepping back and waving her hand in front of her nose. "Dude, your breath smells like ass."

  Sean smiled, like a wolf grinning at a sheep he was about to devour. "You're funny, Gena."

  "C'mon Gena, we're going to be late." I stepped between them and again linked her arm with mine and pulled her away toward a group of teachers who were walking down the path. Sean didn't follow us, but I felt him staring after us.

  I went into the commons during my free period to leave a note in Nick's locker asking him to meet me. We'd met past the soccer field by the grove of trees a few times to see each other and to make out. It was as far away from school we could get and still be on campus.

  I'd been pacing and gritting my teeth for ten minutes when I saw him running toward me. He had such a graceful gait, like running was as easy as breathing for him.

  Just watching his body in motion dissolved my anger and made me wish we were at our spot on the river. Unfortunately, he had to go into work early, leaving no time for me after school.

  "You're late," I said, chilling the words to ice cubes. I wasn't that mad anymore, but I couldn't let him get away with making me wait.

  He laughed and pulled me into his embrace.

  I kept my arms crossed, my mouth averted.

  "I just got your note," he said. "Davis kept me late to go over my Chem test."

  "You need to get a cell phone," I said, frost still dusting my voice, "so I can text you instead of leaving you little notes that you usually don't see."

  "Cell phones are for spoiled rich kids, not poor working kids like me. C'mon, give me some love, spoiled rich kid."

  "You think I called you here just so you could ravage my body?" I teased as his lips snuggled against mine.

  "Yes."

  In truth, I hadn't called him for any other reason but to warn him about Sean, but now that he was here, pressed against me, setting fires inside me, having his body ravage mine was the only thing on my mind. The remaining icicles of anger melted in the heat of his embrace.

  I met his eyes with a wicked grin. "Got a problem with that?"

  He chuckled softly and slipped his hand inside my shirt, cupped my breast, playing his thumb across my nipple like a tight guitar string. "What do you think?"

  Trouble was, I couldn't think. The fire raging in my body had burned away my supplies of oxygen. I struggled to speak my heart. "Ah, Nick. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

  "The same thing you do to me," he whispered into my skin.

  Had two people ever been more sexually compatible than Nick and me? Sean and I sure weren't. The couple of times we'd had sex, he was fast and rough and paid no mind to my pleasure. With Sean, I had avoided sex. With Nick, I couldn't get enough.

  "Let's get out of here." He compelled me with his hands, his mouth.

  The no on my tongue felt like a burr. "Class starts in a few minutes."

  "Ah, that's too bad." He slid from my arms, a grin on his face. "Guess we'll have to wait. Maybe next week some time."

  I stopped him, pulled him back to me and wrapped my leg around his to let him know that I wouldn't wait, couldn't wait.

  "No, not next week. Now. Meet me in the parking lot in five minutes."

  He kissed me hard on the mouth, then turned and ran back the way he'd come. On unsteady legs I rushed toward the parking lot, convinced I would destroy anything or anyone who got in my way.

  Keeping a constant watch on my surroundings to make sure no one was there to see me leave, I stepped into the parking lot and raced for my car, clicking the alarm button on the key fob as I did. I had my hand on the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around, my heart pounding a hole in my chest.

  "Hello, Angela."

  Our headmaster, Daniel Wilson, stood behind me, a question of a smile on his face.

  "Oh, hello, Mr. Wilson." I like to think I recovered pretty quickly, but by the concerned look on his face, I think I looked as guilty as I felt. "I didn't see you there."

  "Did I startle you?"

  I laughed. "My stomach's screaming for food, so I wasn't paying attention to anything but getting out of here and getting some lunch."

  He checked his watch, and I knew he was going to comment that my lunch was fifteen minutes from being over and that my class was starting right after that. My brain went into overdrive trying to think of something to distract him.

  "Uh, how's Ming?"

  The smile on his face grew to enormous proportions, and I knew I'd hit on the right dodge. Everyone knew about Mr. Wilson's great love for his new pug puppy.

  "Ming? Oh, she's such a joy. I taught her to shake hands last night."

  I hoped my chuckle didn't sound as fake to him as it sounded to me. "What a fast learner she is."

  His face clouded over for a moment, and I thought I was in for it.

  "You know the wife and I weren't blessed with our own children."

  In the pause that followed, he looked so sad that I felt something other than hunger or desire gnawing at my stomach.

  "You'd have made a terrific father, Mr. Wilson. You're so patient and understanding. Ming's lucky. And so are we . . . all your students."

  That seemed to please him because he brightened again, and laughed. "Well, I don't know about that, but thank you, Angela." He patted my shoulder. "You're a sweet girl for saying so."

  I smiled.

  "OK, now you get on to lunch so you can get back in time for your next class."

  "I will," I said to his retreating form, just as Nick ran across the quad toward the parking lot. Mr. Wilson called out to him, stopping him. I couldn't hear their exchange, but I understood the conversation by their motions.

  Nick looked toward the parking lot. Mr. Wilson shook his head. Nick shook his head, then dropped his backpack onto the cement, unzipped it, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Mr. Wilson pulled it out of his hand, unfolded it, read it thoroughly as if looking for problems, then tossed it back toward him. It fell to the ground. Nick picked it up, refolded it, and returned it to his backpack. Mr. Wilson said some parting words, complete with finger pointing, and stormed away toward the administration building.

  Giving him a final look, Nick stood and continued on his way to the lot at a furious walk. His face was a thundercloud of emotion. He passed my car with barely a look in my direction and walked toward the road.

  I jumped into my car and soon pulled up next to him, rolled down the window.

  "Nick. Get in."

  He kept walking, his body stiff like a soldier on a march, his eyes focused on unseen enemies ahead.

  One eye on the road, one on Nick, I called to him again. "Nick, please. I need you."

  He stopped, turned his eyes to me. "I'm the last person you need. Just go back to your world. You don't belong in mine any more than I belong in yours."

  He would have walked off again, but I gunned it and pulled off the road in front of him. I jumped out of the car and went to him, grabbing his arm.

  "What happened with Wilson?" I demanded, though I already had a good idea.

  "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

  He shook free of my grip and moved away. I stepped in front of him again and wrapped my arms around his waist.

  "It matters to me." I kissed him.

  He didn't move away, but his statue-like stance didn't bend, his tight mouth stayed firm.

  "You matter to me." I kissed him again. And again.

  I soon felt his lips go soft, warm. Felt him kiss me back. Felt his rigid posture relax against me as he curled his arms around my hips.

  These kisses felt different somehow than any other kisses we'd shared. They weren't hot like those that drove us to this point. They weren't playful, like so many times before. They went deeper, made me feel comforted and comfortable, like we'd buried ourselves together beneath a fuzzy blanket on a snowy morning. I felt connected to h
im in a way I hadn't been before.

  It scared me, in an I've-just-been-shocked kind of way. I pulled back slightly. Took his hand. Smiled. "Now get in the car, Donnelly. You promised me some lovin'."

  The roads leading down to the riverbank were still muddy from the rain a few nights back and I didn't want to chance getting my car stuck. The explanations would be impossible. I suggested we go to a movie and sit at the very top row. He suggested we go to his house.

  I pulled into the driveway of a house that would fit into my three-car garage. The red brick walls were bordered with tan plastic siding. Windows, though small, were spider-web free, and unlike some of the neighboring homes, had screens that were intact and in place. A little patch of grass grew inside a rectangular border of thick railroad ties, and a couple of bushes with yellow flowers guarded the front door.

  It was old and used, with a favorite-old-pair-of-shoes feeling to it. It was so different from my own home.

  Nick unlocked the front door and pushed it open for me. I stood on the two-foot wide cement porch as motionless as the potted plants next to me, nervous about going inside. He took my hand and kissed my palm. The other hand went to my waist.

  "C'mon. Let's go in."

  My feet felt like part of the cement. "Are you sure this is OK?" I looked behind me as if someone was watching me.

  "Yeah, Mom hid the drugs and bodies before she went to work."

  My stomach dropped to my knees and it felt like my eyes were bugging out. He laughed.

  Up to that point, I had my purse tucked up tightly under my arm, with both hands holding onto it. As I realized he was making fun of my reaction, I rapped him with it.

  "Oh, you are so not funny."

  "If you'd seen your face, you'd laugh. You were scared to death."

  "No I wasn't."

  Doubt lifted his eyebrows and he shook his head.

  "I wasn't." I insisted.

  "My mistake."

  I stepped through the door and took in the details of the orderly, clean, fresh-smelling room. Light filled the space through tied-back sheer curtains. Not a speck of dust blemished the polished but scarred wooden coffee table and matching lamp table, or the bedside table that held an old TV whose picture area was only slightly bigger than my laptop's 17-inch screen.

  A colorful throw covered the faded gold and green plaid couch. Two chairs flanked it, one a rocker in a bumpy oatmeal fabric and the other a recliner in brown faux leather.

  All pointed toward the TV as if it were the prime entertainment.

  If TV was king, the short, wide, tilting bookcase stuffed with books suggested that reading was a close second. The weight of the books--text books, romances, comics, literary classics, mysteries, and best sellers from several years ago—swayed the pressboard shelves. I could almost hear it groan.

  Two 8 x 10 gold metal frames hung on the wall above the bookcase. I walked over to them. One held a school photo of a young boy of about seven or eight who resembled Nick but had blond hair and eyes so dark they looked black. The other photo was of Nick, a clearly younger Nick, maybe twelve or thirteen, in a red and black football uniform.

  He hadn't put his tough on yet. That smile that these days usually just peeked out at one corner of his mouth took over the entire mouth. A dark sweep of bangs stuck up from his forehead, like he'd wiped sweat from them just before the picture was snapped.

  The emotions in his green eyes were close to the surface, there for all to see, not hidden as they were in the grown up Nick I knew. I ran my finger across the handsome face, wishing I'd known this carefree and happy boy.

  I felt Nick behind me. I leaned back against him when he wrapped his arms around my waist.

  "How old were you?"

  "Thirteen."

  "You looked happy."

  "That was taken a month before my dad announced he was leaving us for another woman."

  A spiked fist twisted in my heart at the pain he and his family must have endured.

  I turned in his arms to face him and brushed my fingers down his cheek.

  "Nick, I'm so sorry."

  "Hey, it happens."

  "Did you see him much after—"

  "Forget it. I have. Let me show you around."

  He moved away from me and held his arms out to encompass the room we stood in. "Living room," he said. He pointed to the coffee table. "Dining room." He pointed to the corner by the window where a tall plant stood. "Arboretum." He pointed to the right.

  "Kitchen." He nodded left down the hall. "Bathroom, laundry closet, two bedrooms."

  His descriptions were delivered in a tongue-in-cheek tone edged with something else. Bitterness? Anger? Embarrassment? I wasn't sure. Was I only projecting my feelings about his home onto him?

  As I looked around, I couldn't help but compare it to my home, with its separate living room, den, study/library areas; a laundry room the size of this living room; five bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and sitting area and walk-in closet; a kitchen with eat-in breakfast nook; formal and informal dining rooms, and so much more that I felt greedy even thinking about it.

  I liked Nick. A lot. And the sex was mind-blowing. But seeing his house, seeing him in his world, stripped away all my rainbows and blue skies to reveal how very different we were. Not that I needed a guy who could give me fancy gifts and take me on expensive dates to be happy—Sean had given me the best gifts money could buy and I was miserable.

  But I wasn't sure my character was strong enough not to care that any dates with him would be to hang out somewhere that didn't cost money. Or not to cringe in guilt every time he pulled hard-earned singles from his wallet to pay for our hamburger at a fast food place. Or not to care that my parents would absolutely flip at the thought of their daughter, their only child, getting involved with a man who had this present and an uncertain but likely similar future.

  What am I doing with him? I thought, panic overtaking me. I had to end it before I hurt him.

  "Nick, I—"

  He pulled me to him again, kissed away the words I'd planned to say, making them melt on his clever tongue. I went weak in the knees. Fortunately, he picked me up and carried me to his bed. Every stupid thought I'd had of leaving him had vanished as he loved me with his hands, his mouth, his body, and his sweet, sweet words.

  Chapter Five

  We headed back to school for our afternoon classes, and I parked at the very back of the lot. We shared a final kiss in the car, then he headed in one direction, toward the History building, while I headed the other way, toward English.

  I saw Mr. Wilson stop Nick on his way into the building, but I was already two minutes late—another minute and I'd be counted absent—so I went on in to class. As I slid into the seat next to Gina, I remembered that I'd forgotten to warn him about Sean.

  Fifteen minutes into class, a girl I recognized only as a freshman came to the door and gave my teacher, Ms. Gonzales, a note.

  "Angela, you're to report to Mr. Wilson's office. Take your things."

  I got the usual you're-in-trouble noise from the class, and I shot Gena a questioning look and grabbed my backpack.

  "What's your name?" I asked the freshman as I followed her back to the office.

  She looked scared that I'd spoken to her, but she managed to mumble her name.

  "Ariana. That's a pretty name."

  She smiled then quickly covered her braces with her hand.

  "Why does Mr. Wilson want to see me?"

  Ariana kept her eyes on the path, her long red hair covering her face but not before I could see the blush flaming her cheeks.

  I caught her arm and stopped her. "Ariana, please tell me."

  Her brown eyes wide, she looked around to make sure no one was watching or listening. She leaned in. "Your boyfriend Sean accused Nick Donnelly of smashing in the windshield of his Jag. Sean's, not Nick's. Nick doesn't have a Jag. He has a—"

  Crap! Had Sean seen me with Nick? Was that why he was falsely accusing him?

 
"First of all, Sean's NOT my boyfriend. And second, why does Sean think Nick did it?"

  "He said he saw Nick leaving the parking lot right before he went to his car for lunch."

  "Do you know what time this was supposed to have happened?"

  She shook her head. "Not exactly, but sometime after second lunch."

  Nick and I were in the middle of each other before, during, and after second lunch.

  "Thanks."

  Again the hand came up to cover her smile. The girl would have such a pretty smile when the braces came off. Too bad she couldn't envision it, yet.

  We'd reached the office. "When do you get your braces off?" I asked her.

  She blushed again and dropped her head. "Not til next year."

  "I wore mine until the middle of sophomore year."

  He head jerked up. "You wore braces, too?"

  I nodded. "You're going to have a beautiful smile. Just wait and see."

  "Ariana, those folders won't file themselves." Carla Stone, Mr. Wilson's secretary, snipped at the girl, sending her to scurry away into the file room.

  Mrs. Stone then turned her venomous stare on me and pointed at the row of chairs lining the front of Mr. Wilson's office.

  I looked at them but remained standing. "Why was I called here?"

  "Take a seat, please."

  She'd said please, but the pinhole mouth the word had to pass through squeezed any sweetness from its meaning. In defiance, I stood against the wall with my arms crossed. I heard her sigh in irritation. For some reason, knowing I'd caused it made me smile.

  She picked up her phone and jabbed a couple of buttons with her bony finger. "Ms.

  Abbott is here."

  A minute or two later, the door opened and Mr. Wilson called me in. My gaze flew to the chairs in front of his desk where sat the only two guys I'd ever slept with. Both looked pissed and like they wanted to pound each other.

  "What's going on?" I asked Mr. Wilson, who was pulling up a chair for me between Nick and Sean.

  He perched one leg on his desk and leaned toward me. "Ms. Abbott, you left campus at lunch time today."

  "Well, yeah, you saw me. We talked. About Ming."