Page 17 of The Bad Boy's Good Girl

Until Nola.

Who didn’t expect a damn thing from him. How could that be when everything about this woman screamed long-term, commitment, marriage? He didn’t want to dwell on it, not after the night he’d had but he couldn’t help but watch her. Wait for her to get around to asking for another night. Maybe a weekend away together. For the crying and pleading for him to reconsider. She didn’t seem the type to use her feminine wiles or the promise of unbelievable kink to entice him, but wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d tried.

But she didn’t. Dammit.

Fuck this.Bronx Corona didn’t lust for women, didn’t pine after them. He fucked them, spent a little cash on them and then went on living his life as though it never happened. Nola wasn’t special, she just knew him well enough to know nothing would change his mind.

Yeah, that had to be it. So he would stop staring. Stop stewing. Instead he turned his gaze to Yvette, the curvaceous flight attendant who’d been giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes since they boarded. He crooked his finger to summon her over and spent the rest of the flight flirting, engaging in a dance he knew would go nowhere but gave him something to do other than focus on the surprisingly sexy blonde on the other side of the jet. The damn woman hadn’t looked up once, other than to decline the lunch offered by Yvette.

By the time the plane touched down in California, he felt nothing but irritation and confusion. The more out of sorts he felt, the angrier he got and there was only one place to direct it. “Are you waiting for a special invitation,” he grunted at her.

Without a word, Nola looked up at him, blinking twice before she stood and packed her things. Glancing around the cabin, she picked up her purse, her work bag and left him standing there. All without saying a damn word. To him. “Thanks, Yvette. Enjoy your holidays.”

“Thank you, Nola. You do the same.”

He waited inside the cabin, flirting with Yvette while keeping an eye focused on Nola struggling with her luggage until the waiting driver came over to help her, receiving that grateful smile that made a man puff out his chest and want to take care of her. The middle-aged driver did just that, standing taller at her thanks and carrying both bags as though they weighed nothing.

She cast a glance back to the plane and even from a distance he could see the indecision play on her mind. So he waited. Eventually, manners won out and she trekked back to the jet. “Do you need the car to wait?”

Flashing his best ‘I’m bored as fuck’ look at her, he flung an arm around a surprised Yvette and rolled his eyes. “I’m capable of finding my own way home, Nola.”

She didn’t even flinch at his words. “All right,” she said and made her way back to the limo, sliding in without a look back this time.

I’m an ass.He knew he would have to find a way to make it up to her because Brooks would have his ass if things got awkward at the office.

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