Page 359 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

“Are you done?” I ask, trying to sound annoyed, although the smile tugging at my lips says I am anything but.

“Yes.” She clears her throat to gain control of the giggles still trying to get through. “Please continue.”

“Anyway, he set me up with the ball boy, and I swear on everything holy that if you laugh again, I will hang up on you.” I pause, waiting to see if she’s going to fall apart again. Once I’m sure she’s muted me or is turning red from holding in any laughter remaining, I continue. “They’re called boys for a reason, he was barely twenty-one and took me home to have dinner with his mom. I don’t even want to know what my dad was thinking. I was at least six years older than the guy. He wanted to pick me up on his bike.”

“I don’t know, Lo, if he rides a motorcycle, that could be hot. I don’t think career-wise he is what one would call stable, but a bike… I could make an exception for that.”

“No, no, not a bike as in a motorcycle, hot biker guy. I mean a bike as in he has a second job as a paperboy and rides his bike around town delivering the paper. You know, the bike that requires peddling.”

Groaning, I walk over to my dresser, digging through the drawers and looking for something acceptable to wear to paint my dance studio. I can’t wait to get Music Box Dance Studio up and running. I never thought I would own my own studio, but it’s amazing the things a person can manage to do when they’re determined to make it out on top of a bad situation.

“Hey, Harlow?” I don’t respond because I know it won’t matter; Ashtyn is going to continue talking either way. “What would he have done if you agreed to let him pick you up?”

“Probably would have had me sit on the handlebars,” I answer without hesitation, sending us into another fit of laughter.

“All joking aside, you know there’s nothing wrong with you meeting someone and actually moving on, right?”

“I have moved on.” I can practically hear her eyes roll. “No, Ash, I haven’t met someone, and no, I’m not ready to start dating anytime soon. But I am done waiting for him to call and tell me this was all a misunderstanding.”

Grabbing an old t-shirt that has more holes than a pasta strainer and a pair of shorts, I head into the bathroom. After grabbing a towel, I turn on the shower.

“I just want you to be happy.” The words are a whisper from my friend, yet they sound so much louder.

“I’m happy, I promise.” I didn’t realize until now how true the words are. I am happy, if not a little lonely, but I can accept that.

“Okay, I won’t ask again, at least not as long as I think you’re happy enough.”

“Good. Now, I need to shower and get ready so I can head to the studio and get some work done. My dad said he’d bring a couple of guys with him to help get the painting done since they’re off today.”

“Good luck, babe. We’ll talk again soon.”

Hanging up, I toss my phone on the counter, slip my nightshirt over my head, then hop in the shower, not at all thinking about Hendrix and the way he made my skin tingle.

* * *

I’m running late by the time I pull into the parking lot at the studio. I hate running late, but the call with Ashtyn took longer than I thought it would, and thoughts of Hendrix had me far more distracted than I would ever admit.

“I’m so sorry!” I yell as I climb out of my car. I open the back and pull out a box of doughnuts and a box of coffee, hoping it’s enough to make up for running late. I try to ignore the sound of footsteps as they get closer. I don’t need to turn around to know that it’s Hendrix approaching; the way my body heats is enough to alert me that he’s getting closer. Damn Ashtyn for putting these thoughts in my head and damn him for being so attractive.

“Here, give me that stuff and you can go unlock the door.”

I nod rather than answering with words, afraid my voice will be as shaky as my hands are. I hand over the boxes and turn around, making quick work of the distance between my car and the door.

“I thought you were up when I left this morning,” my dad says, and I push off the feeling that he’s scolding me for running behind, like I’m a teenager living at home. Which is another reminder why I need to find my own place soon.

“I was. Ashtyn called me this morning and you know her, once she starts talking, it takes the threat of death to get her off the phone in less than thirty minutes.” I roll my eyes, not at all annoyed by the fact that my best friend likes to talk.

“You’re lucky to even be here then. And only a few minutes late.” My dad laughs before walking into the studio.

I turn and look back toward the parking lot, noticing that another car has pulled in. I watch as the guy behind the wheel climbs out and says something to Hendrix before taking his hat off and running his fingers through his dark hair and then replacing the hat.

The two walk together, talking, and I watch the familiarity between them. It’s obvious they’ve known each other for a long time. My gaze stays locked on them as they approach where I stand by the door.

“Harlow, this is Ryan.” Hendrix pauses, watching me as I look Ryan over. I’m not sure what he’s waiting to see, but I stick my hand out in front of me as a greeting to Ryan. He wraps his hand around mine in a firm handshake. His palm is warm but doesn’t cause the same ripple of awareness through me as Hendrix’s when he touches me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harlow. I’ll head in and get started.” He winks as he passes me, greeting the others with a mix of handshakes and slaps on the back. It’s a weird dynamic to watch these guys who have known each other for a while. I know Ryan isn’t a teammate because it was mentioned at the barbecue last week that he’s hoping to be traded to Minnesota. The other guys—Archer, Mason, and Hayes—I know are teammates, and I’ve met them a few times over the years. Archer and Mason being the newest two to the group.

“You got somewhere for me to put these down?” Hendrix holds the doughnut box and coffee out. I almost forgot he was holding them.

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