Page 36 of Never Kiss the Bad Boy

DANI

“Come in and sit for a cup,” I tell Nessa as she drops the last bag of my supplies to the floor by the front door.

“Sit? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” Nessa balks, eyeing me suspiciously.

She’s right, I don’t usually stop working, much less actually sit down. There’s no time in my life for luxuries like that. But…

“I understand, you’re busy and gotta go. Just thought you might want to hear about my evening.”

Nessa’s jaw drops open and her eyes pop wide. “Ohmagawd, did you do it? Did you fuck Sugarbear? Girl, gimme a cup, double sweet, double cream, and spill the beans, pronto.”

I don’t simply pour a cup of generic brew. That’s for desperate times only. For things like this, I know how to make a to-die-for cafecito. I learned from a friend of Papa’s, Mr. Alamar. He was a real Cubano, born in an era before Castro, and taught me so that I could make him one to accompany his daily lunch when he came to the restaurant. He said it was his afternoon jet fuel, and he was right, because I can’t have one after about ten AM or I won’t sleep a bit. As it is, I’ll be flying through today like my feet have wings even though I’m drinking this before eight in the morning.

My stovetop espresso is ready, and I add a small amount of it to a cup with some sugar. Whipping it to a foam, I start to tell Nessa, “I didn’t fuck him, but I’ve been thinking about it.”

The eager excitement in Nessa’s eyes starts to dim. “Thinking about it? Hell, I’ve been thinking about it. I bet ninety percent of the women he meets think about it.”

I give her a dark look, not liking the sound of that. But since I’m a good friend, I finish her drink, pouring the espresso in, checking that the crema foam rises to the top, and then setting it in front of her before making my own.

Once I’ve sat down too, I take a sip. “Ahh,” I sigh. Nessa slaps the table, reminding me to get on with my story, seeing as I invited her in to share it. I swallow, not the strong morning brew but my nerves, and tell her, “He came over last night after they finished working, ended up helping me do the dishes, so I fed him lunch leftovers as a thank you.”

“And…?” Nessa prompts, pointing at me. “That twinkle in your eyes isn’t about leftovers.”

“I thought he was gonna kiss me again. He didn’t, but I wanted him to.” That admission alone is a big share for me, but I add, “And he said he’s been thinking about me, wondering if I fuck as good as I fight.” Nessa grins triumphantly, like she has anything to do with it. I lean forward, even though there’s no one around to hear me reveal, “He said that he does.”

Three, two, one… We both dissolve into giggles. I can’t remember the last time I giggled. It’s probably been longer for that than since I had sex.

“You have to find out if he can put his dick where his mouth is,” Nessa orders me, then pauses, replaying what she just said. Hearing that it’s hopefully accurate, she nods. “You deserve a good dicking, girl.”

I gape at her stupidly, then try to cover it by taking a sip of my cafecito. “I can’t just fuck him for fun.”

“You absolutely can! That’s exactly what you do,” she argues. When I don’t relent, she says, “You know about my situationship?” She pauses, and I nod. “Yeah, we have an understanding. Neither of us has the time or desire for a real relationship, but what we do have is amazing chemistry. So when the timing’s right, we hook up, scratch that itch in the best way possible, and then go on about our lives a little happier, and a helluva lot less stressed. Sex doesn’t have to be some magical, mystical, big damn deal that only happens when we’re in love and leads to marriage 100% of the time. It can be fun… and messy… and hot… and easy.” Nessa squirms as she describes what sex can be before pinning me with a hard look. “If you let it be. And you need to let it beee, girl.”

I know that’s true for Nessa, and I’ve never given it a second thought where she’s concerned. I just cheer her on and give her a high-five when she shares a particularly sexy story, like a good friend should.

But me? I grew up thinking my first time to have sex would be on my wedding night to a man my parents loved, who loved me, and who was also a virgin. It was ingrained into me along with all my parents’ traditional values. And while I’m definitely no virgin, I’m not exactly super experienced, either. I’ve dated a bit, but the full-blown relationships I’ve had were all long-term, parentally approved, with a potential end goal of a happily ever after. They also didn’t center sex as a big factor. Well, with Roman, it was definitely an issue, but that’s because he was screwing nearly every girl he met, not only me.

Could I do what Nessa’s suggesting, have sex with Kyle and it not be a thing? For him, probably. That’s how guys are. For me? I don’t know. I’ve ripped out a lot of the pages my parents wrote their lessons onto, but a casual hookup with a muscled, motorcycle-riding, pierced, hot guy who’ll move on in a matter of weeks seems like an even bigger lesson to tear up.

Sensing she’s pushing my limits, Nessa takes a heavy draw of her own drink. “Fuck, you’re gonna give me palpitations,” she claims, patting her chest over her heart. “I better get going, anyway. Have two more big orders scheduled this morning, and hopefully, I can pick up a few more through the app.” She takes one more sip, moaning in delight, before making her way to the screen door, where she stops and turns back to me at the kitchen table. “Just think about it. He’s sexy, willing, and at a minimum, gives good dirty talk. All signs to go for it.”

She’s barely through the door when I hear her say loudly, “Oh, hey there, Sugarbear! I didn’t know you were here already. Bright and early, ain’tcha?”

Oh. My. God.

Kyle absolutely heard her tell me to go for it and will know that we’ve been talking about him. I can feel the heat rushing to my face, scalding my cheeks, and my heart starts pounding in my chest in a way that has nothing to do with the massive dose of caffeine I just swallowed and everything to do with utter humiliation.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I murmur, tossing my cup and Nessa’s into the sink with a clatter. I grab the bags from the living room floor where Nessa dropped my delivery, virtually running them to the kitchen table, where I start unpacking them. Boxes slam, bags crinkle, and I keep muttering, as if I can go back in time and slap my hand over Nessa’s big mouth. But of course, I can’t.

I half expect Kyle to come to my door, gloating and grinning in that annoyingly sexy way of his. But he doesn’t. Instead, I hear him yelling next door.

“I know it sucks!” he hollers before there’s an incomprehensible reply. “And? Do it anyway.”

I peek out the window over the sink and see Zeus and Frogger stomping off angrily while Kyle and Wayne glare at their retreating backs. And standing at her back door is Kathy, a small smirk of victory on her too-thin lips as she watches the drama play out.

What has she done now? I wonder.

I want to avoid Kyle at all costs after he heard Nessa’s comments, and I could easily do that for a few more hours because when I couldn’t sleep last night, tormented again with thoughts of Kyle, I decided to be productive. Hence, my cafecito with Nessa and the farm’s worth of chicken thighs already halfway cooked in my two commercial-grade, ridiculously-oversized slow cookers. They’re currently stationed on my kitchen counter, my rice cooker and beans pot are on the stove, and the pork roast I have in the smoker outside doesn’t need to be checked for hours. So I could stay right here, avoid the embarrassment, and ignore anything that brings Kathy joy.

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