Page 42 of Never Kiss the Bad Boy

Dani’s eyes melt by approximately two degrees when I mention that no one would take me—a dirty, blue collar, fancy hole digger—home to their folks because we both know that’s true for her. Especially after she already said her parents want to marry her off to the closest rich guy, like her brother who wears fancy watches and drives a BMW. I could be that guy, but I have less than zero interest in that kind of life, so if that’s what Dani’s looking for, I’m not it.

“Why not? I’ve told you about my parents, and you said your dad’s not proud of you, which sucks. But would they really not be happy if you found someone?”

Too close. She’s too fucking close to shit I don’t want to talk about, shit I don’t even like to think about. And I definitely don’t want to talk about them tonight. Hell, I don’t want to talk about them ever.

“Are we trauma bonding now?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound light and teasing because I know it’ll piss her off.

She’s got walls? Well, so the fuck do I. And what would make my parents happy is stored behind one of those walls that’s been fortified with concrete, rebar, and electrified to keep people out. Even myself because I don’t want to examine too closely why I don’t make them happy.

Her mouth clacks shut, but what hurts more is the shutters I see closing in her eyes. I’m pushing her away from too-sensitive things in my past and present, but it’s pushing her away all the same, and if there’s one thing Dani knows, it’s defensiveness.

“Let’s eat.” I walk past her to the round, glass dining table and set the plates down. “Wine? Beer? Soda?”

“What kind of beer?”

“Coors, white wine, or Sprite.”

“Wine, please. Is Coors even real beer?” she teases, and I can sense that she’s trying to get us back to a better place too.

I pour her a glass of wine, grab a bottle of beer for myself, and then sit down beside her. “Real enough for me.”

I hold my bottle up for a toast, and she clinks her glass against it, saying, “To not dating, not falling in love, not getting married, and not meeting the parents.”

I laugh at her summary of our pitiful agreement. “And to flirting, having fun, and if she can stop giving me shit long enough, to maybe getting to kiss a sexy woman tonight.”

To that, we both drink.

CHAPTER 15

DANI

Tonight has been nothing like I expected.

I figured Kyle would pick me up on the bike, we’d go to dinner somewhere, and then he’d drop me off. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised at the Applebee’s deal he said he does most of the time.

But he’s different. I keep thinking that, getting surprised by his comments, his kindness, and by… him. Which probably doesn’t speak well for my own judgy thoughts, preconceived ideas, and bitchy tendencies.

All in all, he does seem to be a fully-functioning adult man who doesn’t need or want someone to take care of him, which might seem like a low bar but is undeniably sexy to me. The man himself doesn’t hurt either, with his shaggy, floppy hair that’s dark blonde at the roots, but lighter toward the tips from the hours he spends in the sun, his icy blue eyes that seem to pierce into my soul, and the smile he flashes that takes his whole aura from bad boy to boy next door. The muscles are a damn good bonus, too. Riding behind him, feeling his abs working as he held us steady, and watching his arms flex as he steered us had me wanting to ride him instead of the motorcycle.

But beyond Kyle’s physical appeal, what’s really drawing me in is the way he makes me feel.

Kyle has been a complete gentleman tonight, not bowing up to my initial confrontational attack, giving me space when I needed it, and keeping things comfortable. In fact, he’s been taking care of me all evening in a lot of ways, making sure that I got enough to eat, refilling my wine, and when I excused myself to the bathroom, he did our dishes.

I think tonight is the first time in a long time that I haven’t felt like I had to do something. I’ve been happily existing, enjoying the conversation and Kyle’s attention, and simply taking it all in instead of constantly being the one who gives, gives, gives.

Somehow, hours pass and we’re sitting on the couch, facing each other and slowly getting closer and closer even though I don’t feel like either of us is moving on the long stretch of brown tweed fabric.

“What’s the big dream for Daniela Becerra?” Kyle asks. “Like five years, ten years down the road?” He’s careful to avoid the buttons I’ve warned him about, not mentioning the usual like husband and kids the way most people would.

“I don’t know. I don’t really have the luxury of thinking that far ahead when I’m worried about this week, this month, next month. Guess I’m not a dreamer, more of a doer.”

“Well, I’d say you’re doing damn well. I see you succeeding, trusting yourself even when your people don’t have faith in you. Hell, I bet their doubting you is what stokes that fire in your gut because if there’s one thing that’s gonna motivate you, it’s proving someone else wrong and shoving it in their face that you thrived in spite of them, not because of them.”

That sounds like something he might know a little bit about too, but I don’t pry, letting things stay easy. “You make my stubbornness sound like a good thing.” I laugh, having never heard it framed quite that way.

“It is. Without it, you’d be in an unhappy marriage, probably to some asshole who doesn’t appreciate how amazing you are, taking care of him and your parents while never receiving a single thank you, and making yourself small to fit someone else’s opinion of what you should be. You say you’re not a dreamer, but I think you’re working your ass off to make your own dream come true. Just because it’s not something cliché like a white wedding, or a picket fence, or a trip to Europe doesn’t make it less important. Dreams are what you make of them, and I happen to think you’ve got a pretty great one.”

His finger is tracing over mine one at a time, each gentle caress building the fire inside me that started with his compliments because I don’t hear good things about myself often. Usually, it’s that I’m wasting my time or could be doing something more worthwhile, which makes his words that much more valuable to me. I know I’ll replay them in my mind next time Mama and Papa try to undervalue what I’m doing. No, when they underestimate me.

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