Page 3 of March’s Bad Boy: Ty

"You know, show her the ropes," Caitlin adds, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Teach her how to flirt, how to act on a date. You have plenty of experience with this kind of thing."

She is referring to my playboy days in high school that continued into my early twenties until just about a year ago, when I realized I wanted more from life. It was when I realized I'd rather be around Kara than any of those girls. Kara has been my biggest supporter of "finding myself," as she calls it.

Kara bites her lip, looking up at me hopefully. "Would you? I know it's a lot to ask, but it would really make me feel better."

This is a terrible idea. I know it. But looking at her wide green eyes, and nervous smile, I'm completely screwed. I'd do anything for this girl, and she knows it.

Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. "Yeah. Alright."

She beams, her face lighting up. Caitlin and Paisley exchange knowing glances, but I ignore them. I tell myself this is just a favor for a friend, nothing more.

But deep down, I already know the truth.

I'm in way over my head.

CHAPTER 2

KARA

I havemy pretend date with Ty tonight and I'm even more nervous about it than I thought I'd be. This is Ty. If I'm going to mess up in front of anyone, I'd want it to be him. He will be there to save me no matter what.

Ty said to dress casually and comfortably, but I still want to treat it like a date, so I have on my dark dressy jeans and dark red sweater with some black ankle boots. I curled my hair and put on a bit of makeup to take my mind off the upcoming date.

Just as I finish checking my reflection for the third time, a knock sounds at the door. I rush forward but pause, hearing Ty's voice from the other side.

"Bookworm, open up." His voice is soft and teasing.

I hesitate, then crack the door just enough to peek out. He stands there, looking unfairly good in his fitted henley, which still shows off peeks at some of his tattoos, and dark jeans. There’s a bouquet of blanket flowers in his hand. My breath catches as his eyes wander over me, making my skin prickle.

"You look..." he trails off and clears his throat. "You look stunning."

I can feel the blush creep up my face and try to focus on something else because I don't know why I'm having this reaction to my best friend.

"Flowers?" I blink up at him.

And not just any flowers. These are the ones I always pick in the summer. I started back in high school and he'd walk with me, helping me make up bouquets to put in my room. The bright red and yellow Montana wildflower is my favorite.

Ty grins, shoving them toward me. "A guy should always walk up to the door and bring flowers to spoil you on a first date."

My fingers brush his as I take them, and I swear I hear his breath hitches. It's probably my imagination.Maybe.

I step aside to let him in. "I'll put these in water."

He follows me inside and leans against the kitchen island like he has many times before, but this feels different. I can feel his eyes on me as I move to grab a vase and then trim the flowers and arrange them.

He doesn't complain as I take my time and finally set them in the middle of the kitchen island.

When I look up at him, he smiles. "You ready?"

I nod and walk toward the front door. As I reach for my jacket, Ty takes it from me, holding it open. His hands brush my shoulders as he helps me slide into it, lingering just a little too long. The air between us tightens, heavy with something I’m reluctant to name.

I clear my throat. "Let's go."

Outside, he opens the car door for me. "Always let the guy do this," he says with a smirk. "If he doesn't, he's not worth your time."

I roll my eyes but slide in, my heart making a stupid flutter at how natural this feels. Ty stands, watching as I buckle up andthen closes the door which gives me a few seconds to breathe while he walks around to his side.

I've been in his car many times. We hang out at least once a week if not more, so there is no reason I should be nervous this time. Only my heart isn’t listening because it's racing a million miles a minute.

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