Page 10 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

Chapter Five

Anger boils inside me as I watch Dylan ride away on his motorcycle. What a jerk. He barely spoke all day. He did exactly what I told him, and no more. He disappeared during lunch, though I invited him to sit with me in the breakroom. I realize I’m an absolute nothing person to him. I’m not a pierced, leather-wearing bad girl. I’m not popular or smoking hot. There’s no reason for him to make an effort to get to know me, but he could have at least tried to be pleasant instead of acting like a sexy grumpy troll.

Wait. Did I just describe him as sexy? Mistake. Good looking at best. Which he only is when he smiles at Popeye. My heart melts a little when I remember their reunion during the afternoon cleaning. Popeye plowed his oversized square head into Dylan, almost knocking him over, and then sat on his foot so that he couldn’t move. It was adorable!

I suppose it could be worse; Dylan could act resentful about being here.

Huh. Maybe that’s exactly what he’s doing. Maybe he’s not having little temper tantrums or huffing and puffing in frustration, but now that I look back on the day, he might have been just doing time. Hoping to get through it and out of here with the least amount of drama.

Tires crunch and I swing my attention to the entrance to find Sam’s sunny yellow VW Beetle pulling into the shelter parking lot. The windows are rolled down and music blares. Bek’s arm waves from the passenger side.

“Why did you look so dreamy when we pulled up?” Sam asks.

I crawl into the back seat. “I most definitely did not look dreamy.”

Sam points at Bek. “I know the expression well.”

Bek smiles benignly.

“I might have looked introspective, or contemplative, but not dreamy.”

“Okay, fine, Miss Thesaurus. You win. Why the contemplative look, already?” Sam asks as she pulls onto the street.

“Dylan Scott is volunteering at the shelter.” Why did my pulse surge when I said that? Does he really make me that mad?

“Bad boy Dylan? He totally must be doing community service, right?” Sam laughs.

“You know I can’t answer that.”

Bek turns away from the window. “I don’t think it’s fair to call him a bad boy. It’s a label. A harsh one at that.”

Sam pats her friend’s leg. “I think Dylan’s okay with it.”

Bek shakes her head and returns her attention to the window again. “What if he’s a bad boy because of his reputation of being a bad boy. What if he feels it’s the only way he can be?”

I scoff. “He’s so full of himself. If he wanted to be Joe Jock or Ned Nerd, he would just do it, and nobody would second guess it.”

“I’ve never dated a bad boy.” Sam smiles as if imagining what it might be like.

“That’s not true,” Bek corrects her. “You dated Spare Tire Guy, remember?”

“Oh, yeah!” Sam’s grin turns into a leer. “I forgot about Spare Tire Guy. He was so yummy. He was a bit old for me then, but now…” She waggles her eyebrows and meets my gaze in the rearview mirror.

I laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t suggest Dylan. He’s really full of himself. But the strangest thing happened.” I tell the girls about Popeye taking to Dylan from the moment they met. “As a matter of fact, every dog liked him.” If I’m honest with myself, I feel rather betrayed by the shelter animals I’ve cared for regularly.

“I told you not to judge him on his reputation,” Bek says. “Dogs instinctively know who is good and who isn’t.”

I bite my lip. I hate to agree with that statement—because, Dylan!—but I’ve been working at the shelter long enough to know Bek’s right. Dogs have an instinct about character. Regardless, I shake my head in denial. “Maybe all they know is that he’s an outcast like them. They feel sorry for him.”

I picture his cocky grin when he teased me over the word potty. How he didn’t even apologize for leaving the gate open. And how he’d only spared a simple wave as he left. No “thank you.” Not even a goodbye. Just a half-hearted wave. He’s way too self-involved for my taste.

Bek glances over her shoulder. “He’s not an outcast.”

I cross my arms and stare out my window. She’s right on that too. I don’t even know why I said it. I’m more of an outcast than he is. He’s always walking with someone in the halls or sitting with a group of people at lunch, whereas Sam and Bek are my only friends.

“Ladies, want to go to Philly’s for dinner?” Sam skillfully changes the subject when she sees me pouting in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, I don’t want to. It was a long day and I’m tired. Plus, Sam is always paying for our meals. It feels so gross. I’d rather go back to her house and scrounge something together to cook for the three of us and fool myself into thinking I’m actually earning the meal, but Sam always wants to be out somewhere. With people. There’s no talking her into staying home. One day, I plan on paying Sam back. Either by handing her a big fat check or by being the one to pay whenever we go out. Honestly, I can’t even wrap my head around how I’ll pay Sam back, but I will.

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