Page 43 of The Bad Boy Rule

I’ll figure it out. Just like I always have.

“You know if you need something, all you have to do is ask. No questions,” he finally says, words a quiet murmur.

“Yeah, Tommy, I know. I just need a bit of extra cash. Everything’s good.” I swallow down the wedge at the base of mythroat, pushing the words out. I hate lying to him, more than anything. But my father and our fucked-up mess is just that—mine to handle. “C’mon, let’s get to work, old man.”

One day, I’ll be able to repay him, somehow, someway, but until then, I’ll give him everything I have to give.

TWENTY-ONE

LENNON

I have a tendency to push myself to whatever limit there is… mental, physical, emotional… whenever I feel like I’m failing.

Which is the result of spending your entire life thinking that failure isn’t ever an option.

I hate the thought of falling short in, well…anything.

My brain just isn’t wired that way. Especially when it comes to academics and figure skating.

“Damnit,” I groan painfully, my hands splayed on the ice beside me, my ass already feeling the brunt of my failed attempts at the double toe that I’ve been attempting for the last thirty minutes.

How is it possible that I’ve spent almost my entire life skating, but a single year off has completely derailed all the years of work and progress?

Or at least that’s the way it feels right now, seeing as I’m spending more time flat on the ice instead of skating on it.

I can’t even land a simple jump, one I’ve been doing for years.

I’m frustrated to the point of tears, hot and stinging behind my eyes, a bitter reminder of what the last year has been like.

I’m angry at my father for being the one to take it all away from me and at myself forallowinghim to. For putting my parents’ wants and needs, their dreams, over my own.

Exhaling, I slowly push myself up off the ice and stand, ignoring the slight tremor in my legs as I straighten my spine and prepare to do it all over again.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to beuprightwhen figure skating?” The unfortunately familiar, deep voice that haunts my dreams, I mean nightmares, comes from behind me.

Of course he would make his grand appearancenow.

When I’m on the verge of tears, and my ass and legs are black and blue from all the times I’ve eaten shit today.

I slowly turn, finding him leaning casually against the boards, arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing a faded Hellcats Hoodie and gray sweatpants that I do not allow myself to stare at for more than a single second. His dark hair is pushed into the backward hat he’s wearing, the first time I’ve ever seen him wear one, and I loathe how stupidly hot he looks in it.

Instead of choosing violence, I choose to ignore him. I’m already in a bad enough mood, and his presence is going to undoubtedly make it worse.

Especially with how good he looks in those stupid sweatpants and that stupid hat.

I lift my hand, giving him the middle finger with the most saccharine, smart-ass smile that I can manage, which only makes him chuckle.

That stupid, gravelly sound that I feel directly between my legs. It only makes me dislike him more.

I hate that my body reacts to him and that I feel so… out of control when he’s around.

“Mmmm. She’s feisty today,” he chides. “Careful, Golden Girl. You know how much I love when you get an attitude.”

Still ignoring him.

Turning, giving him my back, I exhale, trying to focus on the jump that I’m going to land, even if I have Satan as an audience.

I skate in the opposite direction, use a three-turn to get into position, and glide into my jump, punching my toe pick into the ice and twisting into another single loop. A single is easy; it’s the double that I can’t seem to stick to save my life.

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