Page 34 of Bad For A Weekend

“I’ll be sure to do that,” I mutter and wave her away.

The bathroom Baylor led me to isn’t the closest to the main hall, so considering the messenger girl was the only other person I’ve seen down here, I feel pretty confident I’m not walking into anything I shouldn’t when I enter the bathroom.

I find Baylor on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest, hunched over. She looks sad, which is worse than the pissed I imagined she was.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask.

“Why do you care?” She doesn’t even spare me a glance.

“Because you’re supposed to be out there, pop, lock, and dropping it or something.”

She laughs. “God, you’re old.”

“I know.” I hold out a hand and help her stand. Her cheeks are splotchy, and her eyes are red. Was she crying? Why? “You’re missing your prom.”

My goal right now is to get out of this confined space and get her back with her friends. Then we can pretend this never happened.

“I don’t care about prom. I don’t care about high school. I’m only doing this for my dad because he thinks these moments are his parental rewards.”

“Makes sense. But that’s even more reason to not be hiding in the bathroom because you’re pissed off at your bodyguard for some unknown reason.” I’m giving her an out that I hope she takes.

She shifts her weight back and forth. “I feel like I should explain myself.”

No. No. No.

“It’s okay. Really.” I take her arm and attempt to drag her out of the bathroom, but she isn’t budging.

“Owen, stop and listen to me.”

“You don’t want to do this, Baylor. Trust me. Nothing good can come of it.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.” She peers up at me with her dangerously sexy blue eyes.

“Whatever it is, we can talk about it la—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence before she throws her arms around my shoulders and pulls me down to her level. Then her lips are on mine. The responsible thing to do is push her away and leave. Or tell her what a big mistake this is and, again, leave.

But her lips are soft, and she tastes like strawberries, only sweeter. And fuck if this isn’t what I’ve wanted for weeks now. I lose myself and kiss her back, but instead of returning her tentative peck and stepping back, I devour her.

I weave a hand into her hair and fist it tight, tipping her head back while my other hand loops around her waist to pull her against me. Her tits feel amazing pressed into my chest, and my cock thickens painfully between us.

I moan when she parts her lips, giving me access to fully explore her. It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had, and I don’t want it to end, even though warning bells are going off in my head, telling me this is a mistake. Eventually those bells become so loud I can’t ignore them, and I pull away, releasing her gently.

“I... I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened,” I say, running a finger along my lower lip to wipe the sticky gloss off.

“That was amazing.” Her smile is blinding, and fuck if I don’t want to kiss her all over again.

Shit.

“Baylor, that can’t happen again,” I say carefully.

“You say that now but—”

“No. I mean it. You’re barely eighteen.”

“I’m almost nineteen.”

“It doesn’t matter. There are a million other reasons. One of them is that we’re at a prom because you’re in fucking high school.”

---