Page 67 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

Ben’s phone rings before he repeats his order. He holds up a finger and pulls out his phone from his pocket. My eyes stray a few times to his biceps, the toned muscles of his arms that flex when he presses the phone to his ear. He turns, and I look away, my cheeks flaming hot. I think I want to see him without a tank. I tug his shirt over my head, grinning from ear to ear as his cologne invades my nostrils. Holy fucking shit. I am wearing Benjamin Carter’s shirt. I pinch myself.

It’s just a shirt. But does it count as skin-to-skin contact? He wore it first, and now, I’m wearing it.

“Yeah,” he says to the caller and sighs. I wasn’t paying attention to the call, but the rigidity of his shoulders pique my curiosity. He cups one hand around his mouth, the other hand pinching his forehead. He’s annoyed. I move closer in case the phone slips from his shoulder, but he grabs it. I inch back to give him privacy. “Yes. Something came up. An emergency. No, I can’t make it.”

The call ends. Ben shoves his phone into his pocket and stares straight ahead at the empty road. I freeze when he cocks his head toward me. My hand moves before I can think, and I wave. “Hi.”

Ben laughs. “Hi.”

“You have an emergency?” I ask. His shirt is a huge relief from the cold. I can make do with it or give Mom a call from his phone. I point a finger behind me. “Thanks. I’ll find my way from here. Um, thank you for the shirt. You’ll have it back by Monday. Go attend to your emergency.”

“What? No, I just said that—” He stops himself and offers me another one of his rare, beautiful smiles. “In fact, Juliet, I have a big emergency. Now climb on board. It’s getting cold out here.”

My brain shuts down. I stare at his bike and back at his face. “I’ve never been on a bike before.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Come on, or we will freeze to death.” An odd feeling swells in my chest. Is that concern I hear in his voice? I refuse to think about it. This is probably one of his good moods. I can’t dwell on it. “Juliet? Is this how you choose to repay me? By gawking?”

I realize Ben is kidding when he smiles. I climb behind him, my arms tight around his waist. He spares me a glance. “Easy, Juliet. I can’t breathe.” His words elicit a smile from me, and I relax.

Our position is intimate. I can feel the imprint of Ben’s abs through his tank top, and my silly mind begs me to cop a feel. I ease my grip around his waist without fully letting go. We arrive at a duplex. There’s no time for questions as Ben ushers me into the house. I jump into the shower and scrub my body until I’m sore, standing there with water dripping down my body when I finish.

I really didn’t think this through because I need a towel. I need new clothes.

On cue, a knock sounds, and Ben’s head pokes inside. “I’m coming in. I got you something to wear.”

Words lump in my throat, and I simply nod. Steam from my bath heats the shower’s glass, giving me some decency, but I am still shy. I refuse to look his way. Ben’s head lowers as he drops a towel and some clothes on the toilet seat. As soon as the door clicks shut, I scramble to change.

A smile touches my lips at the scent that hits me. The sweatpants smell like Ben, even the shirt. I hum a familiar tune as I pull it over my head. Maria will shit her pants when I tell her this. Thinking of her sours my mood. She left me without a ride. What if Ben never showed up? I push thoughts of her out of my mind. I dump my costume in the trash can and fold the shirt he gave me earlier.

The house is silent as I wade through the darkness to get to the living room. A figure reclines on the couch in front of the TV showing the highlights of last week’s game. I blink, and he’s gone. My pulse quickens when the TV goes off. I backtrack in the direction I exited because tonight is not the night. I’ve had enough horror today. Someone taps me. I jump, and a scream tears out of my lips.

“Gotcha,” says a voice behind me. Light floods the room. Seeing the cute Asher by the switch, my anger evaporates. I stand taller, trying to calm my racing heart as he strolls toward me. “Did I scare you?” I shake my head. The little demon scared the shit out of me. “Liar. You screamed.”

We both laugh. Asher leads me to the couch, and my eyes wander to the stairs that disappear into a curve. I expect Ben to appear any moment now and pull us apart. Asher mutes the TV and folds his hands under his jaw. His eyes settle over me like a hawk. “How are you now, Tessa?”

“What?”

“Benny said you couldn’t come to my game because you were sick. What made you sick? Are you fine? I missed you. Will you come to my next game? It’s next week.” Guilt washes over me. I nod, and he flashes me a smile. He touches my outfit. “Why are you wearing Benny’s clothes?”

Okay, time to leave.I stand and drum my fingers on my thighs. “Where’s Benny?”

“Inside?” We fall into a comfortable silence. I remain standing and out of place while my eyes roam their living room. It is smaller than ours. The only pictures on display are that of Ben, his brother, and their awards. Nothing of his parents. No Mom or Dad. I back away from Asher with the hopes of slipping off quietly. Ben has helped enough today. “Tessa, are you leaving me?”

When he says it like that and pouts? Unfair. I steel my heart, prepared to turn down his requests.

“Don’t go yet.” Just like that, my resistance goes up in flames. I sit. “Benny liked his cake. He kept talking about it, and he brought some home for me. I like your cake. You are a good chef.”

With Asher rambling, there’s no chance to reply, but I manage to correct him. “Baker.”

His cute face scrunches, lines appear on his smooth forehead, and my heart flips.

“Huh?” Asher asks. “What’s a baker?”

“Someone who makes cake. A person who bakes,” I explain. “A chef is someone who cooks.”

“Can you cook?” Not so much, but I nod. With that intense look in his eyes, I dare not disappoint the poor boy. My reply pleases him. He tosses the pillow serving as a barrier between us, and his knees brush my legs. “Can I call you a baker chef?”

My chest vibrates with laughter. “You can call me whatever you want, Champ.”

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