Page 71 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

“No biggie, Miss.” No, I need him to call me Juliet. His flat tone confirms my fear. I throw him a sad look, and his face hardens. No, I want his smirks and arrogance. “Now, we are even. All good.”

My confusion must have been evident. “Even?” I ask.

“You gave me a ride last time. I gave you one today. Even. I don’t owe you a favor anymore.”

That stings. I hug myself. Ben’s sweatshirt doesn’t seem to protect me from the cold or his words. I playback my reply a few times to be sure it makes sense before I tell him, “Benny, you never owed me anything. I didn’t do it so you could repay me. I wasn’t thinking about that.”

Conflicting emotions flash across his face, but surprise stands out the most. He’s such an irony.

“What were you thinking? Why did you do it?” I shrug, and he snorts in disbelief. He makes my overthinking feel like a joke. How else did he arrive at his conclusion? He needed a ride, and luckily for him, I was there. Plus, I got to see Asher. “You pick up random boys from school?”

I let out a tired sigh. When my eyes open, I am calmer. “You are not a random boy.” His lips lift in a smirk. Pompous cutie. No, he’s not cute. He’s hot. “I did it because you needed help. I would have done it for anyone else.” Ben wiggles his brows, and a peal of laughter escapes me. I smack his shoulder. I might have a big, fat crush on him, but he needs to get over himself and maybe kiss me again. “I mean someone from school, Benny, not a random dude. It’s just a ride, got it?”

“If you say so.” I do. Some of us know how to be kind. It is what it is. “Thanks for the ride.”

Weirdo.

Another second passes, my thought drifts to our kiss, and I scratch the back of my neck. Are we going to talk about it, or was it just a little experiment to him? It was more than that to me. It was my first kiss, another item off my bucket list. I catch Ben staring at my lips. Our eyes meet, and he averts his gaze. At least I am not the only one affected by the kiss. God. His lips are so soft.

I will gladly kiss him every single fucking day. “Thanks for the ride. Thanks for helping me out today.” I motion to my outfit, glad to have something else to distract me. “I’ll return this later.”

“Nope. Keep it,” he says, waving off my request. “I do…”

I follow his gaze to see what snagged his interest, and the light in my parent’s room trip off. Mom. It has to be her. Great. Now, I have to explain what a boy was doing in front of our house.

“I think you need to go inside, Juliet.” As much as I don’t want to, I have to. Ben must have sensed my hesitation. He pulls me in for a hug and offers me a genuine smile. “Go. Night, Juliet.”

“Night, Romeo.”

But I don’t move, and he doesn’t try to force me. He chuckles. I grin, comforted by the fact he also wants to be here with me. He points to the house. “Who was that anyway? Dad or Mom? Oh, your mom?” I nod. My nosy mother. He pouts. I look away to stop myself from pressing my lips to his. Why does everything about him have to be so sexy? I bet I look like plain Jane when pouting. It’s unfair how God spent so much time on one person’s beauty. “I have to go, don’t I?”

A shy smile springs to my lips, and my head jerks in a nod. Ben starts his bike. “Night, Romeo,” I scream at his retreating figure, and he horns twice. My heart flutters, and butterflies dance in the pit of my belly.

I like Ben.

Forty-One

Mom must be waitingfor me, but that fact doesn’t stop me from shutting the front door quietly. The living room is dark, except for the lights on my bedroom floor illuminating the staircase. I tiptoe to the stairs. If I can get into my room, I’ll be safe from her questions tonight. She does not quit, and if I prove too stubborn, she will recruit Dad’s help. As a team, they are harder to resist.

“Where do you think you are going, young lady?”

My boots drop to the floor, and I scream until the familiar voice penetrates my brain. It’s Mom. Laughter echoes behind me as I let out a soft breath. The light comes on, and I frown at my mom doubled over in laughter beside the switch. It feels like déjà vu, but there’s no Asher this time.

Mom strolls toward me to wrap me in a hug, and my anger disappears as fast as it comes. “You should have seen your face,” she says. I huff, and she responds with a bigger smile. “How was the party? You are early. Maria called earlier. I tried to call her back, but she wasn’t picking up.”

Yeah. She is still upset with me. Mom ushers me to the couch. I offer her a tight smile. “Maria didn’t bring you home. Why not?” Shrugging, I press a hand over my mouth to stifle my giggles. I know her like the back of my hand. She is trying to ease me into the main questions. “Theresa.”

Her manicured fingers poke my sides, and the giggles I held in break out. I wheeze with laughter, struggling to catch my breath. I am ticklish. “Okay, Mom. Fine. I will talk.” She stops but raises her hands, poised for a repeat should I go against my words. A nudge on my side earns her a frown and the events of the evening crash down on me. I hide my face in my palms. “We fought.”

Surprise washes over her, and her arm slips behind my waist to draw me close. “What happened?” My eyes lower to my hands tangled in Ben’s sweatpants, or should I call it mine? I fight back a smile and roll my Ben-kissed lip between my teeth. “What are you wearing? What happened to your costume? Where’s Maria?” Her voice is an octave higher, she taps me, but I refuse to look up. I wipe the invisible dust on my knee. “Theresa Grace Mower, start talking, or I’ll have to call Mrs. Vega.”

My mouth snaps open, and I tell Mom everything.

From the video to the assault to the kiss, everything I would have told Maria. The living room falls quiet once I’m done. I tug on the sweatshirt, counting the seconds until she blows up in anger. She’s too quiet. Mom is never quiet for this long. She hates silence, and I hate her silence.

“I’ll speak to Mrs. Beckham tomorrow.” Pranks and bullies are normal. Most people never get their parents or teachers involved, I wouldn’t have, but I am tired of having to endure it, so I nod, and she squeezes me in a hug. “You should give Maria space. She has every right to be angry.”

Maybe she does, but it’s not my fault. She shouldn’t have left me. I went to the party for her. I didn’t have a ride or my phone.

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