Page 90 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

“No.” Ben mimics my position, leaning his back on the door as his eyes sweep over me. Before he asks, I proffer an answer. “I don’t think it’s something worth sharing. Fighting is temporary.”

“Do you also have a bucket list?”

I crack my knuckles with my thumb. My head bobs. “Kinda.”

“What’s on it?”

Silence so thick I can wrap my arm around it settles over us. I clear my throat, but the lump in my chest only doubles in size. The only item of any real value is joining the drama club and getting into my dream school, NYU. I’ve tackled drama club, but the other is near impossible.

“Getting a boyfriend.”

His brows draw together. I gulp. Hard. “What else?”

“You don’t think that one is important?”

Ben pushes away from the door to place his hand on my knee. “I didn’t say that, Gracie.”

But he didn’t say it was, either. With him, there are no definites, only assumptions and what-ifs. It’s frustrating, but what’s the right way to let him know how I feel without coming off too strong or needy? I train my face into a cool mask. We’ll take it at his pace, that is if this counts as a pace.

“Do you have a bucket list?” I ask.

“No. Can you sing?”

“Not to save my life,” I answer with a laugh.

Some of the tension flies out of the window. I fold my legs under me, and Ben pokes the car seat.

“That makes two of us. I can’t sing.” He draws a circle on my knee, sitting up when the door to his neighbor’s house bursts open. A child runs out, and a couple dashes out behind him. “Mikael.”

Ben’s eyes linger on the boy whose head is cast down as his parent’s lips move rapidly. They must be scolding him. “He’s always trying to run away from home.” He redirects his attention to me, and I finger-comb my hair to appear busy. “Have you ever tried to run away from home?”

Did the thought ever cross my mind? Never. As busy as they are, I love my parents and brother, and I can’t imagine a life without them. “Nope. Never. I’m the poster child for good behavior.”

“I tried to run away once,” he whispers. I tilt forward and take his hands to offer silent comfort. Ben smiles with a lost look that shows he’s in his head, not with me. “Came back the same day.” He laughs, but his laugh is so sad and empty, and my heart bleeds for him. There is more to his story. I scoot over to his seat, and my legs drop to each side of his hips. “Couldn’t do it, Gracie.”

“Why not?”

Ben’s gaze meets mine. “Asher. Couldn’t leave him.” He smiles, replacing the sadness with a glint of playfulness. “What’s the most juvenile thing you’ve done?” I start shaking my head, but he stops me. He draws my hands up, curling them around his neck. “Come on, babe. Don’t tell me you are perfect. Just one bad thing that can get you in trouble. It could be anything. Silly. Foolish.”

“Fighting,” I reply. If Mom finds out, she might faint. When she wakes, she will call Dad immediately. Later, they will find a reason to blame themselves or beg me to know where they went wrong. Good thing they won’t find out. I am quitting after the All-Rounder. Ben’s disappointment is evident. I try to compensate for my lack of bad behavior by saying, “It’s illegal, so it counts.”

“Yeah.” But his tone has lost some of its excitement. I pinch him. He tries to grab my hand, but I duck. We go at it until I give up. “We need to start practicing, babe. The first round is in January.”

And we are in November. We will make great partners in the ring, but the thought doesn’t excite me as much. I open my palms, he traces the lines, and a shiver shoots up my back.

“Yeah. We need to,” I murmur.

Ben pulls his lower lip between his teeth, and his eyes clamp shut. He looks more at home in this car than I, the actual owner. His eyelids flutter open when I least expect them. “Can you dance?”

“Not really,” I reply, “I don’t have any talents.” Ben stares at me like he’s about to dispute my statement, but in the end, he says nothing, and we engage in another staring bout. It’s so crazy how speechless one becomes in the presence of their crush. “Can you? I mean, can you dance?”

He nods. “Yep. Very much.”

Ben stares at his front door. I don’t want him to leave. I guess he feels the same way. That’s why we are going back and forth with the questions. Warm air fans my cheeks. Ben grins when I stare down at him, and my breath hitches in my throat. I cup his face, feeling the softness of his skin.

His nose brushes mine. We are breathing the same air, and the proximity muddles my brain.

“Where’s Asher?”

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