Page 27 of Broken By the Bad Boy

Did he change his mind?

I move, and Ben groans when my ass brushes the bulge under me. I don’t meet his eyes, and my arms slide down his shoulders. He doesn’t speak as I untangle myself from him to take the spot beside him. We sit still for a moment, then he jumps to his feet and snatches my bag on the floor.

In a few seconds, Ben has my books spread out on the table. He races up the stairs and returns with his note. I drop to the floor, and our eyes meet. We don’t speak. The awkwardness grows heavier when I notice his shorts. He changed them. I bite my lips, and he grunts in disapproval.

“Where do we start?” he asks.

I flip to the page on my textbook marked for homework and tap a section. The truth is, I can do this without his help, but it’s an excuse for us to spend time together. I think it’s the same for him.

We sit side by side with a hair’s breadth between us. My hands are clammy as I pick up my pencil. Ben’s leg brushes mine, and he leans closer to me until his head rests on my shoulder.

“Sorry for making it awkward,” he whispers.

The load in my chest melts. I release the pencil in my vice-like grip and kiss his temple.

We begin and finish the homework in silence. I catch Ben staring at me a few times, but I don’t comment. Once we are done, Ben lies down, and I mimic him. Surrounded by our thoughts, we stare at the ceiling.

“Soo…” he drawls out.

My eyes focus on the ceiling. The awkwardness isn’t as heavy, but it lingers in the air, making it difficult for my words to form. If Asher were here, he would have said something to diffuse it.

“Soo,” I finish for him. Ben chuckles. Our legs touch. He stretches his hand to me, and I take it. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. “Maria thinks we should go next week. What do you think?”

Ben rolls onto his side to face me, but I maintain my position. I raise our entwined hands to my mouth, and my lips brush his knuckles. He opens his palm. I trace the lines on it, and his eyes flash with mirth.

“I have a fight next week,” he says. My eyes narrow, and he shrugs. He won yesterday’s match and the one before that. I love his determination, but it’s hard to be unworried about him. I cease the movements on his palm, and he shakes his head. “No, don’t stop. What about the week after that?”

School will be over, and he’ll be home with his mother. We haven’t had our date. I’m trying so hard not to sound desperate by reminding him. I sigh, and his shoulders droop. Pushing myself on an elbow, my hand moves to his face to touch the cut below his brow. He got it from the fight.

“You fight too much,” I whisper.

His body tenses. I expect him to launch into a speech defending himself, but he doesn’t. “I guess so.”

The sad note in his voice breaks my heart. He brings my hand up to cup his cheek. I push closer to him, and our legs tangle. There are so many things left unsaid, but I shove those thoughts and worries to the back of my mind. The feather-like touches on my cheeks draw me out of my reverie.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

His fingers halt, then lower to a corner of my lips. “Pink.” My head jerks up, and his lips widen in a smile. “Just kidding. I dunno if I have a favorite.” When I squint, he licks my lips. Ew. But I lean over and lick his as well. “I love all colors, I guess. They are good for different reasons.”

Ben, the philosopher. I shudder as the floor grows colder. He carries me to the couch and reclines on the armrest, hand slipping under my shirt. Goosebumps erupt on my back, and another shiver wracks my body. The cold evaporates. Heat builds in my stomach and spreads to all parts of me.

It becomes harder to breathe as his fingers move under my boobs and back down to my stomach. The TV is on, but my brain is too muddled to process anything else. He lets go of my lower lip with a pop.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t know if I have a favorite,” I reply in a squeaky voice that gets Ben’s attention. He stares at me with worry, so I fake a smile. “But I like black. It never disappoints.” His chest rumbles with laughter. I lift my eyes to his face, and he grins. My Benny. “What’s the plan for Christmas?”

Twelve

The question is hardlyout of my lips when Ben groans. He does that a lot when I ask about his family. My fingers run over his jaw. He nibbles on my fingertips, and a shudder skitters down my spine. A moment or two later, he sighs again.

Rolling his eyes, he says, “I need to be home with them. I don’t want to, but I have to.” Ben is eighteen and old enough to decide for himself, but I guess his age doesn’t matter in their deal. His head falls back on the couch, and I trail a slant line on his chest. “Christmas is compulsory.”

My hands slide under his shirt. I trace the space between his abs. “At least you get to see Asher.”

“Yeah.” He looks down at me with a half-smile. “I guess so.”

Ben’s voice lacks excitement. He tightens his hold on me, and my cheek presses to his chest. I look out the window opposite us and pry his hands from my waist. The sky is fast turning gray. A gentle breeze rustles the curtain, and he sits up. The wall clock shows it’s time for me to leave.

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