Page 78 of Broken By the Bad Boy

Olivia’s face is spotless.No black eyes. No split lips.

I bring out a sandwich from my bag without breaking my gaze from her. She does her makeup well. Ben tries to follow my eyes, and I quickly look away. His lips brush the shell of my ear.

“Stop staring,” Ben says. He takes one of my sandwiches. “You’ll make her uncomfortable.”

“She looks so different,” I whisper. I dig into my sandwich after removing the crust.

The Olivia sitting at her corner of the cafeteria with Noah and her minion is different. There’s no trace of the girl from last night. Her face is fine. She can apply perfect makeup on a bruised face, and I can’t draw my brows without looking like a clown. It’s unfair how God distributed talents.

“Gracie, stop staring.”

It’s hard. But I try. My boyfriend goes on and on about the play while I give the occasional nods to show I am listening. He quickly realizes my stunt, and his infamous scowl appears on his lips.

His free arm slides down from my shoulder. “What was the last thing I said, Gracie?” he asks.

“What,” I reply.

Ben frowns, but a big smile fast replaces it when he catches onto my logic. He barks out a laugh, his arm looping around my waist as he draws me in for a kiss on my cheek. I try not to blush.

“Smartass,” he says. He pulls me up to his lap and grabs his phone. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But I’m correct.” He puckers his lips in that cute way only a Carter can pull off. I lock my arms around his neck and whisper, “Fine, I wasn’t listening. But babe, how is her makeup so perfect?”

“Practise? Practise makes better. I like you whichever way you are, my pretty Gracie.”

Heat creeps up my neck. I can’t do anything to hide the evidence because Ben sweeps my hair back.

“What were you saying?” I ask.

He unlocks his phone and shows me a post from Instagram. The post is from a Vogue account.

“I was thinking you could join the Vogue challenge,” he murmurs.

Ben frees his other hand on my waist to use both on his phone. Swiping through pictures, he explains the whole idea. All I have to do is take a picture, add it to the template provided by Vogue, and tag them when I post. The winner gets a free photoshoot with the picture on the front cover of their next issue. I collect his phone and browse through photos under that hashtag. I stand no chance.

“It will be fun,” he says, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts. I drop his phone on the table. He rolls up my shirt to reveal the white patches. “I think you should do one showing your belly.”

“My vitiligo, you mean.”

“Yes. Are you in? Say yes, and I’ll do the rest.” His excitement leaves me with a feeling of dread. It’s for fun, but it doesn’t mean a part of me doesn’t want to win. And if I don’t, I’ll be crushed. Ben palms my cheek. “Gracie… it’ll be fun. And you owe me one. Last year I wore a crop top.”

Laughter sputters out of my lips, and the memory of that day plants itself in my mind. I still have the evidence on my phone. “We should do a matching crop top day, then take the pictures after.”

“Okay,” he readily agrees. I’ve always known Ben loves me, but hearing his response makes my heart swell with love. He will always do whatever he can to make me happy. “I like that idea.”

“Me too,” I murmur against his lips before claiming them for a kiss.

The bell rings, and we groan. We won’t be seeing each other until the end of today. Ben helps me with my backpack as we file out of the cafeteria. We are halfway to my class when Olivia stops us in the hallway. I’m not sure what I thought, but I don’t expect to be totally ignored.

She pulls Ben away without an excuse from me, and my ‘loving’ boyfriend throws me a contrite look as he follows suit. I watch the back of her head bob as she whispers something into his ear.

Fuck both of them.

But I stay put with my hands gripping the straps of my backpack. On cue, they turn to me, smiling. I will never know what Ben told her, but she smiles at me and waves like a broken doll. As soon as I reciprocate the gesture, mainly for Ben’s sake, she rolls her eyes and walks away.

Ben sashays to me with a smug grin. His arm dangles from my shoulders as we continue to my class. “See, I told you she’s not so bad.” And I’ve told him she’s a brilliant actress. What the hell was that? He halts. “Anyway, she wanted to say she was feeling much better. And thank you.”

If she were so grateful, she would have thanked me herself. I drove the car, not Ben. I flip my messy hair over one shoulder. I can’t let her attitude and my boyfriend’s obliviousness get to me.

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