Page 18 of Broken By the Bad Boy

I keep repeating these phrases as the bike glides down the road, passing between cars.

My arms tighten around Ben in a choke hold. I should adjust, but this is the only comfortable position for me. The bike slows to a stop by the roadside, and I scowl as the cars we left behind zip past us. Ben pries my hands off his waist. I push my visor up without meeting his gaze.

What did I do?

With his help, I climb off the bike, and he takes my hands in his to warm them. I flush at the intensity of his gaze.

“Relax.” Easy for him to say since he’s the one in control. I huff, and he kisses me. “You have to relax to enjoy it. Life will pass you by if you don’t relax enough to enjoy the moments, Gracie.”

When my boyfriend calls my name like that, there’s no way I can turn him down. Top it up with his sexy road hair and philosophical jargon, and I am a goner. My fingers weave through his hair. We didn’t talk about last night’s interrupted dinner. We don’t talk about many things, and I hate it.

“Fine,” I say with a pout, careful not to trip. Cars whoosh past us in a hurried frenzy. I turn my back to them, shivering a little as I rub my palms up and down my arms. Ben shrugs off his jacket and helps me into it. His scent overpowers me. I lean on the railing for support, and he eyes me with worry. My head bobs. I will enjoy the moments. “I’m ready.”

We resume our ride. Ben says something I don’t hear. He spreads out his hands, and my arms clench tight around his torso. His body vibrates with laughter, but I don’t find his actions funny.

“Put your hands down,” I scream against his neck.

“Gracie, relax.”

No fucking way I can relax when he doesn’t have his hands on the bike. What if he loses control and we fall? Our skulls will split open, and our brains will splatter everywhere. Bile jumps to my throat at the thought, and I heave a shaky breath. Ben must have smelled my fear because his hands lower to the clutch, and my breathing returns to normal. We can’t die on Thanksgiving.

The sound of the engine blasts through the night. He hits the brake. Soon we are dashing past cars again.

Streetlights and tall buildings blend into one, and the chilly air stings my skin. A few minutes into the ride, I push out one arm. The wind rustles my hair peeking out from the helmet. On Ben’s instructions, I ease my grip on his waist and push out my other arm. The weight I never realized was smothering my chest melts. I curve my hands around my mouth and let out a small scream.

Ben chuckles. I giggle. This is not so bad.

We complete our journey with me overcoming my fear of bikes. I straighten up when we swerve into a residential street. In the silence, the bike is so loud. I expel a breath of relief once we stop. Ben doesn’t notice my stiffness as he parks in front of the only dark, single-story building. I push my hands into the pockets of his jacket and spin in a slow circle to take in everything around me.

Houses line each side of the street in the same pattern as mine. Ben offers me a hand, but I don’t accept it. I purse my lips when he hops to the rusted mailbox in front of the house. If this is his surprise, I’m not sure I like it. I look to him for an explanation, but his gaze is on the mailbox. Ben smiles at it. I smile too.

I clear my throat to call his attention to me. He cups my face to devour my lips in a rough kiss, and my questions die in my throat. We separate to catch our breath. He laces our hands and kisses my knuckles. My heart flutters. I don’t know how I survived all these years without a boyfriend.

“Have you ever broken into a house before?” Ben whispers. His words don’t register at first. He grins harder, and my eyes round to saucers when I process his statement. His head jerks in the direction of the house, and I take an instinctive step back. That cancer stick was my limit. His grip tightens on my hand. “Have you ever picked a lock? Come on, Gracie. Don’t be a chicken.”

A chicken? I like being a chicken if it means we won’t have to do this. What if the cops find us?

“Ben…” He silences me with a quick kiss, tugging me towards the dark house. What if there are people in there? People who picked the locks. “I don’t like this,” I whisper as we wade through the darkness to find the backdoor. Ben doesn’t bring out his phone. His movements are swift and determined. Chills run down my spine at the realization he has done this before. “Ben. Benny.”

He stops, and I almost run into him. His breath warms my face as he pecks the tip of my nose.

“Trust me, okay? I promise it’s safe.” My head bobs in agreement until he adds, “If it’s not, get ready to run like your life depends on it.” I slap his chest, and he claps a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Maybe I can addB and Eto my bucket list. “Just kidding. It’s pretty safe.”

But it doesn’t stop me from stealing another look at the neighboring house. We climb up the short stairs, and he brings out his phone to light our path. My hand goes over my mouth as Ben crouches to pick the lock. What the hell? He blows me a kiss when the door opens. I hesitate to enter, but he drags me along, and my resolve weakens as quickly as his smile appears on his lips.

A step away from the door, I whisper, “I don’t like this, Benny.” My voice echoes through the empty apartment. I flash my phone’s light in Ben’s face. “Babe, are you even listening to me?”

“Nope.”

My eyes narrow, and he shrugs. Okay, I am done here.

One hand locks around my wrist to keep me from escaping, and his eyes plead with me to stay. I stick close to him while we tiptoe down the long hallway. I don’t know so much about houses, but the whole place looks like it has been cleaned up for a big sale. Did I miss the sign outside?

My temperature rises. I am too young for jail. I don’t want any trouble with the law.

We head up, with the stairs creaking under our weight. The light filtering in from the window at the end of the corridor acts as our only source of light. Ben holds a finger to his mouth when we pause at the front of a room. I roll my eyes. He’s lucky I like him. With admirable dexterity, he pushes the door open and flips a switch. I take a step inside and stop. The bed has been slept on.

For the one-millionth time, I don’t like this.

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