Page 26 of Broken By the Bad Boy

Ben reaches for the remote to unmute the TV as the words leave my lips. None of us pay mind to the show. He props his legs on the arm of the couch, and I smile at how comfortable we both are. This isn’t such a bad arrangement. I kick the empty can at my feet, and his eyes flit to mine.

The living room is a mini mess from our movie marathon. We are on a break. I am tackling his overgrown brows and hopefully getting some information about Lett. Noah runs in Ben’s clique.

“Does Noah have a brother?” I try to keep my voice flat and uninterested, but Ben’s eyes dart to my face. When he doesn’t stop staring, I let out a forced laugh. “He’s such a jerk, that’s all, and I’m wondering what’s up with him at home. Psychology says we are a product of our homes.”

That’s a lie. I made it up. I know nothing about psychology.

“Did he say or do anything to you?” Ben asks. His crisp voice sends chills racing down my back.

My mind flashes back to the library, and I shake my head. Ben clicks his tongue. He has to stop looking at me like he caught me smashing his best friend. Wait, who’s his best friend? Ben tries to sit up, but my hands clamp down on his shoulders to keep his head positioned on my thighs.

Ben’s eyes close. I count five seconds until they open again. “Who’s your best friend?” I blurt out.

“I don’t have one,” Ben replies in a clipped tone. Having his head on my lap makes him appear less formidable. I attempt a smile, and he sighs. “Did he try anything? Was he harassing you?” His voice catches on the last question. I lower the tweezers to the stool and connect my lips to his forehead. His frown eases, and he rolls onto his stomach. “Yeah, Noah has a brother. Just one.”

“Younger or older?”

Ben answers without hesitation. “Younger. I think he also has a sister. Noah is cool.”

He’s the biggest asshole alive.

A minute later, Ben adds, “His family dynamic is weird.” Because his stepsister molested him, and his mother refused to believe her son. “Yes, two siblings. Elder sister and a younger brother. His mom remarried when we were in grade…” He throws his hands up. “I can’t remember now.”

Color drains from my face. I inhale sharply. Ben’s eyes are closed, so he doesn’t notice. My head throbs. Lett has a younger brother and an elder sister. Stepsister. His mom remarried, but I don’t remember what year. I resume my duty on Ben’s brows while thinking up more questions to ask.

“Um, do you know his sister’s name?” Ben pries an eye open. “Just curious, that’s all.”

This time, I’m unable to stop him from sitting up. He grabs the pillow and hugs it to his chest.

“Do you like him?”

“What? No.” A look of betrayal flashes across his face, and I bridge the gap. I tug the pillow from Ben’s grip, and he looks down at his hands splayed on his knees. “I like only you, Benny.”

He takes thirty seconds to meet my gaze, and my heart slows its rhythm. I don’t like it when he’s sad. I palm his face, watching him watch me until he pouts. His insecurity is cute. I am the one who should be worried about some other girls stealing my boyfriend, but he is more concerned.

“Noah has stuff going on at home, and it affects his behavior in school.” I understand because the letters mentioned it, but anger slowly builds in my stomach. He’s an ass. Ben finally smiles. “You don’t like him?” I shake my head. His hands sneak into my shorts, and I stifle a moan as his fingers crawl up my thighs. “Good. I don’t want you to like him. I want you to like only me.”

“I like only you. Promise,” I tell him, “I love you.”

He smiles, and everything is okay again.

We return to our former position, and I resume trimming his eyebrows. When I motion for him to sit, he takes a second longer to lift his head off my lap. I offer him the small hand mirror. He lifts a perfect brow, tapping a finger to his mouth while inspecting his face. I don’t understand why boys get fuller brows and thicker eyelashes. I’ll kill to have Ben’s. Not kill, but yeah, I would love to have those lashes.

“I like it,” he says, and I break into a smile.

Tossing the pillow between us, he pulls me to his lap, and his fingers thread into my hair. In the silence, our lips tango and form a unique rhythm. We kiss a lot. Way more than regular couples. But it’s better than trying to have sex. I don’t think I’m ready. That’s if I will ever be ready for it.

I hear the first time is so painful, and there’s blood.

“Homework, Ben,” I murmur against his lips. I can taste the soda, and I dive in for another brief kiss.

My head jerks to my bag under the coffee table. He pouts but doesn’t release me. I don’t want him to. I bite my lip, a moan escaping me as he cups my ass. “I don’t want to do homework.”

Heat from his body seeps into mine. I suck in a shaky breath and exhale. His impish smile is not helping. Anxiety knots my belly, and a foreign sensation caresses my skin. “What do you want to do?”

Ben grins sheepishly. “I want to do you.”

For strange reasons, we burst out laughing. The air thickens with tension as our laughter quiets down. The intensity in Ben’s eyes is foreign to me. We discussed sex once, and he agreed to wait.

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