Page 45 of Broken By the Bad Boy

Olivia swats her hair out of her face. The black highlights are a different color from that at the dinner. I think dyeing her hair is another coping mechanism since it’s one of the few things she has control over right now.

“I didn’t say anything to her, and it’s not my fault you are dating someone as insecure as her.”

The subtle jab flies over my head. That’s if I can consider it that. Olivia’s smile has me shaking my head. We are all insecure. I am. She is. Gracie too. I doubt there’s anyone who isn’t insecure about a physical feature or an attribute or talent. Some of us are better at hiding it than others.

“Yeah. It’s not your fault. It’s also none of your business who I date.”

“True, but it doesn’t mean you have to isolate your friends.”

“I’m not isolating anyone. I’m here with you, aren’t I?” Olivia loses her smile, and I almost feel bad. Sometimes, she can be selfish, talking only about herself and her issues. I get it, but I want to be selfish, too, if only for a few seconds. I want Gracie. “I love Gracie. I love her with all her insecurities.”

“Good for you,” she snaps. Her brush touches the canvas, but she doesn’t resume painting.

She is pissed. I am annoyed.

I pick up my bag at my feet. “Good for me,” I mutter.

The bell for break rings before I decide my next move. Olivia screws the caps of the paints on and arranges them into the rectangular box. Instead of assisting her, my hands curl at my sides. It’s best to keep my distance after a spat. She shrugs out of the stained apron and leaves the painting by the window to dry.

When we are outside the classroom, Olivia taps me on the back. She stops in front of me, hands clutching the straps of her backpack so tight her knuckles turn white. Her eyes brim with tears, and she looks away when I try to talk. Olivia doesn’t cry in front of anyone. She thinks it’s weak and will ruin her makeup.

A heaviness settles in my chest. I frown, a bit annoyed at Olivia and myself for upsetting her. Life hasn’t been fair to her in a while. And it won’t be until her parents get their shit together.

“I don’t want you to leave me behind,” she whispers. Her head lowers, but I hear the misery in her voice, loud and clear. It was probably how I sounded when Dad had to move out of the house for peace to reign. Only that I didn’t have anyone to listen to my frustrations. My heart couldn’t take it. I cried so hard that night. In the morning, he was gone, and the screaming bouts ceased.

We stand in awkward silence for a long minute. Olivia’s head remains bowed, and my heart sinks. I draw her in for a hug. “I won’t.” I know how it feels. I won’t do the same to her. “I promise. Just be good to her.”

Olivia pulls back with a nod, and a faint smile touches my lips. “I didn’t say anything to her.”

“It’s okay.” I take out my phone. There are no missed calls or texts from Gracie. “I have to go.”

Without waiting for her response, I leave. A few girls ogle me as I step into the cafeteria. I don’t spare them a second glance. Their desperation annoys me, and the fact that I’m taken makes no difference. Even if I plaster the words:I belong to Gracie,on my forehead, it won’t stop them.

The cafeteria is loud. Everyone is in pairs, talking and playing catch up. The fun parts of the holiday were the moments with Asher and our first proper date. Gracie smiled so much that day.

I pretend not to see the cheerleaders waving at me. I only sit with them because of Olivia. They are not bad people, but sometimes, you want a team that can look beyond the surface and see the hurt beneath your fake smile. The squad waves me over to their—our table, but I shake my head. I came here for one person. We need to talk about us and this emotional distance. Where is she?

A while later, I spot Gracie at a table by the far end of the cafeteria. Alone and staring at her tray. She tries so hard to be invincible, and I don’t get it. She is cute. Smart. Kind. An awesome baker with a smart mouth and witty replies, and the only person I know who thinks up weird insults. Wet socks? Really? With Maria gone, it’s easier for her to hide away from everyone.

If only she could see herself through my eyes.

My feet move in her direction, but Noah is faster. He slides his tray on the table and plops down beside her. They exchange words. Noah laughs, but Gracie doesn’t. I continue staring. Her head raises at the right moment, and our eyes meet. I wink. Her cheeks color, and she averts her gaze.

She is shy until it’s time to demand a kiss from me. Walking over to them, I dump my bag on the table and drape my arm over her shoulders. My lips press to her cheek, and she stiffens. So cute. I pinch her cheek and chuckle. Noah gives me a curt nod. A look passes between both of us, and he leaves the table. With us guys, it’s so easy to communicate silently, something girls can learn.

My hands weave into her hair. I plant a kiss on her neck, then a corner of her lips. Her resolve melts. She leans into me and moans softly. She ducks the incoming kiss when she figures out what I’m doing. We both know she can’t stay mad at me for long when kisses are involved, and I need to know what I did wrong and why she has been acting so weird since the beginning of the year. I steal a fry from her plate, and she scowls. But it doesn’t stop me from dipping it into the white plastic bowl of ketchup. All it does is make me hungrier, so I take another from her plate.

We feign ignorance when she shifts the tray within my reach. “What did you say to Noah?”

“Nothing.” She glares at me. I devour half the fries and push it back to her. It’s her meal, not mine. “Bro code, babe. He can’t be here when I’m trying to have a moment with my girl.”

Gracie pries my hand hanging loosely from her shoulder and inches to the wall. “I’m not your girl.”

“But you are Noah’s girl, right?” I tease. My voice comes out flat, making it awkward. Gracie shoves a fry into her mouth. All thoughts about them having a platonic relationship evaporate, and the fears take over. I nudge her with my knee. She’s scaring me. “I’m talking to you, babe.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say to that.”

Annoyance fleets through me. Her response irritates me more than her silence. I drop a foot on the bench. She glares, and I sit properly. I hate that we are fighting over something I can’t place my hand on. It’s fucked up. Yesterday’s lie and her lack of remorse earlier today ring in my head.

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