Page 7 of Broken By the Bad Boy

My boyfriend has already made himself comfortable on the bed by the time I return. I lean on the door, trying to view the room through his eyes. It’s not too girly, but it’s feminine, except for the boxer’s poster hanging on my door. Ben lies on his stomach, flipping through the pages of the novel I left on the table. I take a step inside, and my heart skips. The Sony Ericsson is on the bed.

“This phone is ancient. How do you still have this?” Ben asks. I fake a smile. He holds it up to inspect it, and my heart hammers in my ribcage. It’s not like I don’t want him to know about my pen pal, but once he does, I have to tell him everything because I’m not sure I can keep a secret from him. Lett’s story isn’t mine to tell. Ben hits the power button twice. “Does it even work?”

I release my breath. The phone is off. “Sometimes. It’s my brother’s.”

“The one who gave you the necklace?” I nod. “Sorry.” I’m not sure I understand the reason for this apology. I join Ben on the bed and set the tray of cookies between us. Breaking a piece into two, I offer him a piece. He doesn’t eat it. “Sorry about the necklace. I was a bit of an asshole with it.”

“A bit?” I say.

“A whole lot,” he offers.

I unveil the pendant of the necklace hidden inside my tank top. “It’s cool. I have it now.”

We get down to work on the novella. By the time Ben makes his one-hundredth complaint about Ernest Hemingway and the bland main character, I’m ready to be done. I slap his head with the book when he mutters something about the lack of symbolism in the torture called the novella.

“Enough, Benny. I get it. I really do.”

“But it’s boring. This is the worst book ever. Just throw the fish back into the sea,” he says. He pushes my copy of The Old Man and the Sea closer to me so I can type out the quotes he circled with my pencil. He’s doing great at the assignment for someone who hates the book. “All done?”

I hesitate to answer, and he hides his face behind his palms. “Please tell me the horror is over.”

“It is.”

His hand lowers by a few inches. I nod and tilt the screen of my laptop to show him. I’ll have to print and make a few copies after the final corrections, but the bigger part of the assignment is done. Once the laptop is out of the way, Ben rolls me under him, and his nose grazes my neck.

“Your room is pretty,” he comments. “You are pretty.”

With him so close, my thoughts muddle. I can only whisper, “Thanks.”

Ben nudges my legs apart and pins my wrists above my head. “You never got to tell me about the remaining items on your bucket list.” Because some of them are laughable. I try to push him off me, but he straddles my stomach. His eyes flash with trouble as his hand sneaks into my top. Heat pools between my legs, and I shut them tight. His fingers caress my skin, moving in circles under my boobs. I’m not wearing a bra. He must know that already. “What’s on the list, babe?”

“Benny,” I growl in warning.

But his hands inch higher to my side boobs. He will tickle the answer out of me. “I’m waiting.”

“Babe,” I whisper. I bat my lashes, a lame attempt at pulling off the seductive look, so he can do my bidding. Emotions shadow his face, and I roll my lips between my teeth. “I can’t remember.”

“Maybe this will help.”

The words are hardly out of my boyfriend’s lips when his fingers lower to my sides. He tickles me to the point of delirium. I wheeze, struggling to catch my breath as my chest constricts.

I raise a tired finger to stop a repeat. “Wait.”

“I’m waiting,” he replies. But he poises his hands for a repeat.

Getting away from him is easy because he lets me. I slide a pillow under my head, and he copies my position. We watch each other, and a smile springs to his lips. “You don’t want to tell me?”

“I don’t want you to laugh at me,” I reply.

“Try me.”

I lie flat on my back, eyes on the ceiling. Ben moves closer and takes my hand. His lips meet my forehead, and my heart beats so fast I’m afraid it will burst out of my chest. My nerves are almost extinct as his thumb runs up and down my knuckles. I list out the items echoing in my head.

“Kiss. Join drama club. Get a boyfriend.” I skip losing my virginity and applying to NYU acting school. What if he doesn’t want to leave San Francisco? I force that thought out of my head. We won’t be like those couples who break up in high school. Besides, almost everyone in senior year is applying outside the state. “Go on a date. Post a full picture on my Instagram. Wear a crop top.”

“You don’t post pictures on your Instagram?”

My eyes open. Ben is about to speak, but his gaze strays to the skin peeking out of my top. My hand reaches down to yank my shirt over the spot, but he stops me. He brings my hands to his shoulders, and I have no other option but to look into his pretty eyes. They hold too many emotions. I suck in my breath when he traces a white spot. His eyes smile along with his lips.

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