Page 28 of Loved By The Bad Boy

Curving my hand around Calum’s ear, I ask, “Are you drunk?” He reeks of alcohol. We are not supposed to be drinking. Mom was clear about that. When he staggers, I nudge him. “Calum?”

“Only a little, girlfriend.” My gaze hardens, and he seems to sober up. “Be my girlfriend.” Is he for real? He leans toward me to whisper into my ear, “Only for tonight. Say yes to me, Tessa.”

That his infamous pout makes an appearance. “Fine.” Only for tonight. “Okay,boyfriend.”

Besides, I need a break from Ben. How do I know I can move on from him if I don’t give anyone a chance? Calum is a good guy when sober. He pecks me on the cheek, and his friends groan. Imani and Mira are back. Imani sees our connected hands and winks. Ben is the only one glaring.

I glance at my wristwatch, and panic sets in. Mom will be coming to get me soon. “Guys, I—”

“We’re gonna bounce. Thanks for tonight,” Mira finishes before I can complete my statement.

Mira drags Imani the opposite way without waiting for our response, and her girlfriend’s giggles ring out even after she’s gone. She stops before they turn a corner and wave at us. Mira turns too.

“Love you guys. Bye,” Imani says. For someone who didn’t drink, she’s giddy.

“I think we will bounce, too,” Calum tells the guys.

Lucas groans. Sam laughs. Both boys are hot and totally datable. Well, only Lucas is. Sam has the attitude of a rotten tomato. That wouldn’t deter some girls. Maria would even consider him smashable.

“You guys are no fun,” Lucas says.

“You can hang out with Benny boy here,” Calum adds.

Calum turns to Ben, his arm still hanging from my shoulder. Ben’s jaw ticks. He fists his hands, but the smile remains on his lips like an identity. I focus on the building far behind him when his gaze strays to me. A restaurant. It reminds me of his family dinner with the Beckham family.

If Ben and I were still cool, I might have asked how it went down with Olivia. The last time Mom and I spoke about Olivia, she sounded convinced Mrs. Beckham would do the right thing for her daughter. I hope to God she does. Olivia is awful, but not enough to be sexually harassed.

“Na, I’m good,” Ben says. His voice has that same iciness it did when he and Calum fought and I refused to talk to him. I feel his gaze on me but don’t look to confirm. “Thanks. Later, guys.”

Lucas and Sam also make their escape, leaving me alone with Calum. “What is the plan?”

“Well,” Calum answers. “I have no plans.” His sincerity always amuses me, and it does so this time. I punch him lightly on his stomach, but he doubles over. “Ouch, Tessa. You broke my rib.”

“Just one?” He feels his stomach as if checking for more broken ribs. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“But it really hurts. Ow.” Calum is still bent over. Eyes closed, he puckers his lips. “I need a kiss for the bruises to disappear, Tess.” I roll my eyes and plant a kiss on his cheek. He straightens up almost immediately with a grin. “Now I feel much better. But next time, it has to be on my lips.”

Will there be a next time?

“My curfew starts at 11,” I tell him when he nudges me in the opposite direction. My new curfew here is 9 pm. Until we move into our house, which would happen next month, a few days before my eighteenth birthday, I am not allowed outside the hotel after 9. I’m only getting off easy for today. I slip my phone out of my purse. There’s a text from Mom. “My mom will be here soon.”

“Mommy’s girl. Tell her not to worry. I’ll drop you off,” he says. I stop, forcing him to do the same. This thing we are doing feels real to him. It’s only for tonight. “That’s if you don’t mind.”

Singles and drunken couples walk past us. Some head straight for the pub, and others hurry past us. The street grows quieter and emptier as we continue to the spot Calum parked his car. I stop again to size him up. We haven’t been friends long enough for me to know his alcohol tolerance.

“Can you even drive? You’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” he argues.

I place both hands on my waist. “Prove it then.”

“How the fuck do you prove you’re not drunk, Tessa?”

“I don’t know,Calum. Don’t ask me.” Holding a hand up, I ask, “How many fingers are these?”

Calum rolls his eyes and answers, “Zero. You’re showing me your fist.”

My arms lower to my sides. Tipsy doesn’t equal drunk. It’s not drunk driving if he’s not drunk. We continue to his car, a red Mustang. Being the gentleman he is, he opens the door for me.

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