TEMPTATION - A Bad Boy Romance (2 page)

“David and I are waiting. We
both
want to wait,” I said, standing up off the grass to leave.

“Sure, of course. Hey, you’d be the right one to test this out for us – does his cum always taste the same or does it change ever?”

I’m sure she thought she was helping, but the conversation had taken a weird turn. My cheeks flushed a little and I didn’t respond.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. You guys don’t even…?”

I didn’t see why the universe was so hell-bent on getting me to fellate someone so desperately, but I was getting sick of it. I picked up my bag, cheeks feeling very hot all of a sudden.

“I’ll see you guys later” I said to the group, and walked off quickly.

They were wrong, of course, about everything, but at that moment, that didn’t strictly seem relevant.

Chapter 4

This is where the trouble starts.

As it turns out, there are slippery slopes all around, and I went home that afternoon and fell down one myself, badly.

I was messing around on my phone, trying to ignore a tiny niggle in my brain that just wouldn’t keep quiet. I thought about David and his lovely gentle eyes and saintly patience and the way he could always help when I didn’t understand my chemistry. I thought about his soft, dry voice and how funny he was when he did a Russian accent and how his spelling was so bad but in such a cute way.

But curling all around this lovely image of him was something threatening; an amorphous blob of
other girls
, swooping in on him and carrying him off from me.

I know, I was being pathetic.

But I couldn’t stop. Every picture on Facebook was a possible mug shot of the adulteress who could any moment descend on my life and pluck away my boyfriend. I looked into the faces of pretty girls on vacations, random snaps, nothing sinister you’d think, but I looked at the arch of their eyebrows or the way they held themselves and wondered, is this a girl who could give him what he really wanted? What about
this
one?

Cheating happens all the time, everybody knows that. And it could begin with a simple smile, just like this one, or a girl in a sundress in a picture like this. That’s all. I looked at the men, too. Where they all smiling liars? Had they all secretly cheated? Were they all just one hot-enough girl away from doing so?

I was putting myself in a bad mood. I thought of David again, how we had never needed any formal contract; our promise was just already there, in all the little gifts, all our secret confessions, our long walks, how I could seemingly fold the whole of my body into his when we napped together. He would never cheat. Not my David.

I sent him a message. An easy, frivolous message:

Hello :) mwah! Enjoying the sunshine?

Then I sat and waited. For 19 whole minutes, he didn’t reply. By the time the twentieth minute rolled by, I was so upset I had devised and fleshed out the details of a plan that would, once and for all, allow me to get to the root of whether all boys do in fact cheat eventually.

My biology homework sat neglected on the table and I typed furiously.

First I made a new Gmail account, using the name of a distant family friend of his I had met once but who he had fallen out with many years before. I found a dead Twitter account of hers and carefully cut and pasted a little avatar profile picture from one of her tweets. From this new account in her name, I started a new email. “Hi! It’s been such a long time!” and then put his email into the recipient field.

Then I sat back and looked, the full gravity of what I was doing apparent to me all at once. In case you were wondering, yes, it is what it looks like. I was writing an email to my boyfriend, pretending to be another girl.

My mind worked for a few moments, trying to poke possible holes in my plan, places where I could be caught and the experiment would be ruined. I thought I was thinking things through carefully at the time, but in truth I had no idea where I was going with it. I imagined that the only way to settle the thing once and for all would be to catch him red handed; to lay a trap and know, for sure, that he would step around it, and keep the promise he made to me.

Now, before we go any further, I just want to say that I know you’re judging me right now.

You’re thinking I’m insecure, maybe, or a little crazy, or manipulative. There isn’t a name I didn’t call myself in the hours after I created that account, believe me. But it’s hard to explain just how much this doubt had a hold on me, and just how desperate I was to disprove it. I didn’t have high standards for boys, I had high standards for
life
; the idea that something as ugly as infidelity could exist in my world seemed to justify the extremes I was going to.

See, you need to understand: I didn’t
want
to catch him doing anything. I wanted to prove to myself that even if someone tempted him, he would never dream of breaking my trust. Really, you have to believe me when I say that.

Two hours had passed since my message and he still hadn’t yet replied. Usually, David responded to messages within a few minutes, especially at this time of day. We weren’t big texters, but I can honestly say that he never dawdled, never made me wait for a response.

Already deeply suspicious, I took his silence as a reply on its own, a reply from the gods themselves, an omen that everything I was worried about was in fact going to come true (didn’t I tell you teenage girls can get carried away with this kind of thing?).

During those two hours I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I sat with the sickening sensation growing in me that I was about to do something that couldn’t be undone. When he didn’t reply, I took it as my first bit of “proof”.

I sat down again and began to compose a short email.

Hi!

It’s been such a long time. Sorry about emailing, I’m not on Facebook anymore, don’t know if you noticed :) I thought of you the other day and wondered how you were doing. You must be finishing up school this year right? It would be great to catch up.

Annie :)

I read it through again and again. I looked at the innocent “Annie :)” and changed it to “Annie ;)” and then looked again.

Yes, there was no point being subtle. A winking face would be the perfect hook, just the right first breadcrumb. Of course, I didn’t want to blow my cover, and ultimately, any cheateriness would have to come from him, so I couldn’t lay things on the table just like that. I would have to strike a fine balance – set the scene for cheating, and see if he walked into it and played the part.

He still hadn’t replied.

I hit send on the email and imagined it shooting off into the ether. I wouldn’t have admitted it to myself then, but even by that point I was a little curious, maybe even a little excited to see what it would feel like to play another girl. To flirt with him, but as someone else.

I sat back in my chair, and waited.

Chapter 5

It was a school night, like they almost all are, and we were both curled up on the sofa, watching comedy shows.

I loved these moments; he was affectionately rubbing his bare feet against mine, and I was tucked into the warm space between his neck and shoulders. He was in a cheerful mood that day, and we had chatted earlier that day at school about him getting accepted into his first choice of college. I was a year beneath him, and this new development had been expected, yet was still strange now that it had actually come. I would join him later, of course, and nothing would change between us, but still.

Engrossed in the show, he stroked a distracted hand up and all the way down my back. We had never had sex, sure, but in many ways, his body was completely and utterly familiar to me. As familiar to me as my own, in fact.

His body was a friendly landscape, one where each of the features was lovable because it belonged to him: the pair of raised moles just hidden in his hairline on the left side of his head, his fingers that were stubby but gentle, nails always a little chewed; the way he always felt so much warmer than me; the freckle on his ankle; that secret, masculine smell of his collarbone; the way he would always pause after a kiss, as though his lips always took a little longer to make sense of things than the rest of him.

Of course, I was less familiar with
other
parts of him. I had seen him naked only once, and then only by accident, and I had quickly fumbled to shield my eyes, as though the sight of it would break some kind of delicate spell.

It was moments like these, when his mom was doing a late shift and we had some time to ourselves, that his body came the closest to mine. We had often slept beside one another, both in our underwear. I studiously ignored how hard he would get, and he pretended not to catch a faint trace of my scent as we sealed ourselves in the bed like it was our own private envelope. 

“Sorry about yesterday. I was being an ass. I don’t want you to do any of that if you’re not ready. Seriously,” he said, still stroking my back.

I squeezed him tighter. This would have been the perfect moment were it not for the fact that now, I felt guilty as hell.

We watched on in silence. His phone bleeped and he took a few moments to examine it, answer a few texts and put it aside again. Had he read “my” email yet? Obviously he had. I had sent it yesterday evening already, which means he had by now had almost 24 full hours to respond. He seemed just the same. I wondered if cheating, before the big Jerry Springer-style reveal at the end, can be detected in the body somewhere. Did the flesh have its own ways of revealing the truth?

I nestled my head further into him, inhaling his smell and finding that everything was as it had always been. Hm.

Here’s something you learn when you turn into a jealous wreck: the
worst
thing you can encounter is something that seems totally, 100% legit and innocent. Why? Because that could mean that your partner is even more devious, even more clever than you thought. It’s a weird place to be. I got up to go to the bathroom and sat there for a while, contemplating at what moment I could count myself as in the wrong, when something strange happened: he replied. Right then.

I stared at my phone, a little stunned. Had he waited for me to leave the room before he replied? My mind whirred. Did that count as deceptive? Of course not, silly. It’s polite, if anything. Right? Or does it show a certain level of premeditation?

Sitting there perched on the toilet seat like an idiot, I opened the email and read it about 4000 times before tearing my eyes away.

Hi Annie!

Yeah it’s been a long time. Can’t remember the last time I emailed someone to be honest :) Really glad to hear from you again though. Are you still seeing that guy? I think his name was Anthony…

xxx

D

I pored over this like it was a precious artifact dug out from the side of a mountain. I was transfixed, staring at each and every word, none of which were technically meant for my eyes. I was in some parallel universe now, one that was cold and quiet and smelled of Body Shop shower gel, and here before me was the second breadcrumb, and I was terrified. What had I been expecting anyway?

He had totally fallen for it and didn’t suspect a thing. I weighed up the “evidence” so far. He had matched Annie’s casual tone, and had been casual and curt; but then he was “really glad” to hear from her, which gave me pause, and then the last bit made me think, why would he be concerned about whether she still had a boyfriend or not?

Definitely, this was the most curious element to my new artifact. After all, he could have asked her about anything in the world, but he was curious, of all things, to know if she was single. The xxx was a weird touch too, and the D seemed overly familiar. Or did it? I shoved my phone in my pocket. I was being a jealous bitch, of course, and none of this meant anything. Obviously.

I stepped back into the living room and he was sitting there on the sofa, just as he had been before I left. I was ready to dismiss everything until I saw how casually he was sitting there, how there was nothing in the world to suggest that anything had happened at all. I thought, if he could be so easy like this, what’s to say he hadn’t cheated already? How many times had I gone to the bathroom in my life? And how many furtive messages had he sent, if it was this easy?

Ladies and gentlemen, that was the evening a tiny seed of doubt wedged its way into my crazy mind and split me in two. One part of me was regular old Violet, secure and content. The other was crazy and jealous and paranoid, and her name was “Annie”, and she was a long lost family friend, and she was sweet, interesting, carefree …and a total lie.

Chapter 6

D

Well, to be honest, things with him aren’t going too well. Don’t tell anyone, but I think we’ll break up soon. It’s for the best. Let’s just say we didn’t have the same needs and leave it at that. What about you? Any lovely ladies in your life?

Annie

Hey

That sucks! Hope you’re OK. Anything I can do to help?

D

All the rest of the week, I toyed around with these two flimsy bits of nothing, shorter than the Iliad by a factor of 1000 and yet much, much more epic.

I studied these little scraps like it was my job. I was a lawyer, looking for intent, for incriminating evidence or technicalities to hook into. I was a historian, trying out different translations to see if I could find anything in this communiqué between two mysterious tribes. There was sex somewhere in this exchange, and I was going to find it.