Thief: A Bad Boy Romance (51 page)

I
moan
, feeling the shudder of new feelings - dangerous new feelings - roar through my inexperienced body as the boy kisses me. He presses me against the back wall of the garage in my backyard, his hands sliding up to my waist and slipping beneath the hem of my t-shirt.

It’s then that I freeze, stopping his hands and pulling back from his perfect, wonderful lips to look worriedly up into his eyes. “I- I’m not sure that we should be doing this.”

He grins at me, those dark eyes sparkling with the promise of passion and wickedness all mixed together; the promise of sweet, deliciously bad decisions.

“Are you scared?” I nod, and he kisses my cheek; “You don’t have to be, I’ll go slow.”

I blush and bite my bottom lip and he grins.

“Oy, you keep doing that you’re gonna make a habit of it.”

I giggle but then my eyes flash seriously at him. “I’m just- I’m not sure we should.”

He nods. “I mean, we’re both eighteen, luv.” He grins at me, “You’re going away to college in a few months; you really want to show up with that V-card?”

I blush bright red, almost regretting that I’ve told him that. I mean, of course I HAD to, the night before when things got- well, when things went further than I’VE at least ever been.

Much further.

Far enough that even now I can remember the night previous, where we slipped into the very garage I’m pressed against right now and found ourselves in the backseat of my mother’s Toyota. I can remember feeling both scared and hotter than I’ve ever felt before, the feelings of apprehension and excitement as I took my shirt off in front of him, blushing at the way his eyes drank me in.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” He says quietly; reverently.

I can remember whispering his name again and again into his lips as his fingers find me wet and ready for him, stroking in and out of me with my pants on the floor of the car and my panties tangled at my knees.

And then here we are, back at the garage; the whispered promises of “tomorrow” in the aftermath of the previous night’s release, weighing heavily on me.

Oliver sees the hesitation in my eyes, or reads it in my voice, because suddenly, he’s stepping back. “Okay, no.” He shakes his head, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. “You’re right, we shouldn’t do this.”

Well, shit.

And it’s a line like that that has me grabbing him and kissing him fiercely. It’s those words that have me dragging him through the backdoor of the garage again, and climbing into the backseat of the Toyota all over again. We’re grinning, and giggling, and once we’ve stripped each other’s clothes off and I’m kissing him again, I know this is everything I want it to be.

Except just when I think I’m ready to throw all the caution in the world to the wind and go for it, that feeling of boundless bravado comes screeching to a halt. We’re naked, and he’s RIGHT there, and I know he wants it, but-

“We’re not doing this, luv,” he says quietly.

I bite my lip, dropping my eyes to the side so he doesn’t see them wavering, “I’m sorry, I really thought-”

“Hey,” He puts his hand on my cheek and turns my face so that his eyes meet mine, “Don’t you ever apologize to anyone for sticking to what feels right, yeah?”

I wrinkle my brow; “You’re not mad?”

“I’d be a serious fucking prick if I was, Chloe.”

He slides onto the backseat next to me, and I ease my head down onto his chest; “So…” I drag a finger over his chest, feeling my pulse race. “So maybe we can’t do THAT, but that doesn’t mean…” I trail off as he turns his head and grins at me, “That doesn’t mean you can’t show me some other stuff?”

I almost jump out of my skin at the first touch of his mouth to me there, and then I’m biting my hand to keep from screaming as he licks me there, filling me with feelings I’ve never had. There’s a wild pressure building hotter and higher inside of me, until it bursts with a white light as I buck and moan under his tongue and his fingers. And later, he shows me what feels good for him. I’m nervous that I’m going to be awful at it, but he’s sweet with his encouragement, and then gasping for air as I move my mouth faster and faster up and down on his size that I’m honestly not sure I could have actually taken inside of me anyways. He warns me, but I don’t want to stop, and I want the full experience. And when he fills my shocked and sputtering mouth, he’s moaning my name as I swallow as much as I can.

The backseat is cramped, and I’m jumping at every creak of the wind, thinking it’s my mother, but it’s absolutely and without question PERFECTION.

And afterwards, we lie there in the dim glow of the dashboard light listening to Led Zeppelin coming through the tinny speakers of the backseat while Oliver tells me about the new job he just got at a kitchen, and how excited he is to learn how to cook “everything”, as he puts it.

And the whole time, I’m holding him close, and desperately trying not to think about what happens in two days, when this boy with the charming English accent who’s permanently implanted himself upon the pages of my life goes back home forever.

It’s the next day when it all goes bad.

It’s the next day, the day I’m wearing the world’s biggest smile, that I walk around the corner of the gymnasium to see him smoking cigarettes with some of the other guys from school.

I didn’t even know he smoked.

But it’s not the cigarette that stops me in my tracks and sends that cold, horrible feeling sinking to the pit of my stomach, it’s what he’s saying.

He’s bragging; he’s telling them that he slept with me.

It’s then that one of them looks up and sees me, and grins as he nods in my direction. They’re all turning then, all of them grinning and smirking at me in way that has the color draining from my face. And then he looks up, and when my eyes meet his stunned, shocked ones, I can almost feel my heart breaking as I turn to go run and hide myself away forever.

It’s after half the cheer squad walks in on me bawling in the locker room already having heard Oliver’s little story that I spread my own little tale. I’m drying my eyes and laughing as I spin wildly untrue stories about how small he is, and how he couldn’t even get it up. And I’m telling them he cried during it, and they’re laughing and hugging me and telling me it’s going to be okay, even though I know the lies are only a temporary balm.

My story travels even faster than his, but really, it’s not like it really even matters much for him, seeing as he leaves a day later, forever. Me though? I have to stay.

I have to stay and keep telling the same lie. I have to stay and keep tarnishing the memory of one perfect night over and over again, just to make myself smile on the outside.

It certainly makes the last few weeks of high school more interesting, at least.

* * *

O
uter London streaks
by the windows of the taxi like drab, grey paint. Okay, I guess I was expecting that to an extent, but not
this
. It’s like being in a charcoal drawing; everything running black and sooty and crummy looking.

I make a face as I think of all my friends back home who were just
so
excited that I was moving to London for four months. Yeah,
thrilling
. I certainly don’t see any of
them
going to live with their surprise new stepfather and the boy
they
used to make out with; also now known as “new stepbrother”.

Mom and Barney are grinning and talking animatedly together in the bench seat of the taxi, with Oliver and I sitting apart in the two backwards facing seats across from them, pointedly trying to avoid both talking to each other and looking at them.

Barney’s got an accent straight out of central casting for a period piece movie; that thick, east-end bristle and dropped consonants. My mother’s filled me in on the plane ride over about the Beckett’s change in fortunes since Oliver visited us; about the inheritance from some great aunt or something that’s gotten Barney out of the butcher business and into the luxury hotel and restaurant business, with his wonder-chef son apparently right there with him.

Oliver might be dressed in just jeans and black v-neck t-shirt, but his dad sure dresses like new money; all swagger and flashy rings and jewelry. Fancy, expensive clothes worn almost in distain as more of a statement than any sort of appreciation for finer style.

Honestly, I could never picture mom with a guy like this, but I guess that just shows what I know.

“So, you like, bake stuff now.” I turn from the window at the sound of Oliver’s voice. His dark eyes flash at me, and he’s smirking, as if the question is meant as some sort of barb.

I frown. “Yes, I
bake stuff
now.”

“So, what, like cupcakes and the such?”

I narrow my eyes at him. He’s speaking pleasantly in that thick cockney accent, but I can
tell
there’s something there below the surface, like he’s trying to bait me They aren’t even paying attention to anything but each other right now, but it’s like he’s putting on a facade for our parents. Like it’s all fake and he’s secretly just as pissed to have me here as I am to
be
here.

Jesus he’s gorgeous
. I freeze, frowning at the sudden intrusion of my traitorous inner thoughts while I’m trying to scowl at this boy who’s still just
smirking
at me. Smirking with those absolutely perfect lips, and those dangerously alluring eyes glinting at me.

The same lips, the same eyes, and the same, well,
everything
that hooked me before.

Yeah, I’ve fallen for
this
whole look of his before, and it is
certainly
not happening a second time.

“How are you with chocolate chip cookies? Cakes with cartoon characters drawn on top? I’ll have to double check to see if I know any five year olds with birthdays coming soon.”

He
such
a prick.

“
Slightly
more involved than that, actually, but I guess I’ll have to show you later, sometime in the kitchen.” I roll my eyes as I turn back to stare out at the grey London rain.

I can hear him chuckle behind me. “You haven’t looked me up, have you?”

I turn back, “Excuse me?”

“Looked me up; googled me or the restaurant or whatever.”

“Of course I have,” I say, “‘
Jolie
, home to London’s hottest young sous-chef’,” I say with air-quotes, rolling my eyes. “Yes, Oliver, I’ve looked you up.” I hate telling him that, as if this little shit could possibly need his ego stroked anymore.

Oliver grins; leaning back in his seat with a smug look on his face as he laces his hands behind his head. “Oh, no-no-no, darling, that’s
yesterday’s
news.”

I frown, “What are you talking about? Are you
not
at
Jolie
anymore?”

He chuckles, just slowly shaking his head as he turns towards his father, “Oy, dad, you didn’t tell her?”