Very Bad Things (4 page)

Of course, while I’m buzzing, I remembered my bad list and
grew curious about having sex with
him
. Would he be gentle or demanding?
Would he like me on top or would he get behind me? Would I enjoy it?

But it didn’t matter if I got off as long as he made me
forget. Forgetting was the important part.

It had been months since I’d had sex with someone. Not since
that wild weekend in New York with Drew. Even though our relationship had ended
badly, I still remembered the sex and how good it had felt to be held by
someone. Like I wasn’t alone, like someone cared about
me.

I needed a night like that again, to lose myself in sex. I
wanted this Viking.

I gave him a fake smile. “Leo’s a great name. Guess you know
it means
lion
,” I said, curving my lips up into an invitation. “It also
means
bold one
. Are you bold, Leo?” I said in a low tone, reaching out
to stroke his arm.

He jerked away from me, like I’d scalded him, but it didn’t
deter me. True, I was a little younger than him, but what guy would turn down a
no-strings-attached fuck? Drew hadn’t.

I stood up and toed my boots off. “How old are you?” I
asked.

“Too old for you,” he quickly retorted.

“I’m not a virgin, you know. I’ve been with other guys, some
good at fucking, some not.” I let my eyes run over him slowly. “You’re older
which means more experienced. I bet you’d blow them right out of the water,” I
said, putting it all out there and letting bad Nora take over completely.

“I don’t care how many douchebags you’ve fucked,” he said
with a hard face, his eyes gleaming with distaste.

I felt some of my false bravado slip away, but not enough to
stop. He was what I needed tonight. I began unbuttoning my shirt, and his eyes
followed my progress. “You tell me your age and I’ll tell you mine,” I said in
the best teasing voice I could muster.

With nervous fingers, I undid the last button and shrugged
out of my shirt, relieved I’d worn the black lace bra. “You like?”

He yanked a towel from the shelf near the door and tossed it
in my face. “Cover up, Nora. I don’t fuck spoiled, rich girls.”

I caught the towel and held it against me, ignoring that
remark. Those types of insults never affected me. Not when you hear them every
day. “If you won’t tell me your age, I’ll just have to figure it out on my own.
And I’m guessing you’re at least twenty-five, maybe twenty-six?” I said.

He shook his head and clenched his fists, not answering me.

I took a deep breath, dropped the towel to the floor and
unclasped my bra, letting my size C breasts fall out. Even though I’d been a
pudgy most of my life, I’d blossomed into a girl with generous curves. He
seemed to like what he saw because he didn’t look away, and I grew wet under
his intense perusal. I glanced down at my erect nipples and lightly touched one
with my fingertip, surprised by the desire I felt. I brought my eyes back to
his face, imagining his tongue on me.

A muscle jerked in his tight jaw.

I dropped my hand and steeled myself to keep on toward the
goal. “Of course, it’s getting harder to tell someone’s age now because people
take better care of themselves, like you with your tight abs. But, if you study
someone long enough, you’ll find out their secrets.”

“I don’t have any,” he ground out, tearing his eyes from my
body.

“We all do,” I said.

He rubbed his hand across his mouth as his eyes swept over
my breasts again. “You don’t know jack about me.”

I studied him, my brain picking through what I’d observed
tonight. “Well, you own your own business, so you’re a responsible person. And,
I bet you a new pair of boots you’re the guardian of the young man out there,
who has to be your brother because he looks just like you. I think your parents
are out of the picture.”

I unsnapped my jeans, shimmied them pass my skinned knees,
and tossed them in the trash. “You’ve also shown self-control tonight that’s
impressive. Someone
less
in control might have shot me on sight.

“In a nutshell,” I said, taking off my black panties,
“you’re well-off, take care of a younger brother, and keep your emotions on a
tight leash. Am I right?”

He glared at me, his entire body frozen up, like a tiger
poised to pounce. Like he was going to jump on me and devour me. I wondered if
he’d eat me the way I wanted.

But, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop talking. “I’m good at
observing people: body language, mannerisms, how they talk, style of clothing,
everything. It’s a puzzle I like to put together. It’s better than Facebook
stalking,” I said with a forced shrug, trying to be casual when inside I was
freaking the hell out.
What was I doing?
Why was I trying to seduce this
guy? He didn’t want me.

No one did.

His eyes burned like blue flames as he stared at me. “What
kind of girl strips for a guy she just met?”

A girl with no self-respect
, I thought.

I swallowed, not giving up. “I need a shower, which involves
me taking my clothes off.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You could have waited until I
left.”

I flicked my eyes at his crotch. “You’re hard for me. You
look bigger than a tree trunk in those shorts,” I said. “And you haven’t walked
out of this bathroom. I think you’re a little fascinated with me. I think you
like watching me take my—”

“Fuck!” he barked out and spun around to go.

“Wait, wait,” I called out, reaching out to make him stop,
needing him.
Please stay
, I wanted to say.

He turned back with his fists held tight by his side and
spat out his words. “You’re a naked
girl
, and I’m a grown-ass man. I’m
walking out of this room while I still can.”

But he made no move to leave, and it gave me a tiny bit of
hope.

“I . . . I just wanted to know how old you are.”

“Twenty-five. I’m twenty-five,” he muttered, “and you’re
jailbait and not my type.”

“What type is that?” I asked, dying to know.

“Experienced girls my age who don’t expect to hear from me
the next day. Girls who aren’t in high school. In other words—not you.”

And as we stood there, facing each other, I waited for him to
make his move, to snatch me up and take me to his bed like I wanted. But he
didn’t, because I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough or smart enough.

I was never enough.

I cleared my throat and powered on. “I started kindergarten
when I was six, almost seven, mostly because I’d contracted a bad case of mono
at the age of five and had to stay away from germs for several months. So, for
your information—not that it matters, of course, because I’m not your type—but
eighteen isn’t jailbait.”

We stared at each other and the longer our eyes held, the
more I knew my boundaries were gone. It seemed like there was nothing I
wouldn’t say to him. Even though my insides were quaking with nerves, I went
over to him until our bare chests were only inches apart. I was five feet ten
inches, and he was at least six inches taller, making him the tallest guy I’d
ever stood next to. Not only that, but his body was built like an NFL football
player, with lethal yet lickable muscles. I liked being near him. I felt safe,
like no one would ever hurt me again.

My eyes caressed the dragon on his chest, and I wanted to
trace it with my tongue. I thought about how warm his skin would be, how it
would feel to have his strong arms wrap around me as I kissed his sensuous
lips. When his breathing accelerated along with mine, I knew I wasn’t
completely alone in my feelings. I searched his eyes, surprised at the new
sensations coursing through me. I‘d never wanted someone like this, not even
Drew.

I pressed myself against him completely, and he hissed at
the contact. “Don’t you want to touch me?” I whispered, rubbing my breasts
against his chest to get some friction.

He gripped my arms and shoved me away from him. “You’re
playing with fire. You think you want this?” He laughed darkly. “Buttercup, you
can’t handle me.”

And with those words, he pivoted around and stomped out of
the room, slamming the door hard behind him.

“I’m
not waiting for the right girl because she doesn’t exist.”

–
Leo
Tate

HOLY, FUCK!
I bolted out of
the bathroom with images of her X-rated body fried into my brain. Why had I
stood there like an idiot while she took off every stitch of clothing? I
groaned. I’d never look at her again without imagining her naked, without
seeing her centerfold body in my head.

I got to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of ice-cold
water and chugged it down, and when it was gone, I pressed the cool glass
against my hot face. I’m not sure why she was able to get to me. I’m not a
touchy feely kinda guy, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, but I
think we’d had a
moment
that day at the open house. Which was ridiculous
because I didn’t believe in that shit. However, there was no doubt I had to
stay away from her. Maybe I needed to call Tiffany, my current hookup, who was
definitely older than eighteen and fuckable.

Tiffany knew the score; she knew I wasn’t good boyfriend
material, because I’ve always made it known up front that I’m not in it for the
long haul. I didn’t have time for some unrealistic notion of everlasting love.
My gym, Sebastian, and the band were my priorities.

Nora was young and had needy written all over her. Something
about her behavior wasn’t right. Mix that with the mother I saw and who knows
what issues she had. Oh, she’d tried to come across as cool with her little
striptease, but she didn’t fool me. She may have acted fearless, but I’d seen
the way her hands shook when I mentioned her parents.

“She okay?” Sebastian asked, coming in from the living room.
“You were in there for a while.”

“She’s fine and showering now. Can you grab some sweats and
an ice pack?” I said, feeling weird as I looked at him. Shit, I’ve been lusting
after a chick who was closer in age to Sebastian than I was.

He nodded and left.

I pulled out her phone and dialed Portia’s cell. It rang and
rang and went to voicemail on five tries, so I gave up and scrolled through her
contacts and found the name:
Ellen Blakely, Mother
. I had my finger on
the number, but instinct made me put the phone down. In the distance, I heard
Sebastian knock on the bathroom door and tell Nora the clothes and ice pack
were sitting outside.

I unzipped her backpack that Sebastian had left on the
kitchen counter, which contained the spray paint, a flask and, oddly enough, a
seven-inch everyday carry knife. It had a smooth black-enamel handle, and when
I popped it opened, a titanium-coated, stainless steel six-inch blade came out.
Impressed, I studied it carefully. I’d known a lot of cops who’d come through
my gyms, and I recognized this type of knife as an expensive brand that
policemen chose to carry when off duty. As I wondered about why she’d need a
personal-protection knife, a blue journal caught my eye, and I picked it up and
flipped through it, finding a page where she’d made some list.

I read through it, having a what-the-fuck moment at the
things she’d written down. According to the school brochure, she’d been the
perfect poster girl for BA. But the girl who made this list was not. This girl
was set on destroying herself.

By the time the shower turned off, I’d been staring at her
handwriting for several minutes, trying to understand her, knowing she was only
hurting herself if she carried through with what she apparently intended to do
a few moments ago in the bathroom. I shoved it all back into her backpack and walked
to the bathroom door.

“Nora, Portia isn’t answering.”

Her voice was muffled from the other side. “Okay, let me get
dressed, and I’ll be gone. My car’s across the street.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re drunk,” I said at bit
louder. Maybe I’d been rough on her in the bathroom, but truthfully, I’d been a
mixed bag of emotions, pissed off at what she’d done to my car, horny as hell
at watching her strip, and then furious with myself for wanting to take her up
on what she’d been offering.

She opened the door a crack. “Why do you care? I messed up
your car.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten what you did and you’re going
to pay me back, starting tomorrow morning. Right now, just sleep it off. We
have an extra bedroom down the hall,” I said, staring at the towel she had
wrapped around her, a part of me wishing she’d drop it again. Fuck. I looked
away and stared at the family photos I’d hung last month. Photos of my parents
and me at my high school graduation, photos of them with Sebastian on his first
day of kindergarten. Staring at them made me sad, knowing I’d never see them
again. Never experience that kind of family again.

“I promise I’ll come back tomorrow, and we can talk about
how you want me to pay for the damage,” she said, pulling me back from my thoughts.

“Yeah, right,” I said with sarcasm. “If you leave, I’ll call
the cops, and a BA girl like you getting arrested? The newspapers would love
it.”

She chewed on her lip, and I saw the uncertainty on her
face, like she didn’t know where to turn. Whatever. Deciding this conversation
was finished, I turned around to leave, needing to put some space between us.

“Why did you call me Buttercup?” I heard her ask in a small
voice.

I couldn’t answer that so I kept walking.

AN EAR-PIERCING SCREAM jerked me
awake, or at least, I thought it was a scream. There was nothing but silence in
the loft now. I looked at the digital clock and realized I’d only been asleep
for a few minutes. After I’d made sure Nora was settled, I’d tried to sleep,
only I couldn’t. I’d lain in bed for an hour, staring at my ceiling, running
our conversation and her insane list through my mind.

I heard another muffled yell. Fumbling around the floor, I
found my shorts and pulled them back on wondering if this was round two with
Nora. I walked out into the hall as Sebastian stumbled out of his room,
squinting.

“Did you hear something?”

I nodded. “I think I heard Nora yell out.”

“Yeah, it sounded freaky whatever it . . .” A
long wail interrupted him. “What the hell?” he said, looking at me with wide
eyes.

“Must be a bad dream,” I said. “I had them after mom and dad
died.”

“Yeah?”

I shrugged. “It passed after a few months.” It took two
years.

Sebastian listened outside her door for a minute with a
concerned look. He might act cocky sometimes, but he was a softie. “Hey, I
think she might be crying. Should I go talk to her?” He shot me a quick look.
“Unless you want to?”

I opened my mouth to tell him he could, but stopped. I
wanted to check on her myself. “No, you get some rest. I’ll handle it.”

When Nora didn’t answer my knock, I entered the dark room
and walked over to the bed where she was lying on her side facing me, her legs
drawn up into a ball. Her hands covered her face, and she muttered
incoherently.

I sat down on the bed and shook her shoulder.

She flinched away from me. “Stop! Get away from me! I hate
you!” she cried out.

I reared back, surprised by the vehemence in her tone,
wondering who she was dreaming about. “Nora, it’s time to wake-up,” I said
using a quiet tone.

I kept saying her name until she stirred on the bed and
blinked her eyes open. When she saw me, she scrambled away to huddle on the
other side.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed hard,
shivering in spite of the warm room. “I woke you up.”

“Not a big deal. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She looked away, letting her tangled hair cover her face.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her head jerked up. “No.”

“Do you want me to leave and let you get some sleep?”

She shook her head and asked nervously, “Did I say
anything?”

“Nothing I could really understand.”

“Did I hit you?” she asked in a rush.

“No, but you were mad as hell at someone.”

She nodded. “My dreams . . . sometimes I hit. It’s a bitch
at a sleepover,” she said, laughing a little. It sounded forced.

“Yeah? Guess it could be worse. When Sebastian was around
ten, he would sleepwalk and do the funniest things. Well, I thought they were,
but he’d be embarrassed,” I said with a little smile.

“Like what?”

“I’d hear him rattling around the house at night and get up
and go look for him. Most times, I’d find him sitting naked on the kitchen
floor eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He loved those things. The
naked part . . . well, that I can’t explain.” I chuckled. “So see? It could be
worse.”

“That’s a good story,” she said, gazing up at me with
hesitant eyes, almost as if she were shy, not anything like the girl who’d
stripped.

Without thinking it through, I said, “Tomorrow I’m cooking
breakfast, and I’d like for you to hang around and eat. We can talk about
payment for the Escalade.”

She gave me a surprised look. “You really don’t have to do
that.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll talk more tomorrow,” I said, getting up
from the bed to leave, but her voice stopped me. “Leo, I know I don’t deserve
your help, but will you . . . will you stay for a while? If you talk to me for
a bit, I think I can sleep.” Looking embarrassed, she glanced down again. Yeah,
the drunken girl from the bathroom had vanished.

I battled with myself, because I wanted to stay with her,
but my head knew it wasn’t a good idea. Feeling like it was a huge mistake, but
unable to stop myself, I lay down beside her on top of the covers, careful to
keep our bodies from touching.

She grasped my hand and intertwined our fingers, and my
first reaction was to pull back, but I didn’t. I stared at our hands and,
fuck
,
I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held a girl’s
hand. Maybe high school?

“Tell me another happy story,” she said, her lips softly
parted, like she couldn’t wait.

“Why don’t we share stories? I told you one, so it’s your
turn now.”

“You don’t want to hear mine. They all suck.”

I raised my brows. “Come on, a girl like you who has
everything? There has to be a couple.”

She tilted her head, like she was considering one. “Okay,
but you can’t laugh at how stupid it is,” she warned me. And I think she was
kinda teasing me.

I shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”

She said, “When I was fourteen, my parents decided I was
overweight and had an eating disorder. So, that summer they sent me off to this
camp for screwed up kids with rich parents. It was this super pretentious
finishing school for fat girls. Don’t get me wrong, being called fat wasn’t
fun, but it was in Paris, France, the most beautiful place in the world with
its art museums and amazing architecture. I was sent there for eight precious
weeks.” She sighed dreamily, like she was remembering something good.
“Sometimes I’d sneak off to this place called Café Bonaparte to eat these hot,
buttery croissants. And people watch, of course. It’s kind of a quirk of mine,”
she said, sneaking a little glance.