Bad Boy Next Door: A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance Page 6

  I’m fairly certain I’m not the type of late-night traveler Isaiah’s parents are planning on welcoming, so I steer clear of the porch. The cold air clears the fog in my brain, but now I feel almost frantic, unnerved by doing something this out of character. I run around to the back of the house, creeping into the shadows, so just in case one of Isaiah’s siblings or parents happened to look out the window, they wouldn’t see me. It’s dark to me out here, but the combination of the moonlight and my lilac sweats would probably make me stand out like a ghost.

  My fingers are so cold they ache and feel stiff when I reach in my pocket for my phone. It’s hard to dial, but I finally manage to click through my contacts and find Isaiah. It rings several times before his groggy voice comes through the line. I cringe. He’s asleep.

  “It’s me,” I say.

  “Wren?” he asks. “Is something wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “No,” I tell him. “I just need to talk to you.”

  “Right now?” he asks.

  It sounds like he’s already halfway back into whatever dream I yanked him out of. But this can’t wait. I’ve already been this outlandish. I’ve already come this far.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Go ahead.”

  The words come through a groan that tells me he’s reluctantly pulling himself up into a sitting position, so the pillow doesn’t swallow him up again. But that’s not good enough. If this is going to have any effect, I need to be face to face. I need to be able to touch him.

  “I need you to come outside,” I say.

  “What?”

  He snaps the response so loudly I’m sure he just woke up at least the two brothers whose room is on the opposite side of his. There’s a long, tense pause before either of us say anything.

  “I’m right outside the back door,” I tell him. “I really need to see you. Is there a way I can get up into your room?”

  The words feel awkward and ridiculous, even as they’re forming in my mouth. This isn’t me. I don’t know what I’m doing. The feeling is mutual.

  “You can’t come up here,” he says. “Just... just wait. I’ll be down there in a minute.”

  I hang up, wondering if it’s too late to just run back home, stuff myself under every blanket I own and prepare to convince Isaiah it was all a dream. But it is. It was too late the second I called down to my mother and told her I was going to bed so I could get up for another early shift at the animal shelter. It was too late when I tossed myself off the porch with no concept of how I was going to land. It was too late when I felt the cold and didn’t turn back.

  The back door opens slowly, and as soon as there is enough room for him to squeeze through, Isaiah steps out onto the small back stoop. I rush over to him, and his eyes search me.

  “What’s going on, Wren? What are you doing out here?” he asks.

  There’s more intensity in his voice than I’m used to hearing, and I’m temporarily stunned. Then I remember why I came and step up closer to him.

  “Why didn’t you want me in your room?” I ask.

  He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me. “What is going on with you?”

  “Why didn’t you want me to come up to your room?” I ask again.

  “Come on, Wren. You know why. Just a few more years. We’ll get through college, and we’ll get married.”

  “And then what?” I ask, knowing I’m prodding him, but not pulling back.

  I step up even closer. I’m on the porch with him now, only a few inches between us. But he hasn’t made any move to come closer.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “We’ll get through college, and we’ll get married… and then what? I want to hear you say it.”

  I’ve dropped my voice lower, trying to find the sound that came from my throat when Talon spoke to me. I’m waiting for the shiver, for the tremble that started deep in my belly and moved through me when all he did was breathe. He never said the words, but I knew what Talon was talking about. Now I need to hear those words. I need Isaiah to give me that feeling.

  “Wren, is something wrong? This isn’t like you,” he frowns.

  He’s backed up a step, but I take a step closer.

  “Don’t you want to be close to me?” I ask.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then why don’t you? Kiss me.”

  He hesitates, then leans down and touches a chaste kiss to my lips. “There. Feel better?”

  “Really kiss me, Isaiah.”

  His mouth lowers down to mine and presses against it, our lips parting to gingerly touch the tips of our tongues together. One hand comes to my hip, but just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away.

  “Go home, Wren. What would people think if they knew you were here this late? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  He slips back inside, and I step down off the porch. I’ve made it around the side of the house when Talon’s dark form steps out in front of me. I gasp but manage to hold back a scream.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss under my breath.

  “I can tell you what people would think,” he shrugs.

  “You were watching us?”

  “You shouldn’t be out here in the dark and cold. Especially like that,” he says.

  “I don’t need you to worry about me.”

  I push past him and start back toward my house, tears stinging in my eyes. But I don’t know why they’re there. I don’t know what they mean.

  “Did you find out what you needed?” Talon calls after me. I keep going, but he pulls me by the sleeve to stop me. “Wait. Here. Put these on.”

  He peels off his gloves and slips them over my hands. The new warmth aches, but the ache is worse in the center of my chest. We walk for a few more yards before I can’t take it anymore. I stop and whip around to face him.

  “Why did you have to do this? I don’t understand. The way you talk to me, then what you did to Andrea, and now this. What about Samantha?”

  “What about Isaiah? You went to see if he could make you feel the way I do, didn’t you? What did you find out?”

  “He loves me,” I spit at him. “He’s been good to me for five years.”

  “He’s been good to you? What does that mean?” Talon’s voice is commanding, but low. “He drives you home from school and has lunch with you on Sundays?”

  “We have a future together.”

  “Is that the future you want? One without passion? One where you won’t ever be touched the way you need to be.”

  “You need to stop. I don’t know why you’re doing this or what you get out of it, but it’s done. Please, just stay away from me.” I take off his gloves and hand them back to him. “Please.”

  12

  Wren

  Isaiah is standing by the flagpole outside the school when I walk up Monday morning. I honestly didn’t know if he was going to be here. He offers me a smile, but I can’t exactly tell what emotion is behind it. Usually we have a few minutes together standing under the flag before we have to go inside to go to class. But this morning, I’m running late, and I’ve only just gotten to him when the bell rings to let us know there are four minutes before we have to be sitting in our first period classes.

  He takes my hand, and we walk silently into the school. Like he does every morning, he walks me to my trigonometry classroom and kisses me on the cheek before I go inside. My heart’s heavy when I walk through the door, and my jaw sets when I see Talon sitting in his spot, staring expectantly at the door.

  He smirks at me. I know he saw Isaiah outside the classroom, and anyone who looks at us can tell there’s something going on. The smug look on his face is about all I can take. Refusing to acknowledge him or even change my expression, I walk past him and go to my desk. Angela motions to me from across the narrow aisle between the rows of seats.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “Fine. Just kind of a long weekend.”

  It doesn’t convince her, an
d she rubs my back for a few seconds before settling back in her seat. Even staring directly in front of me, focused on Mr. Whittaker as he scrawls something incoherent across the chalkboard, I can feel Talon looking at me. It’s not like he needs to pay attention to the lecture. As he made very clear, senior trigonometry is beneath him. Mr. Whittaker could probably hand him all the tests and quizzes of the entire semester and let him go through them one after another, and still Talon would slide by with a perfect grade.

  That means he has all the time he wants to watch me. He watches me take notes. He watches me try to copy down the problems on the board before Mr. Whittaker erases them. He watches me accept a note from Angela and write back. With every movement, he follows me with that devastating blue gaze.

  I don’t pay attention. Or, at least, I don’t let him know I’m paying attention. It all went way too far this weekend, and I’m ready to put it behind me and pretend he never even walked into my life. It’s strange to even think of him as being a part of my life. It’s only been a few weeks since he moved into the house next door and already it feels like so much longer. I can’t let it keep pulling on me. Talon has changed the way I think and affected the way I act. I need to push him out of my mind and get through this semester. Once this semester is over, he’ll be gone, and my life will be right back to where it was. Where it’s supposed to be.

  The class finally ends, and I rush out of the classroom without looking his way. Two more classes until lunch, and I can talk to Isaiah. I can’t imagine it’s going to be a fun conversation, but it’s one that has to happen. If it doesn’t, this won’t ever go away. Even if he pretends everything is fine, and we just go right back to our routine, it’s going to be there, just below the surface.

  He’s waiting for me after the last class before lunch and takes my hand to bring me to the commons. We go through the line, but nothing looks good. I haven’t had much of an appetite in the last couple days, and I slide my empty tray along behind him, setting it back in its spot before we walk over to our usual table. We get to the end, and I hesitate.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?” I ask.

  He nods, and we make our way into the hallway beside the theater. It’s quiet here, with only the sound of the class going on inside accompanying us as we sink down onto the floor. I lean my head back against the wall and watch Isaiah arrange the lettuce on his hamburger. When it’s perfect, he takes a bite and finally turns to me.

  “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asks.

  I nod, pulling my sleeves down over my hands and wrapping my arms around myself against the sudden chill rippling over me.

  “You didn’t come to church yesterday,” I say softly. It’s the best introduction into the conversation I can come up with.

  “I know,” he sighs.

  “It’s the first time in three years.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitates. “I just thought you needed some time to think. After everything that happened Friday night, I wanted to give you a little bit of space.”

  “Why?”

  “That wasn’t like you. I didn’t even know the person who showed up at my house.”

  I rest my forehead on my bent knees and shake it back and forth. Embarrassment burns my cheeks and makes my stomach flip.

  “I know it wasn’t. I’m sorry. Honestly, I can’t even believe I did that.”

  “Why did you?” he asks.

  The answer forms in my brain, but it dies somewhere before getting out of my throat. I want to tell him the truth. We’ve always been honest with each other, and now it seems more important than ever before. But I can’t bring myself to tell him what happened in that kitchen. Not because I think he’ll be mad at me that it happened, but because I don’t want him to see my face when I describe it.

  “I just... I just wanted to test something,” I stammer.

  “Test what?” he asks.

  I drop my head again and turn to look up at him.

  “Nothing,” I finally say. “It was silly. I shouldn’t have done it. Thank you for sending me back home.”

  “Absolutely. I will always do what I think is best for you,” he smiles.

  He reaches over and strokes my cheek. There’s a soft feeling in my chest, something warm and tender. It’s familiar. This is the settled, comfortable feeling of Isaiah. I can look at him and see strength, steadiness, and responsibility. I know he’s driven and secure, confident in the path he’s following. I’ve always seen being with him as one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. With him, I know I’m safe.

  “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” I say. “That wasn’t what I meant to do.”

  “You’re under a lot of stress, Wren. It’s the end of senior year. You have to figure out your college plans and deal with all the changes that are coming. It’s understandable for you to feel a little off. Just know I’m here for you and trust in the plan we made.”

  “Isn’t that sweet.”

  The voice sends a chill down my spine. I was so busy listening to Isaiah and trying to let his words sink all the way in I didn’t notice Talon and several of the people on crew for the play come out of the doors leading into the backstage area. He must have gotten a study hall for this period, spending it working on the sets. I stand up and reach down for Isaiah’s hand.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go back to our table.”

  Isaiah picks up his lunch, and we walk into the commons. Talon and the group follow us, but I don’t let myself turn around. Not until I hear his voice again.

  “Isn’t it sad, you could have me in your bed but choose to such a boring, basic guy like this,” Talon jeers.

  I whip around to face him. “That’s enough.”

  “What? Your boyfriend can’t stand to hear the truth? Or can’t you admit to yourself that you need a real man?”

  People all around us have heard the exchange and turn their attention to us. Some try to be subtle and lean backward toward us to listen in. Others forgot all about trying not to be obvious and just turn around to face us. They might as well have popcorn in their laps.

  “There is no truth for him to hear, Talon. I don’t know why this is amusing you so much, but you need to back off,” I snap.

  Talon laughs, totally unaffected, and continues through the commons to the vending machines. Dozens of people continue to stare at us. Isaiah reaches for my hand and guides me the rest of the way to the table.

  “You need to stay away from him,” he says. “I think he might be part of what happened Friday.”

  My eyes snap to him. “Why would you think that?”

  “The way he acts with Samantha. It made you... curious.”

  I hate the way his words make me squirm, but I nod.

  “You’re probably right.”

  13

  Talon

  “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

  My aunt’s high-pitched trill is not exactly what I wanted to wake up to this morning. Considering it’s Valentine’s Day, I would have been happy just to sleep through the entire thing and go on with my life tomorrow. There are few things in this world quite as cringeworthy as this particular holiday in the halls of a high school. Balloons, absurd teddy bears, and wilting bouquets team up with flagrant displays of affection that just, frankly, don’t need to exist.

  It’s hard to determine which is worse: the couples who fall all over themselves and each other to prove their undying love that will likely end before the balloons run out of helium or the singles who lavish each other with chocolates and roses in some ritualistic show of unity and strength that would end in an instant if anyone showed a hint of interest.

  Right now, my aunt belting out bubblegum pop love songs downstairs loud enough that it’s trickling its way all the way up to my attic room ranks right up there. I know nothing I can do will make her stop, so I give up my efforts to just sleep my way through the holiday. Getting dressed, I walk downstairs and find her in a vibrant pink an
d red dress in front of the stove. She picks up a plate beside her and flips pancakes onto it. When she slides them into the middle of the kitchen table, I see they are the shape of hearts.

  “Adorable,” I tell her.

  She grins at me and comes up to plant a kiss in the middle of my forehead.

  “Don’t try to pretend you forgot about our Valentine’s Day pancake tradition,” she smiles. “It might have been a few years since I made them for you, but with you living with me, I’m not going to skip this year.”

  “I remember,” I nod. “But now I have my own personal Valentine’s Day tradition I’d really like to honor.”

  She’s still dancing as she drizzles syrup down over the pancakes.

  “What’s that?” she asks.

  “Skipping school so I can avoid all the sickening Hallmark explosions.”

  “Good try, but no. I promised your father if he let you come here to spend your last semester, you would go to school and do well. This is part of life, Talon. You don’t get to just skip out on parts of life because you don’t have the patience for other people,” she tells me.

  “My father does,” I point out.

  That takes some of the shine right off her, and her dancing falters. The smile on her lips tips down and a distant look filters through her eyes. It’s only there for a few seconds, though, before she pushes it away and dives right back into Valentine’s Day splendor.

  “Not you,” she says. “You are going to be a better person.”

  “And being a better person somehow includes going to school on Valentine’s Day and listening to incredibly awkward teenage poetry presented by the school’s acapella group as singing telegrams?”

  “Is that really happening?” she cringes.

  “During third and fourth period,” I sigh. “With special encore editions in the courtyard during lunch.”