Bad Boy Next Door: A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance Read online

  “Wren, are you alright?” I call out to her from the door.

  She straightens and turns to look at me. Mark glares in my direction.

  “She’s fine. I’m here with her,” he says.

  Wren hasn’t looked away from me. Before she can take a step, her eyes flutter closed, and her legs buckle beneath her. I rush forward, lunging out to scoop her out of the air and into my arms. Cradling her close to my chest, I run back inside. People gasp and cry out when they see her limp in my arms, but their reaction doesn’t matter to me. I need to find Samantha. She breaks through the crowd and comes up to me, her eyes wide when she sees Wren.

  “What happened? What did she do?” she asks.

  “I think it’s her heart. I think she passed out. I need to find somewhere to lay her down,” I say.

  “Upstairs,” Samantha says. “There’s a guest bedroom right at the top of the steps.”

  I nod and run through the rooms toward the steps. Mark has caught up with us and maneuvers his way around me to stand in my path.

  “What are you doing with her?” he demands.

  “Get out of my way,” I say. “She needs to lie down.”

  “What are you going to do to her?” he asks.

  “I’d ask you the same question, considering if your hand went any lower on her back, you’d be testing to see what material her panties are. But I’m not going to, because if I have to hear you try to bullshit your way out of following her out onto that deck in hopes of taking advantage of her obvious impaired state, I’m going to have to put her down and beat the living shit out of you. Frankly, I’d rather hold her. Now get out of my way.”

  Mark responds to my growl and moves, freeing up the steps so I can run with Wren up to the guest room. I rest her on the bed, making sure her head is on one of the pillows. She’s groaning slightly, and I reach out to run my hand over her forehead.

  “It’s alright, Little Bird. I’m here. I’ve got you,” I whisper.

  After a few more seconds, she opens her eyes slightly. She sees me through the narrow slit and smiles weakly. “Talon. What happened?”

  “You passed out downstairs. What have you had to eat and drink today?”

  She makes it sound like she’s trying to think back through her day but shakes her head.

  “I can’t remember,” she says. “Maybe a couple of cups of coffee.”

  “Did you eat anything?” I ask.

  She shakes her head again. “I don’t think so.”

  “That’s really not good, Wren. The caffeine fucks with your heart, and if you don’t eat enough, it’s even worse.”

  “How did you know about the caffeine?” she asks.

  “I did some research,” I tell her.

  “You researched my heart condition?”

  “Yes. I was curious,” I say.

  “Just curious?”

  I smile and stand from where I was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Let me find you something salty to eat. That will help.”

  “Where is she? Where is she? Wren!”

  The voice coming up the stairs is unmistakable. Somebody must have called Isaiah when they saw me carrying her. He comes up the stairs with a blazing look in his eyes.

  “What did you do?” he demands. “What did you do to her?”

  I square off against him. “I didn’t do anything to her.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Everybody here saw you bring her inside and run her upstairs unconscious. What did you put in her drink?”

  I nod bitterly. “Of course that’s what you think of me. Because you’re so tolerant and loving to everyone, right, Isaiah?”

  “Isaiah, he didn’t...” Wren starts, and Isaiah pushes past me to stand next to the bed.

  “I’m here now. It’s okay. I won’t let him near you again,” Isaiah tells her.

  “Isaiah, listen to me…” she starts again, but I shake my head.

  “Don’t worry about it. He likes having me to blame for something.” I look directly at Isaiah. “Be sure to have her tested for whatever you think I put in her drink.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of my girlfriend,” he says. As I leave the room, I hear him continue. “I’m so disappointed in you, Wren. Why would you come here without telling me? You know what parties with these people are like.”

  17

  Wren

  It’s hard to concentrate on rehearsals and school for the next two weeks. No matter how much I try, my mind keeps wandering. Too often throughout the day, I find myself having to scramble to catch back up to what’s being said in the lecture. Getting good grades isn’t something I ever had to struggle with. Now I’m feeling disoriented, like I’m steps behind, trying to figure out what’s going on. It’s not something I’m enjoying.

  My head is too wrapped up around Isaiah and Talon. I don’t even want to think about them in the same sentence. They shouldn’t exist in the same sentence. And the reality is, they don’t. At least, most of the time.

  When I think about Isaiah, the hesitation and questions I have about our relationship aren’t about Talon. I’m trying to understand myself and what I want for my future. It’s not as easy as it’s always been. It seems like I’ve always had everything figured out. Having my future laid out in front of me felt like being a step ahead. Now it feels like I am giving up something. Not the idea of dating around or being wild and unattached. It feels like I’m giving up knowing myself. I’ve spent so long just trusting in the decisions of me at thirteen that I’ve lost touch with what me now knows, thinks, and may want.

  His sudden insistence on me coming to Boston with him rather than leaving for college the way I’ve always envisioned makes the feeling even heavier. Going to college has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember. I’ve always felt like that’s the time when I’ll make the most difference, when I can really take on the world. That’s not what’s waiting for me in Boston. If I go to Boston with him, it will be to follow his dream and live the life he wants for himself.

  But maybe that isn’t so wrong. Doing everything you can to help another person live their best life is what love is all about. Watching my parents throughout their marriage has proven to me that the strongest relationships aren’t based on each person doing for themselves and trying to exist completely independently alongside each other. It’s about building a life together.

  Planning ahead has never felt hard with Isaiah. He’s a constant in my life, someone I’ve always been able to trust and rely on. We come from similar families and are driven by the same motivators. But recently I’ve been left wondering if that’s really enough. Should everything always feel so steady, like every minute is falling into place because I’ve lived them a thousand times before? After so many years, should my boyfriend still be an excitement for me, or is it a sign of maturity and growth that we have a comfortable, established pattern?

  Except things haven’t felt as comfortable lately. The tension between us is palpable. I want that to mean there’s still something there worth getting worked up over. But over the last couple of weeks, it’s just felt like control. It’s hard to imagine living my life without him, but it’s getting harder to envision always feeling this way, too.

  The one time I can really get out of my own head and stop thinking about Isaiah and what lies ahead would look like with him or without him is during rehearsal. But with rehearsal comes Talon. We’ve kept our distance since the party, but I can feel him watching me, and every chance I get, I steal a glance at him.

  I don’t understand what it is he makes me feel. He’s dismissive and rude, easily casting me aside. But then there are moments nothing exists in the world but the two of us. No matter how much I try to stay away from him, I keep feeling myself pulled into his orbit.

  I linger after rehearsal has ended. It’s the last one. After this, it’s just the performances, and the play will be done. My entire experience with my high school theater department will be done. It’s one more ending in my senio
r year. This is a time full of excitement and potential, looking ahead and eagerly anticipating what’s to come. But to reach all those opportunities and find those new beginnings, I have to navigate my way through so many endings.

  The theater is quiet. I haven’t been here when it’s this quiet in months. In the time leading up to a play, it’s usually alive with people and activity. Actors scattered around working on their lines or going over blocking and choreography. Directors and choreographers flitting from place to place, giving guidance and making corrections. The crew working on sets and practicing light cues and changes in between scenes. Now all that work is done. The theater is just waiting.

  On the days when Isaiah will bring me home from school, he either picks me up in the morning, or I take the bus. Today I drove, wanting to take the time to myself and be able to stay at the school without worrying about anyone waiting for me. I can be here as long as I want.

  It’s long after rehearsal has ended, and the rest of the school has emptied of all but a few teachers. I start up the aisle out of the theater when something catches my eye. Something dark is draped across the back of one of the seats, and I walk up to it. As I get close, I realize what it is.

  My stomach flutters slightly, as I rest my hand on Talon’s jacket. The spring weather has been going back and forth between a sharp, bitter cold first thing in the morning and comfortably warm by the afternoon. He wears his jacket every day, draping it across the seat when he goes up to work on the sets. Today he must have forgotten it when he left.

  I run my fingertips along the row of safety pins embedded in the leather. I don’t understand. They don’t seem to have any purpose or any real meaning, but they stir something inside me when I touch them. I remember how they felt when I was pressed to his back, riding his motorcycle wrapped around him. I remember the first time I saw them, and they intrigued me even as I felt put off.

  Staying away from him has been harder than I expected it to be. It shouldn’t be difficult. We barely know each other, and I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. There’s been more shouting and rudeness between us than anything else. Yet running my fingers along his jacket brings a deep sense of longing for something I don’t really understand.

  Talon isn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. It isn’t just his motorcycle. It isn’t even the attitude and way he seems to face the entire world with a sense of disdain. There’s something more in him, and even though he shuts off every time I seem to find a little piece of it, I find myself wanting to find more.

  I pick up the jacket and can feel its weight in my hands. A sudden compulsion comes over me. I indulge it by slipping my arms into the jacket and wrapping it around myself. It’s like I can feel him in the fibers. The smell of his crisp cologne, the heat of his body, even the lingering vibration of his motorcycle roaring beneath him. It’s all there, and I close my eyes, feeling it surround me.

  Reluctantly taking it off, I fold it and consider putting it back down on the seat. It’s silly to hesitate. He lives right next door. I should just bring it home with me and bring it over to him. Even if he’s not there, I can leave it with his aunt or drape it across the banister of the porch. My fingertips find the pins again, and I trace them. Movement out of the corner of my eye startles me, and I turn to see Talon walking slowly down the aisle toward me. His blazing blue eyes are on me, his expression blank and still.

  My heart pounds in my chest, and my cheeks burn. How long has he been standing there? Did he see me put his jacket on? He doesn’t say anything. Just walks up to me. We stare at each other for a few long seconds before he reaches out and takes the jacket from my hands.

  Instead of turning away and leaving, he unfolds the black leather and slips the sleeves over my hand. He guides the jacket onto me and pulls it closed. My body trembles, and my breath catches as his hands run along the zipper, grazing my breasts and stomach through the fabric.

  “I like it on you,” he says. He looks me up and down. My body feels hot beneath his gaze. He steps up closer. “It’s a surprise. You aren’t really the kind to go for black leather.”

  It’s too much. Too close. I step back and take the jacket off, handing it back to him.

  “You don’t even know me,” I say.

  Not waiting for a reply, I walk around him and hurry out of the school and throw myself into my car. I sit and catch my breath until Talon walks out, and I drive away.

  18

  Wren

  The play went off comfortably, if not smoothly or perfectly. It feels strange going to school and coming home right after without any rehearsal or practice to get to. But it’s also exciting because it means spring break is only a matter of days away. I don’t plan on going anywhere, but that doesn’t mean I’m not looking forward to a few days of totally disconnecting and relaxing.

  As I open the door to my room, I notice it’s colder than the rest of the house, and I can smell fresh air. Spring in Virginia means the temperature violently whips back and forth between cold and warm like a yo-yo with a rubber band for a string, so I always have a jacket sitting close by the door.

  As I slip it on, I walk across the room to the window I don’t remember opening and nearly jump out of my skin when I hear someone clear their throat from my bed. My hand goes over my heart, and I have to swallow a scream when I see it is Talon, his motorcycle boots sitting on the footboard as he lies in my bed, hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling.

  “Ever think of putting a poster up there?” he asks as if he didn’t just break into my room.

  “How did you get in here? How long have you been up here? What are you doing in my room?” I ask, my voice rapidly declining in urgency and pitch but rising in anger.

  “I want to talk to you, and this seemed like the best way,” he says, not moving from his obviously relaxing position on my bed. Exasperated, I sit at my desk chair and stare at him. Finally, he sits up, flings his feet to my floor, and looks over at me.

  “Why are you breaking into my room?” I ask. ”I haven’t seen you since the play ended. You could have just come up to me and said hi.”

  “I didn’t break-in. The window was unlocked. Not having any rehearsals makes it harder to find a time to see you.”

  “You live next door,” I point out. “I don’t think that’s a viable excuse. What are you doing here?”

  “I brought you something.”

  Talon stands and walks over to me, stopping just feet from me so I can smell his cologne and the heat from his motorcycle. He opens the bag and fishes out a small instant camera, the kind my aunt had at every table for her wedding so she could have hundreds of candid photos. It is such an odd thing to give me, and I look back at him in confusion. He gives me a half smile.

  “It’s a camera,” he explains.

  “I know what it is. Why am I holding it? No one uses these things anymore. Everyone has a camera on their phones. Do people still even develop film?” I ask.

  “Exactly, everyone has a camera on their phone. And those photos are digital and can be sent anywhere at any time in the span of seconds. These, though,” he fishes out another camera from the bag and shakes it at me as he speaks. “These have to be developed, and then you have the negatives, and the copies you buy. That’s it. And yes, people still develop film.”

  “Okay,” I nod, still struggling to follow where he’s going.

  “You said I don’t know you. You’re right. I don’t. So, let’s get to know each other. I’m going on vacation for spring break. I’m assuming you’re staying here.”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “So, we share it with each other. Show me the world through your eyes, what matters to you, what stands out to you. Take pictures and send them to me. I’ll give you the address to my hotel. I’ll do the same and send them here. They won’t be saved anywhere. There’ll be no digital copies or posting it and hoping for likes. It will just be moments. Like I’m seeing your memories.”

  “You are the wealthiest person I’ve
ever known. You could have access to any technology you want,” I point out.

  “Which is why I want to do it this way. Like no one else. Don’t show me what you’d show your followers. Show me what you show yourself.”

  The first letter arrives in the mail just a day into spring break. It surprises me how fast a letter arrives, as I have yet to take more than one picture. Even that was just a selfie where I waved at the camera. I hurry back to my room to open the envelope and lay back on my bed.

  The first picture confuses me, and I stare at it for a long while. Eventually I realize I have it upside down and flip it. It’s a sunset, shot from a distance, and in the air from the window of an airplane. The tip of the wing is barely visible at the bottom of the picture, and I orient myself by it. A compulsion to hold it to my side and sit facing away from it, like I was sitting in his seat, overcomes me. I follow the feeling, trying to imagine what it would be like to be on an adventure like that.

  I can’t. It’s so glamorous, to just leave on a plane for wherever you want for any reason. I try to put the envy out of my mind as I flip to the next picture, and I grin at the image. It’s a picture of Talon’s lap, where a book lies open. I recognize it as one I was reading a few weeks ago, about Church Hill in Richmond, and some of the curious ghost stories that come from there. I have a copy sitting on my bookshelf. I wonder if he noticed me reading it and wanted one for himself. The next picture shows him at the luggage pickup, reaching out for a small suitcase with his name on it. I start to get the impression he is taking the idea of documenting his trip really far, and by the end of the roll, I might see him just checking into his hotel.