In the Bad Boy's Bed by Sophia Ryan Page A
Authors: Sophia Ryan
Tags: Romance, Coming of Age, Sex, college, High School, love, Poverty, wealth, teens, young adult romance, bad boy, passion, motorcycle, Violence, parties, good girl, Young Adults, New Life, river, young lovers, wrong side of tracks, sorority, judging people, secret rendezvous, prep-school, preppy, fraternity, kissing
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watching me.
"Yeah, Mom hid the drugs and bodies before she went to work."
My stomach dropped to my knees and it felt like my eyes were bugging out. He laughed.
Up to that point, I had my purse tucked up tightly under my arm, with both hands holding onto it. As I realized he was making fun of my reaction, I rapped him with it.
"Oh, you are so not funny."
"If you'd seen your face, you'd laugh. You were scared to death."
"No I wasn't."
Doubt lifted his eyebrows and he shook his head.
"I wasn't." I insisted.
"My mistake."
I stepped through the door and took in the details of the orderly, clean, fresh-smelling room. Light filled the space through tied-back sheer curtains. Not a speck of dust blemished the polished but scarred wooden coffee table and matching lamp table, or the bedside table that held an old TV whose picture area was only slightly bigger than my laptop's 17-inch screen.
A colorful throw covered the faded gold and green plaid couch. Two chairs flanked it, one a rocker in a bumpy oatmeal fabric and the other a recliner in brown faux leather.
All pointed toward the TV as if it were the prime entertainment.
If TV was king, the short, wide, tilting bookcase stuffed with books suggested that reading was a close second. The weight of the books--text books, romances, comics, literary classics, mysteries, and best sellers from several years ago—swayed the pressboard shelves. I could almost hear it groan.
Two 8 x 10 gold metal frames hung on the wall above the bookcase. I walked over to them. One held a school photo of a young boy of about seven or eight who resembled Nick but had blond hair and eyes so dark they looked black. The other photo was of Nick, a clearly younger Nick, maybe twelve or thirteen, in a red and black football uniform.
He hadn't put his tough on yet. That smile that these days usually just peeked out at one corner of his mouth took over the entire mouth. A dark sweep of bangs stuck up from his forehead, like he'd wiped sweat from them just before the picture was snapped.
The emotions in his green eyes were close to the surface, there for all to see, not hidden as they were in the grown up Nick I knew. I ran my finger across the handsome face, wishing I'd known this carefree and happy boy.
I felt Nick behind me. I leaned back against him when he wrapped his arms around my waist.
"How old were you?"
"Thirteen."
"You looked happy."
"That was taken a month before my dad announced he was leaving us for another woman."
A spiked fist twisted in my heart at the pain he and his family must have endured.
I turned in his arms to face him and brushed my fingers down his cheek.
"Nick, I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it happens."
"Did you see him much after—"
"Forget it. I have. Let me show you around."
He moved away from me and held his arms out to encompass the room we stood in. "Living room," he said. He pointed to the coffee table. "Dining room." He pointed to the corner by the window where a tall plant stood. "Arboretum." He pointed to the right.
"Kitchen." He nodded left down the hall. "Bathroom, laundry closet, two bedrooms."
His descriptions were delivered in a tongue-in-cheek tone edged with something else. Bitterness? Anger? Embarrassment? I wasn't sure. Was I only projecting my feelings about his home onto him?
As I looked around, I couldn't help but compare it to my home, with its separate living room, den, study/library areas; a laundry room the size of this living room; five bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and sitting area and walk-in closet; a kitchen with eat-in breakfast nook; formal and informal dining rooms, and so much more that I felt greedy even thinking about it.
I liked Nick. A lot. And the sex was mind-blowing. But seeing his house, seeing him in his world, stripped away all my rainbows and blue skies to reveal how very different we were. Not that I needed a guy who could give me fancy gifts and take me on expensive dates to be happy—Sean had given me the
"Yeah, Mom hid the drugs and bodies before she went to work."
My stomach dropped to my knees and it felt like my eyes were bugging out. He laughed.
Up to that point, I had my purse tucked up tightly under my arm, with both hands holding onto it. As I realized he was making fun of my reaction, I rapped him with it.
"Oh, you are so not funny."
"If you'd seen your face, you'd laugh. You were scared to death."
"No I wasn't."
Doubt lifted his eyebrows and he shook his head.
"I wasn't." I insisted.
"My mistake."
I stepped through the door and took in the details of the orderly, clean, fresh-smelling room. Light filled the space through tied-back sheer curtains. Not a speck of dust blemished the polished but scarred wooden coffee table and matching lamp table, or the bedside table that held an old TV whose picture area was only slightly bigger than my laptop's 17-inch screen.
A colorful throw covered the faded gold and green plaid couch. Two chairs flanked it, one a rocker in a bumpy oatmeal fabric and the other a recliner in brown faux leather.
All pointed toward the TV as if it were the prime entertainment.
If TV was king, the short, wide, tilting bookcase stuffed with books suggested that reading was a close second. The weight of the books--text books, romances, comics, literary classics, mysteries, and best sellers from several years ago—swayed the pressboard shelves. I could almost hear it groan.
Two 8 x 10 gold metal frames hung on the wall above the bookcase. I walked over to them. One held a school photo of a young boy of about seven or eight who resembled Nick but had blond hair and eyes so dark they looked black. The other photo was of Nick, a clearly younger Nick, maybe twelve or thirteen, in a red and black football uniform.
He hadn't put his tough on yet. That smile that these days usually just peeked out at one corner of his mouth took over the entire mouth. A dark sweep of bangs stuck up from his forehead, like he'd wiped sweat from them just before the picture was snapped.
The emotions in his green eyes were close to the surface, there for all to see, not hidden as they were in the grown up Nick I knew. I ran my finger across the handsome face, wishing I'd known this carefree and happy boy.
I felt Nick behind me. I leaned back against him when he wrapped his arms around my waist.
"How old were you?"
"Thirteen."
"You looked happy."
"That was taken a month before my dad announced he was leaving us for another woman."
A spiked fist twisted in my heart at the pain he and his family must have endured.
I turned in his arms to face him and brushed my fingers down his cheek.
"Nick, I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it happens."
"Did you see him much after—"
"Forget it. I have. Let me show you around."
He moved away from me and held his arms out to encompass the room we stood in. "Living room," he said. He pointed to the coffee table. "Dining room." He pointed to the corner by the window where a tall plant stood. "Arboretum." He pointed to the right.
"Kitchen." He nodded left down the hall. "Bathroom, laundry closet, two bedrooms."
His descriptions were delivered in a tongue-in-cheek tone edged with something else. Bitterness? Anger? Embarrassment? I wasn't sure. Was I only projecting my feelings about his home onto him?
As I looked around, I couldn't help but compare it to my home, with its separate living room, den, study/library areas; a laundry room the size of this living room; five bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and sitting area and walk-in closet; a kitchen with eat-in breakfast nook; formal and informal dining rooms, and so much more that I felt greedy even thinking about it.
I liked Nick. A lot. And the sex was mind-blowing. But seeing his house, seeing him in his world, stripped away all my rainbows and blue skies to reveal how very different we were. Not that I needed a guy who could give me fancy gifts and take me on expensive dates to be happy—Sean had given me the
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