Bad Boyfriend: A Bad Boy Romance by Julie Kriss

Author:Julie Kriss
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Five Doors Creative
Published: 2016-04-01T23:00:00+00:00

17

Holly

THE NEXT DAY WAS SUNDAY—my day off. I did things that I had no memory of. Laundry, perhaps. Tidying my apartment. Stocking my fridge. I called my mother, and listened numbly as she chatted to me about her job, her coworkers, the house, Jason. Most of it washed over me in a wave, shushing past me while I heard the ocean in my ears. Like an addict’s, my body was still cruising a high, and I was in a place where I felt no pain, no sadness, no worry. Just the aftermath of sex so good it had pulled me apart and put me back together with the pieces in different, and better, places.

I hadn’t stayed the night at Dean’s, but we stayed up so late he made me text him the minute I got home so he’d know I got there okay. I’d stumbled into my place, wired and exhausted, and passed out on my bed in my rumpled skirt and t-shirt for a few hours before getting back up again. All day my mind had circled back to last night, touching on images, memories, as if it couldn’t process everything at once.

Dean’s gorgeous naked body. The things I’d done with it. The things he’d done to me. The things he’d said. The things I’d said. And again, his gorgeous naked body. Every line of it carved into my memory. And again. Oh, and again.

I spent my evening sewing, letting my mind unspool into my favorite activity. Sewing was a mix of creativity and technical expertise that engaged my brain so completely I always stopped thinking about anything else. I was making a shirtdress from a 1970’s pattern I’d bought online. I planned to make the dress according to the pattern, and after it was done I’d start over and make it again, this time adding my own modifications, making it uniquely mine. But the best way to modify the pattern was to practice it first, so I worked away at it, unspooling the fabric I’d bought at the old fabric store downtown and cutting pieces. I got into the groove and the world went away as it always did when I was in my happiest place.

I was sitting on my floor, surrounded by pieces of fabric, when I heard my phone ping. I picked it up and found a text from Dean.

Congratulations, he said. You’ve survived one week.

I felt the blood pulse in my throat. He was right—one week ago today he’d driven me home from the cottage, and we’d made our agreement. Had it only been a week? Two dates? I felt like a different person.

What are you doing right now? I texted him.

Calling you, he replied, and then my phone rang.

“Hey,” I said when I answered, breathless.

“Hey,” he said, and just that word, rumbled in my ear, made me stupid again. I was in so, so much trouble.

“Come over,” I said.

Dean laughed, low and intimate, the sound so hot it was nearly pornographic. I flopped onto my back on the floor, my feet flat, my knees bent, absorbing it.

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