Not Another Bad Boy(8)

By: Devyn Morgan


After about twenty minutes without moving, my eyelids start to droop. I don't even fight it. It's been a long day. I could use a little cat nap before wild sex.





Chapter 8





I wake up slightly hungover in bed at home. Tom must have carried me up to bed. He's such a weirdo. Like it would have bothered me to wake up and walk into the house, knowing that we were on the way to cap off the evening.

He must be brushing his teeth. I can taste the beer on my breath. I roll out of bed to join him so that I'm not the only one with skunk breath.

The room seems too bright, bright enough that I shield my eyes from the light until I realize that it is the sun.

The morning sun.

Tom carried me to bed and let me sleep instead of bothering to wake me for the nightcap. He did it because he's a good guy. What's it going to take to make him realize that I need him to be a bad boy every now and then?

There's a note on the dining room table.

Went to store to get groceries. There's bagels on the counter and the cream cheese you love in the fridge.

I'll probably be back before you even wake up.

Love, T

I can't deal with him returning. He'll be all chipper, singing and dancing while making me coffee and putting away the groceries.

I throw on some clothes, toss a toothbrush in my backpack, and run out the door. I manage to escape before he returns. He has the car, so I just walk.

Eventually, I realize that I've wandered to a used bookstore next to a coffee shop I used to hang out at between boyfriends before I met Tom. I used to buy some old paperback with tons of pages bent down. Then, while drinking coffee, I would read the book, focusing on the pages with the bent corners, and try to imagine whether the reader had stopped there or had marked the page to read again later. I could spend hours reading, imagining some unknown reader's life and enjoying books I would have never picked up in a million years on my own.

I pick up some paperback because the cover has a sexy man without a shirt on it, and head to coffee shop.

A few hours later, I'm wondering why the reader stopped reading the trashy romance novel about a bad boy bouncer and his insecure boyfriend right when the characters were about to have sex. Had her husband--in my imagination it's a woman reading the book--come in right then? If so, had he swept her off her feet and they went on to have their own romance novel sex?

Or had the reader been someone like Tom? Someone who loved getting right up to that moment, sharing all the intimacy, getting all her nerves firing and craving sweet release, and then just wanted to pause everything to cool it down and regain control of where her desires were carrying her.

I hope she at least rubbed one out. I hadn't even had the chance for that last night since Tom hadn't woken me.

A new text makes my phone buzz. He must have heard me cursing at him.

"Miss you. Hope you're having fun. Don't forget. Wine with Mo and Frankie tonight."

I don't reply. I already know that I'll be home in time to muscle through the get-together at their house tonight. I'm already recognizing that I love Tom too much to run away from him. My future will be full of trashy bad boy novels and Internet porn for the times when I needed more than Tom is willing to give me.

I finish the book at four. I'm starving and queasy after five large coffees and one huge cookie. Wondering whether I'll get to stay home if I throw up while getting ready for our date, I pack up and start the march back to our apartment.





Chapter 9





Mauricio and Frankie both yell for us to come in when we ring the doorbell.

They are shuffling around the kitchen, moving pots from the oven and pouring the contents into serving bowls like well choreographed dance partners.

"Hola, amigos." Mauricio says without turning to look at us. His entire focus is on making sure the sauce gets in the bowl without splashing onto his white button-up shirt or his white pants.

"Perfect timing," Frankie says. "Have a seat at the table. We'll be there in a second. Mo's almost got this dinner beaten into submission."

Tom and I return their greetings and sit at the table.

"So, what have you boys been up to today?" Mauricio asks, finally able to focus on us while carrying bowls to the table.

"I did some grocery shopping and some laundry. Just a light chore day."

"How about you, Parker?" Mauricio asks.

"Yeah," Tom says turning toward me. "What were you doing today?"

Frankie and Mauricio look at each other as if Tom's question indicates some deeper problem that they have been expecting.

I blanch under their accusing stares.

"Nothing much really. I went downtown to this used bookstore I used to go to, picked up a book and read it next door at the coffee shop."

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