Page 23 of Rent a Bad Boy

“Oh my god,” she whispers, sliding down until the water is up to her chin.

I kneel next to the tub and grab the shampoo before working it into her hair. She tips her head back and closes her eyes, and makes another one of those sounds. I have to focus very hard on the task at hand, because this is supposed to be the part where I take care of her, not the part where I start something else.

Her hair is soft, tangled up in the back from the pillow. I work through the knots without pulling, because today I learned I’m capable of being gentle when it counts. That kind of scares me almost as much as everything else.

“Everett?”

“Yeah.”

“What is this?”

My hands slow down but don’t stop. “What do you mean?”

“Us. This. What are we doing?” She’s staring at the faucet, not at me. “Are we a couple now?”

I cup my hand over her forehead to keep the soap out of her eyes as I rinse her hair. I take my time about it because I’m thinking, and I don’t want to say anything I don’t mean.

Here’s what I know. I’ve never liked a girl this much. I’ve never let a girl stay in my bed. I’ve never washed a girl’s hair. I’ve never cared whether a girl’s legs were shaking when she stood up. I’ve never bought glasses for anybody but her.

I also know I’m not good for her. Not really. I’ve got secrets she doesn’t know about yet. A second life she can’t see. I have a temper that’s put more people on the floor than I can count. Meanwhile, she’s a girl who names her chickens after Taylor Swift songs and irons her jeans. She deserves someone who won’t come home with bruised knuckles, then lie about where they came from.

But the thought of letting her go stirs a rage in me deeper than just about anything ever has. That’s the part I can’t get past. I should want to, for her sake, but I can’t. So instead of doing the right thing, I reply, “Yeah. We’re dating now.”

Her head whips around so fast water splashes me. “We are?”

“Yeah. We are.”

“Since when?”

“Since right now.”

She stares at me. I stare back, though I don’t have to squint the way she does. “We’ve never even been on a date,” she points out. “You can’t just decide what we’re doing on your own. There are steps. You’re supposed to ask somebody out, and you’re supposed to go somewhere and eat food, and have awkward conversation.”

I’ll overlook the fact that we’ve already been out to eat together and had a pretty awkward conversation. “Let’s fix that.” I stand up and grab a towel off the rack. “We’re going out tonight.”

“Tonight? I’m in a bathtub.”

“Not for long.” I hold the towel open. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out for dinner, then we’ll figure it out after that.”

“I don’t have anything to wear. All I have is what I came in, and that includes the chicken underwear.”

I wink at her. “Wear the chicken underwear.” All she does is look at me like she’s not sure if she can or should believe a word out of my mouth. “Get dressed, dimples.”

She stands up and takes the towel, wrapping it around herself. I leave her to it, going downstairs to the kitchen to get some water. I’m very thirsty all of a sudden.

We’re dating. I said it out loud. I made it real.

What the hell am I doing?

I’ve got a fight coming up tomorrow that she doesn’t know about. We’re in a house I bought with blood money. I’ve got a past that would send most people running.

And I just told a girl who wears underwear with chickens on it that she’s my girlfriend.

9

ISLA

I don’t know what I expected a college party to look like, but it wasn’t this.