How to Kiss a Bad Boy

by Ashby, Amanda

  And now here they were.

  He thrust his key into the door and twisted.

  “Home sweet home,” he said in a tight voice as they stepped inside.

  He’d always known the place was a dump. From the mustard-colored carpet through to the mismatched furniture. It was nothing like Lo’s neat bungalow with the well-kept grass and the matching curtains. Everything there was warm. Loved. Permanent. Everything here was—

  “Thanks.” Frankie didn’t seem to notice how small it was. Or that Chelsea’s toys were scattered across the sofa. Unless she was just being polite. He led her to a kitchen stool and stalked to the first aid kit.

  When Chelsea was two, she’d knocked over a cup of hot coffee and scalded her arm. The trip to the hospital had been the worst of his life. And while the burns had completely healed, he and his mom had done a first aid course in case there was a next time.

  He put it on the counter and grabbed some old clean towels they kept around for when the faucets leaked. The ripped fabric of her skirt had fallen to one side. He didn’t focus on the long expanse of leg, just on what needed to be done.

  The bleeding had stopped, and the cut wasn’t nearly as deep as he’d feared. It wouldn’t need stitches. He used one of the old towels to dry her leg and then set about cleaning and dressing it.

  She didn’t say a word.

  When it was done, he stepped away. “I think I’ve managed to save the leg.”

  It broke the tension, and some of the color returned to her face. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “You might want to get it checked properly when you get home. Is it still hurting?”

  “No. I think it was just the shock of seeing it,” she said as she glanced down at the mess on the ground. “I’m really sorry about this.”

  “I thought we were friends. You don’t need to say sorry,” he said. “It’s what anyone would have done.”

  She swallowed but didn’t protest. “Okay. I guess I should call Lo and get her to pick me up.”

  “I don’t mind taking you,” he said, then looked at her ruined dress. “I have some clean sweats if you want to get changed. They might be too big, but—”

  “Is this about the zombie apocalypse thing again?” she said, sounding more and more like her usual self. “Because I have to tell you, it’s not what a girl likes to hear.”

  “I was going to say it might stop you from catching a cold,” he said. “Really it’s self-interest. If you get sick, I’ll be stuck with Kenneth.”

  There was another burst of laughter. “You make a good argument.” She shakily got to her feet. Then she tested her leg and nodded. “Okay, that would be great if I could borrow some clothes.”

  “Sure.” He went to collect a fresh towel and clean sweats along with a bag to put her ruined dress in, before directing her to the small bathroom.

  No good could come from him imagining Frankie getting changed. He quickly made his way back into the main living area and packed away the first aid kit.

  Once he was done, he filled up the coffee machine and set it to brew and herded up as many of Chelsea’s toys as he could find.

  It didn’t really improve anything, but it was the best he could do. Then he went into his bedroom and dragged off his soaking clothes. He’d get a shower later. When it was safe. In the meantime, he just shrugged on the nearest T-shirt. Feeling more like a regular guy and less like a drowned rat, he headed back out just as Frankie emerged from the bathroom.

  Oh, boy.

  His sweats hung off her, leaving her buried inside them. But it was no good. He could still see where every soft curve was. He swallowed. She’d towel dried her hair, and it was hanging down her back in loose golden curls. Her pale blue eyes were bright against her dark lashes. She’d rolled up the legs of the sweatpants, and her bare tanned feet poked out the bottom.

  Stop staring at her.

  “Want a coffee before we go?” He walked into the small open kitchen, relieved to put some space between them.

  “Sure.” She glanced around and then wrinkled her nose. “You know you didn’t need to tidy up for me. Unless you’re worried I might take one of Chelsea’s unicorn toys.”

  “It was for your own safety. They multiply at night, which means there’s no telling what else they might do. It could get messy, and you’ve already had a tough day,” he said and then rubbed his jaw. “Sorry about this place. It’s probably not what you’re used to.”

  He slid over a cup of coffee, and she wrapped her hands around it. When she looked back up her brow was knitted together.

  “I didn’t always live with Lo, you know.”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I heard your mom died,” he said, and then wanted to kick himself for bringing her mom into the conversation. He really was on a winner today.

  “She left Cricket Bay when I was a baby and moved to Los Angeles. In eight years, we lived in twenty different apartments. And not the kind you write home about.” She looked down and studied the counter. When she lifted her head, her eyes were clear. “I get it. I know what it’s like, but I also know it’s not about the place, it’s about the people. Look at Aaron. He might live in a mansion, but…” She trailed off.

  He put down his coffee. He’d never given it much thought. Just focused on the fact they didn’t have much. Rather than looking at what they did have. He returned her gaze.

  “You’re smart.”

  “I like to think so,” she said.

  “And so modest.” He grinned as she took a sip of coffee and glanced around the apartment. Then she walked over to the sofa and stared at the wall. His mom had put some of his larger sketches there.

  She stopped at one of the Cauldron, where they’d just been. He’d spent months drawing it over and over again, in all kinds of light, trying to capture the battle between water and land that raged every day. And while he’d been ultimately pleased with it, it wasn’t meant to be seen by anyone else. Hell.

  “Hey. It’s my beach.”

  “Yours?”

  “Okay, it’s not technically my beach, but I’ve always loved it. I go there to think.”

  “That’s why you were there today?” His skin prickled, and something shifted in his chest. All this time they’d been going to the same retreat and never known it. The room grew warm, and it was hard to remember they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks. Yet somehow things kept joining them together. Things that mattered.

  He slowly walked over to her.

  “Yeah. It helps me make sense of the world,” she said, still staring at the rolling waves. “Whoever drew this really captured it. How the sky falls into the sea when you sit on that rock and stare at it.” She leaned closer, and her eyes seemed to narrow in on the signature in the corner. “Wait. This is yours?”

  She spun back around, her lips parted.

  When he didn’t answer, she moved to the next one. It was of a tree at the back of the school grounds. It had taken him a couple of weeks, and he still wasn’t pleased with the shading.

  Then she walked up to him, tilting her head, as if trying to understand him. “Jackson. These are amazing. My mind is blown. Why didn’t you say you were into art?”

  “Weirdly enough, it’s not a great conversation starter.” He shrugged, heat moving to his face. This wasn’t what he wanted. This sharing. This feeling like she understood who he was and what he was trying to say. Hell. He didn’t even understand it half the time. That’s why he sketched, to get things out of his head. Things he didn’t have words for. “Besides, it’s no big deal. Lots of people draw.”

  “Not like this they don’t.” Her voice was firm before she let out a gasp. “The sketch of Rosie that I found. That was you! Why didn’t you tell me? Do you have any idea how many people have commented on it?”

  Unfortunately, yes. And each time it was deeply uncomfortable.

  “Frankie, it’s no big deal. I don’t really draw for other people to see. It’s just my own thing.”

  “Are you saying
I can’t boast about you at work?” Her face dropped, then her dimple appeared. “Don’t worry, it will be yet another secret I keep about the mysterious Jackson Lang.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s not a problem.” She crossed over to the bookshelf. It was mainly filled with paperbacks, but there were a couple of framed sketches he’d done of his mom and his sister. She picked them up. “I just can’t get over how amazing these are. This is Chelsea to a T. Even how her mouth tilts when she grins.”

  “You have no idea how hard it was to get her to sit still,” he admitted, the tension in his shoulders easing.

  He’d just assumed that nothing could happen between them because they were from two different worlds. There was a line between them that couldn’t be crossed. But now he wasn’t sure.

  Are we so different?

  He’d assumed she’d always lived in a nice house with plenty of cash. But it wasn’t true. She knew what it was like to be in a bad area, in a crappy apartment, with no money. And she seemed to think it wasn’t the end of the world.

  She moved to his sketchpad that was sitting by the television. It was open at the mermaid statue he’d been working on. When she turned, her eyes were gleaming.

  “It reminds me of you, and how you see the world.”

  “You get all that from some pencil lines?” he said, curiosity getting the better of him.

  “Sure. You’re always far away from what you’re drawing. Like you’re an outsider, and there’s no color. I mean, black and white’s kind of your thing, right?”

  It was?

  “Not sure I follow.”

  “Your clothes.” She nodded at him. “You always wear plain T-shirts and jeans. The only time I’ve seen you in a color is when you put on an apron.”

  “I never really thought about it before. I don’t care much about clothes. I guess plain just seems easier.”

  “I’m not complaining,” Frankie said as she glanced around. “Do you have any more I could look at?”

  He stiffened. Sketchpads were stacked up in his bedroom. Including a couple of drawings he’d done of Frankie, trying to catch the way the light hit her face when she laughed.

  Probably not such a great idea to let her see them.

  “Nothing much,” he said.

  It seemed to satisfy her, and she drifted back to the kitchen counter and sat down on a stool. The sleeves of the sweatshirt had fallen down over her wrists, and she pushed them back up. Her hair was still damp, and several curls clung to her skin. She peered up at him through her lashes.

  “So, the question is, what are you going to do with this amazing talent of yours? Will you go to art school?”

  Art school?

  He doubted he’d even be going to community college.

  Chelsea was only six, and as she grew, so would the bills. He’d finish senior year then get a job. Assuming anyone would hire him.

  It was a depressing thought, and he swallowed it down.

  “I don’t know. I’m not one for making plans,” he admitted, sitting on the stool next to her. She twisted toward him, her knees almost touching his. This was dangerous. Very dangerous.

  “Not make plans? What is this madness you speak of?”

  “I guess I just figure if I don’t make plans then I won’t be disappointed,” he said, his eyes locked with hers.

  “That’s kind of sad. What if there’s something you really want?” She leaned forward, her mouth slightly parted. She was so close he could count the tiny freckles across her nose.

  “I guess I haven’t wanted anything that much before,” he said, his voice hoarse. Lie. There was something he really wanted. Something I have no right to want. He quickly stood up and reached for his keys. “I should drive you home now.”

  “S-sure,” she said as disappointment flashed across her face. Then her lips curved into a smile that did wicked things to his pulse. “Jackson, do you want to go to Summerfest with me?”

  She was inviting him out?

  To spend the day with her?

  He should say no. Of course he should. There were hundreds of reasons why spending more time with her was a bad idea. The worst. It was a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Because if he did step into her world and things got messed up, everything would be ruined. And what if she was just rebounding from Aaron?

  But all he could remember was how much he liked her. How hard she worked, how fierce she was, how she’d survived just as much as he had.

  How much I want to kiss her.

  “I’d like that,” he said as he stepped back toward her. Two dimples peeked out from her cheeks. “I’d like that a lot.”

  There. He’d done it. There was no going back now.

  8

  “Okay, you’re going to have to talk me through this.” Lo put down her glass as a Cheshire Cat-type smile spread across her mouth. It was a long-held Sunday morning tradition to sit around the diner-style booth in the kitchen, catching up on the week and eating waffles and bacon. She always looked forward to it.

  Today not so much.

  Last night, Lo had inspected the cut on Frankie’s leg three times before being satisfied it wasn’t serious. There had been more than a few questions as to why she was at the beach and how she’d ended up at Jackson’s apartment. Which was why she hadn’t told her aunt about her new Summerfest plans until a couple of minutes ago. To avoid getting the third degree.

  “Are you really going to make me say it?”

  “Yes, I do believe I am.” Her aunt beamed as Johnny brought a towering plate of waffles over to the table and planted a kiss on Lo’s immaculate beehive.

  “She’s got a point, Frank.” Johnny returned with the bacon. She held up her hands in defeat.

  “Fine. Lo and Johnny,” she said in a mock serious voice. “Jackson and I are going to Summerfest together.”

  “That’s the part I’m still not clear on. Last thing I knew you were crushing on Aaron Tremain,” Lo said in an innocent voice that was somewhat ruined by the way she fluttered her mascaraed lashes.

  Heat traveled up Frankie’s neck.

  Technically Lo was right. But in her defense that was seven days ago. It seemed like a lifetime. Her stomach turned at the idea of kissing Aaron. He might have looked good on paper, but there was nothing good about him in real life. He was petty and vindictive. Jackson was neither of those things. He was kind and sweet. And his artwork. The image of him sitting for hours drawing and sketching left her short of breath.

  And we both love the Cauldron.

  “Aaron wasn’t the guy I thought he was. And Jackson’s been really great. I figured it would be fun to go together. As friends.”

  Frankie snagged the top waffle. Delicate crystals of baker’s sugar fell as she transferred it to her plate and drenched it with maple syrup. Hello, sweet sugar.

  It was almost as saccharine as the lie she kept telling herself. Because sure, he might just think they were friends, but that wasn’t what she wanted. Twice she’d thought they were going to kiss.

  Hoped they were.

  The first time in his car, her leg had been bleeding, and then in his kitchen he’d pulled away. But it hadn’t stopped her from wishing it had been different. And so she’d done what any regular sixteen-year-old girl with a full-blown crush and two tickets to a concert would do. She’d invited him along.

  It was her litmus test. To see if he liked her.

  There was still a chance he might have just agreed out of pity.

  After all, she’d been wearing his sweats, was covered in salt, and he’d just seen her blood-drenched leg. But she couldn’t shake the feeling there might be something between them. What if he had felt it too? And even more amazing was that it wasn’t like she’d planned any of it.

  Yet, despite the cut on her leg, it had been so much more fun just spending time with him than it had ever been with Aaron.

  Her stomach fluttered, and she pushed away her plate.

  “No one’s arguing with you,” Jo
hnny assured her as he loaded Lo’s plate before doing the same to his own. “So…do you and your friend need a lift there?”

  “No. He’s picking me up. And please don’t make a big deal about it.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re just teasing. We’ll be on our best behavior. Scout’s honor.” Lo drizzled her own breakfast in maple syrup. Frankie was pretty sure her aunt wouldn’t know what a scout looked like if she fell over one, but all the same she gave her a grateful smile.

  Lo might tease her, but it was always in good humor, and she never took it too far.

  “Thank you. And I swear I’ll help with the party stuff this week,” she said.

  “You think you’re the only one who can plan in this family?” Lo raised an eyebrow. “We got everything finished last night. Maggie’s doing the catering, and Big Ted’s in charge of the music. The theme is Fifties Luau. All that’s left is for me to look like a radiant thing of beauty and wonder.”

  “That won’t be hard.” Johnny planted a kiss on her aunt’s cheek. Lo returned the kiss, and Frankie decided it would be a good time to retreat. Besides, Jackson would be there in an hour, and she needed to finish getting ready. Yesterday he’d seen her at her worst. Today she was going to make sure he saw her at her best.

  The weather report confirmed there’d be no more rain, but after yesterday there was a good chance the outdoor concert would be muddy, which was why she’d teamed up her white denim skirt with a pair of polka-dot rubber boots and a soft pink button-up with her silver bikini top underneath.

  Hopefully it was concert chic.

  She was finished with ten minutes to spare and checked her phone. She’d called Via last night, but there’d been no reply, so she’d sent a text. And then ten more, because…well…she had to tell someone about what had happened with Jackson yesterday. About the fact they were going to Summerfest.