Resisting the Bad Boy - A Standalone Bad Boy Romance

by Gabi Moore

  “I don’t know what you guys are doing up there, but holy hell, I like it!” Tamara said and clapped her hands together with glee. She gestured for me to step down and come sit beside her.

  The lights came back on again.

  “Nyx,” she said, “come here for a second. That is brilliant, really. I think even the garbage men outside wanted to watch you, truly. This is good. I like what you’re doing here.”

  I tried not to follow Adam as he took the steps off stage and went to get a drink of water. The crew around us were talking again, getting prepared for the next round.

  “You know, there was something off about making Boulotte so …so …”

  “Innocent?” I said.

  “Exactly. She’s too one-dimensional, isn’t she? Too much a victim. But the way you look at Adam …it’s like Boulotte is not just a victim, she’s--”

  “She’s complicit. She wants it, in a dark way,” I said.

  She nodded absentmindedly. “She wants it…” she repeated, trying out the words in her mouth. “Yes, OK, good, I like where this is going. Tell me quickly Nyx, what’s missing in Boulotte’s character, do you think? What do we need more of here?”

  I flicked my hair and took a breath.

  “Sex,” I said.

  “Sex?”

  “Much, much more sex,” I said matter-of-factly.

  She stared at me for a while, thinking.

  “But why would she be so drawn to Bluebeard in the first place? Why would she be so keen on him when he’s so clearly bad for her?”

  Good question.

  Very good question.

  “Because maybe some part of her knows that in a way, he’s just what she needs,” I said. “He’s a catalyst. She’s daring herself, trying to see how far she can go. She wants it. She instigates change. And that change has to happen …violently.”

  She gave me another look.

  “Violently, you say?”

  “Oh yes. And sexily, too.”

  She gave me a naughty smile and nodded. “Good, OK. You do that Nyx. Bring that. I think we do need to change up this character a little… you and I need to talk I think, let’s discuss this at our next meeting.”

  She wandered off and made some notes in her script, but just as she left she turned around again and pointed her pen at me.

  “Before I forget. You’re still good to do the props for the hallway scene? I need a big print or something for the wall, yeah?”

  “Yup, got it,” I said. She frowned at me.

  “I promise. I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.”

  She wandered off and went to speak to one of the forest nymphs.

  I stood and thought for a moment. I had no idea how I was going to put together the hallway props. My mind was in pieces and to be honest, I hadn’t even started with “something to go on the wall”. Rehearsal was over for the most part, but I almost didn’t want to go home. It would only be more frenzied calls to the student finance office. Only more emails flat-hunting. More beans and rice. I looked around to see if anyone needed my help; if I could distract myself. And of course there he was.

  “That was a good rehearsal,” he said.

  “It really was,” I replied.

  “So you’re at least speaking to me in person?”

  “Of course. You’re my co-star, why wouldn’t I speak to you?”

  The look he gave me almost hurt.

  “Are you still mad at me?” he said.

  I sighed and looked away.

  “Can we talk? Come for a walk with me or something,” he continued.

  The light in his eyes looked dim. It was enough to me melt. I wanted more than anything to be mad at him, no doubt about it. But my body certainly wasn’t playing along. Had he spoken to Tamara about getting me this role?

  “I’m really busy though,” I said, with every last thread of willpower I had.

  “With what? Let me help you with whatever it is.”

  I looked up into his eyes and saw his eagerness. “Really? You want to help me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “OK. Well, I have to make a piece of artwork or something to go on the walls for the hallway scene.”

  “Cool. But we’re doing the hallway scene tomorrow…”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then we’d better get busy, right?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I’m just warning you,” I said as I unlocked the door and led him inside, “the place is in a state, I’ve packed a lot of things up so don’t mind the mess…”

  I could handle it. Bringing Adam to my flat was a bit like a recovering alcoholic going to the pub. It was worse than tempting fate. It was flirting with fate.

  “Looks good to me,” he said and scanned the room.

  “Well, considering what your place looks like, that’s not the compliment you think it is,” I said and headed to the kitchen to get some water. When I came back he was just standing there in the doorway, looking dejected.

  “How long are you going to do this, Nyx? Can we just talk?”

  “We’re talking right now.”

  “I miss you. You’re ignoring me.”

  “So?”

  “That’s the worst thing you can do to me, Nyx, please…”

  “I’m sorry I can’t give you attention right now, I’m not in the position to have any kind of relationship I guess. I’m sorry. I need normal, healthy things in my life now. Boundaries. A regular bedtime every night. A budget. That kind of thing.”

  “So?”

  “So, that’s not exactly you, is it?” I said bluntly.

  He looked hurt.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just …I’m in real trouble here. I don’t know if they’re going to approve financing for me. I don’t know where I’m going to sleep in two weeks’ time, or what I’m going to eat or…”

  “Sleep with me. Eat with me,” he said quickly.

  “But you’re the reason I’m in this mess in the first place,” I said, and glugged down my water.

  “Mess? What mess? It looks to me like things are going really well for you. You don’t have your shitty aunt running your life anymore, you’re finally doing something you’re good at …where’s the problem?”

  “You see, that’s the problem. You just don’t get it. I’ve lost everything, Adam. Every last thing. My friends. My mum and dad. Now my aunt. You have no idea what that feels like.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “You have no idea what’s it like to lose basically all your family in one day, and--”

  “At least you had a family, Nyx.”

  “What?”

  He kicked a cardboard box on the floor and looked angrily at me.

  “I had nobody growing up. Your dad was fucking Norman Westling, of all people. Excuse me if I don’t break out the tiny violins for you,” he said.

  I was stunned.

  “What ...what happened to your parents?”

  With horror I realized that I had never asked him. I had never asked him anything, really. I had no idea about his siblings or his family. No idea about where he had grown up.

  Shit.

  “I lost my parents too, Nyx, first my dad, and then my mum. I was 14 when she died. The last year she was alive she spent entirely in her bed. I swear to God she never left that room. She died in that room. I’d go in there and try to cheer her up, try to dance or sing or tell her jokes or something, anything to get her to wake up and pay attention to the world again. She was a fucking zombie…”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He fumed and stared at the box on the floor.

  “You’re really, really lucky, Nyx.”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. “I know. I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

  “It’s OK.”

  He lifted his eyes to mine and tried to smile at me. My heart broke as I realized – he was trying to cheer me up. We stood there a long time, looking at one another. The props and fanfare from earlie
r that day had all gone, but we were still on a stage all the same. The little bedroom nymphs scattered and left us standing there, looking at one another, a whole ocean of space and silence between us.

  I took a few uncertain steps towards him. Touched my hand to his chest. He looked relieved, took my hand in his and kissed my knuckles. Like a little surrender, like taking a big gulp of air after coming up to the surface of the water, our lips met and we kissed. Quietly, delicately, breath held just in case we disturbed something. He exhaled and pulled me in closer. Kissing him was breathing for me.

  “I’m sorry Adam,” I whispered. In response, he tightened his arms around me and rocked a little with me in his arms.

  “I’m sorry too, Nyx. There’s nothing going on with me and Laura. And I don’t want you to think of me as a bad influence.”

  I pulled back a little.

  “I know but,” I said and looked around the room, “I don’t know if I can do all of this on my own.”

  “Of course you can!” he said and pecked me on the forehead. “You’re a firecracker. And like I heard you telling Tamara, the play just needs a little more sex in it and everything will be fine.”

  He gave me a naughty wink.

  “You were eavesdropping?”

  “Of course I was.”

  I playfully tried to bite his arm.

  “Well, I don’t see how that’s going to solve my actual problems right now. I have a massive painting I have to pull out of thin air by tomorrow morning. I don’t think sex can help me in this instance.” I scoffed.

  “What? Of course it can” he said. I eyed him closely.

  “How…?”

  Like a light flickering on inside, something naughty sparkled behind his eyes and he started to search around the room.

  “Got any paint?” he asked.

  “Oh my God, Adam, what are you going to do?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

  He laughed and began to rummage around in the cardboard box at his feet; it was a box of supplies from the college and some leftover materials from making the forest props a few weeks ago. I looked down at his frantic hands and admittedly, felt a little excited.

  “We could go to the art shop quickly, “I said. “I don’t know when they close but maybe we can have a look around for paint?”

  “To hell with the art shop,” he said.

  He was on his knees now, scrambling through the supplies like a nutty professor. I loved him like this. All fired up. He didn’t notice me staring at him. So I just stared.

  “A ha!” he said and held up a fistful of small paint tubes. I had forgotten about those.

  “Now what do you want to do with that?” I asked, but he had already bolted to his feet and was fanning them out in front of me, like a magician asking me to pick a card.

  “Which one should we use? Go on then, choose one.”

  I looked down and tried to think. We didn’t even have any paintbrushes, so I wasn’t sure what harebrained idea he could have been planning.

  “Don’t think about it so much, just pick a color!”

  I laughed out loud. “OK, red!” I said quickly.

  He was so good at stirring people up, and getting them excited about the thing he was excited about. Maybe I could get a little carried away by him. Just a little.

  He tossed the other colors back into the box and held up the red tube, smiling mischievously.

  “Now what?” I said.

  “Well, of course we’re going to need a canvas.”

  “But I don’t have a canvas.”

  He pulled his lips tight to the side and mimed thinking about something deeply. It made me laugh. It was so funny to see him like this, in his element, playing the clown. A hot clown, that is.

  “Hm… are you sure you don’t have one?” he said in a funny accent. My eyes widened as he turned to look in the direction of my bedroom and then darted off.

  “Wait, where are you going?” I cried, but he had already emerged from the room looking victorious, my white bedsheet in hand.

  “What? Are you saying …no, we absolutely cannot use my sheet!”

  “Oh yes we can.”

  “No, we can’t!”

  “Yes we can.”

  He started pushing things aside so he could lay the sheet down flat. It took up the whole living room.

  “You’re nuts!” I shouted, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I’m nuts, am I? I saw you on stage earlier today, I think it’s very obvious who the nutter is around here,” he said, and made a lunge for me. I squealed and darted out of the way, and all of a sudden we were playing a game of catch, me desperately trying to avoid stepping on the bed sheet.

  “Adam! Adam you’re terrible, come on stop, I have so much work to do!” I laughed, and narrowly avoided him catching me.

  “Work? Oh we’ve got lots of work to do, all right,” he said and we raced circles round the bedsheet. I gave up and flopped down on the sheet, laughing and trying to catch my breath. Quick as a Jack in the box, he sprung next to me and lay down beside me. God, it was ridiculous how quickly he could turn my legs to jelly.

  “Well, what now, smart guy? We don’t have any paintbrushes or anything. And it’s going to be a lousy painting in just one color.”

  The blood rush felt good in my cheeks. Still smiling, I watched as his face turned a little serious. He gave me that look, that same mesmerizing look that had thrown me off guard right from the start.

  “What?” I said, suddenly taken with his intensity.

  He smiled.

  “Well?” I said, giggling nervously.

  He sat up, peeled off his shirt and tossed it overhead. In the silence of the room, I heard it land softly on the bare floor. I wanted to tell him he was crazy. That that’s not what he was here for, that I needed his help, that he had gotten me into enough trouble as it was, that he was indeed a bad influence …but no matter how much I thought I wanted all that, I wanted to just keep looking at him even more.

  He stood and peeled off his trousers, and slowly tossed these aside as well. I gulped and tried to look away. His body was beautiful. Strong, lithe. Crackling with a kind of wild energy that was impossible not to look at. I wanted to tell him that I was un-seduceable, that I couldn’t let myself get carried away by him again, couldn’t slip, couldn’t fall again like that, couldn’t let go… but no matter how much I wanted all of that, I wanted him to lay back down again and kiss me.

  And he did.

  He took me out of my clothes, all the lines and textures and colors of my skin stark against the plain white sheet. We lay there, a quiet symphony in flesh and white, something clean about it all, and also something delightfully dirty. I could do the painting after he left, I guess. I’d think of something. I didn’t care. I just wanted his lips on mine.

  Naked skin to naked skin, we wound our bodies together and kissed, each caress a little apology, a little suggestion, a little permission. It was so easy to kiss him.

  “Lie back,” he said.

  I obeyed, the hard ground underneath me pressing hard up against my spine and shoulder blades. To my surprise, he rose and lifted his hands up in the air, and before I could make out what he was holding in his hands, a long snake of red fell from high and came splattering cold down onto my bare chest.

  The paint! I recoiled and looked down at the twists of bright red on my breasts and stomach.

  “What the …are you crazy?” I yelled. He held the paint tube overhead like a sword he had just plunged into my heart, and now I was bleeding out in acrylic. He was smiling wickedly. I tried to sit up but he flopped down on top of me, squelched his chest against mine and pressed, squashing the paint coils between us into a red film that gave me instant goosebumps. I squealed and laughed and tried to get away.

  His weight heavy on me, his hips pinning me in place, I could do nothing but laugh and wriggle and then look down at the seeping red spreading out between us. When I opened my eyes and looked at him, his face was glowing with mischief.


  “See? We don’t need paintbrushes,” he said, pleased with himself.

  I slapped his arm.

  “You big brute. Now what, huh?” I said, but just as I spoke these words his eyes told me the answer. I bit my lip and he leaned in for another kiss. Though the paint was cold and sticky and alien, his lips were everything but. They were warm. Slick. Every inch perfectly familiar to my tongue. I sighed and let him kiss me.

  “You bastard,” I mumbled into his mouth.

  I felt him smile and then wiggle against me, making the paint squelch between us.

  Like a spell, like clockwork, as predictable as the tides and almost as inevitable, I was wet. I squeezed my thighs together and held onto that sweet ache inside. I loved being naked with him. But I wanted to be more than naked. I wanted him to not only know what was under my clothing, but further under, under the skin itself, somewhere deep inside where only he seemed to reach. Instinctively, I arched my hips and parted my legs against his stiffening cock. It was the affinity that puzzle pieces have for one another, the easy click of a key in the right lock.

  Forgetting the paint, I pulled him in closer. It had been too long. I was in withdrawal and wanted my fix urgently. But he lifted himself up onto his hands and peered down at me, pulling back and teasing me, his cock hanging thick and long between us. I begged him with my eyes. He smiled and grasped my waist, then with an abrupt movement spun me around onto my stomach. I giggled as we both watched the paint on my chest press and seep into the bed sheet beneath us.

  I peeled my skin off to have a closer look at the mark I had made, human paintbrush that I was, but he quickly dropped his weight down onto me again and pressed me into the floor. I shrieked as the cold paint on his chest touched my back, then dissolved into giggles.

  I was a mess. This was all a huge, silly mess.

  And I think I loved it.

  I wiggled underneath him as he made a big show of smearing me with paint.

  “So help me God, Adam, if you get paint in my bits I will never forgive you.”

  I felt him sit up, perched on my thighs and quite possibly admiring my paint-smeared rear end.

  “What? That’s not the right spirit at all. An artist must become one with their work, Nyx…”

  I laughed and squirmed and tried to twist round to see him. Out the corner of my eye I saw him tracing lopsided hearts onto my bottom.