Bad Love

by Jaci J

  Shay sends me a picture. It’s of her middle finger, and I laugh. Sending her one back, a picture of my beer and the caption, Cheers to your boring as fuck date. So boring, you have to text this asshole to entertain yourself.

  It takes her a while to text me back, and that worries me.

  Okay? I ask her, concerned.

  Sure. I’m just bored, hiding out in the bathroom. He brought me to a friend’s party and everyone’s drunk but me.

  Want me to come get you?

  Nah.

  You fucking sure?

  Yeah, Niko. I’m good, just bored.

  If she was here, she’d be anything but bored. Tired? Sure. Wore out and sore? Fuck yes. But she would be anything but bored.

  “Yo, shithead, the fuck you smilin’ at?” my brother Andre asks, frowning. The asshole is back on dry land for a few days, and he’s already driving me fucking crazy.

  “Shut the fuck up, yeah?” I fire back, finishing off my beer and going for another.

  Alek wiggles his brows. “Texting Shay?”

  “Who the fuck is Shay?” Andre asks Alek.

  Jesus, I’m not doing this shit.

  “You fuckers stay out here as long as you want, but I’m goin’ to bed.”

  “Awe, he’s going inside to text his girlfriend in private.”

  “How sweet,” Alek chimes in, and they both start to laugh.

  I don’t bother saying shit. I just take my beer and my ass inside.

  As soon as I do, I get another text, and it’s a picture of Shay. She’s still in the bathroom, standing in front of a full-length mirror with every inch of her body on my screen. Every single perfect inch. Fuck.

  My dick pushes against my fly.

  Wearing a tiny fucking dress and some sky heels, I want nothing more than to jerk that dress up and bury my face between her thighs, those heels digging into my back.

  My date told me my dress was too short after telling me I looked nice to begin with. Then his friend said something too. Is it too short?

  No. It’s short, but not short enough.

  Popping my fly and reaching into my jeans, I fist my rock-hard cock. I need some goddamn relief, and as much as I don’t want to jerk off like some sad ass high school kid, I need to nut, or I’ll be walking around with a serious case of blue balls.

  Niko?

  Shay?

  What’s your stance on sex on the first date? I swear to God, my heart fucking stops for a second reading her text. I’ve never banged out or sent a text in reply faster.

  Don’t fuck him, Shay.

  Who said I was talking about him?

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Who were you talking about?

  Stroking myself, I picture Shay here, on her hands and knees, perfect peach shaped ass in front of me, bare and teasing me. Sliding my hand up and down my cock, I think about sliding into Shay’s tight pussy.

  I have to go. Liam’s knocking on the door. And just like that, my rock-hard dick is no more. If I ever meet this Liam fucker, I’m killing him.

  Be good, Shay.

  Where’s the fun in that?

  Shay... I warn, staring at my screen, feeling stupid and conflicted at the same goddamn time. I don’t know how I let this bitch get to me so easily, but here I am, worried about her on more than one level.

  All I get back in response is a peace sign emoji.

  12

  Shay

  I finally unlock the door to the bar after dropping my keys twice.

  Slapping my hand around on the wall, I find the keypad and punch in the code, surprised I could remember it.

  The security system beeps off.

  Inside, the bar is dark, the only light coming from a lit beer sign hanging in the window. Dead quiet. Exactly what my mind needs.

  Pulling the door closed behind me, I slip inside and out of the rain.

  I don’t know why I came here, but the thought of going home to an empty apartment just made me even more depressed after the night I had. Somehow, I found myself gravitating toward the shop and bar, and before I really knew what I was doing, I was standing out front.

  Walking inside, I flick on the little light in the corner, above the wall I’m working on. Pulling off my coat and chucking my purse into a booth, I stand in front of my half-empty canvas.

  There’s not much there yet, just an outline, with splashes of green and black.

  Without much thought, I grab my brush and get to work, with no real direction.

  Smearing some black on the wall, I hear footsteps. Heavy, boot-covered steps coming down the stairs.

  Holding my breath, I wait for it, my heart beating wildly in my chest just knowing he’s near.

  “Shay.” My name on his lips makes me shiver.

  “Maybe,” I answer, smiling to myself just hearing his voice, a voice that brings me instant comfort and warmth.

  Walking into the room and around the front of the bar, he looks me up and down slowly, his dark eyes lingering on my legs. “Your date must be over,” he notes, giving me a weird, almost satisfied look. He’s happy my date went up in flames. I’m not surprised.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me, texting Niko like that while on my date. And as soon as I did, my date was pretty much over—I was over it.

  “Something like that,” I mutter, smashing the brush onto the wall, splattering the paint into a black glob.

  “How’d it go?” Leaning back against the bar top, arms and ankles crossed, he gives me a knowing look.

  “You already know.”

  “I wanna hear it from your mouth,” he demands, watching my lips.

  “Do you want the short or long version?” I ask, knowing there’s a good chance he won’t stop asking until he gets what he wants.

  “The gory details.”

  Laughing, the sound painfully forced, I shake my head, setting my paintbrush down. “It was awful. He ignored me the entire time, talked to everyone but me, and when he did talk to me, he was dishing backhanded compliments.”

  He was an asshole.

  “And?” His eyes linger on my lips, waiting for the words, damn near pulling them out of me with his stare.

  “And?” I answer slowly, licking the lips Niko’s watching so intently.

  The way Niko looks at me makes me squirm. My skin tingles, goose bumps crawling up my arms and down my spine.

  I’ve never had anyone make me feel the way Niko does, and it’s terrifying.

  “I ate and got my own drinks the entire night before I walked here.”

  The look on his face is scary. Murderous. “He let you fucking walk here?” he shouts, his voice getting louder. “I thought you had a ride?”

  “Calm down.”

  “Calm down? That motherfucker let you walk home alone in the middle of the damn night, in the rain?”

  “Let me? I left him at his friend’s party talking to another girl. I just walked out the damn door.” I should have never broken that no dating rule. Jesus. I blame Niko, though, for making me want to rebel.

  Niko hangs his head, shaking it sadly. “What a nice fuckin’ guy,” he mutters sarcastically, his voice harsh. “Picked a real winner, Shay.”

  “How was I supposed to know he was a douchebag? I only met him once.”

  “What was he wearin’?”

  “W-What?” I stammer, caught off guard by the question.

  “Was he wearing jeans with those fucking studs on the pockets? Tight shirt? Hair full of fucking gel?”

  “Maybe,” I mutter, turning away and grabbing my brush again. I grab some green and put brush to canvas, not interested in discussing this anymore.

  “He was a douche. Not worth your time.”

  “It’s startin’ to seem like they’re all douchebags,” I tell the wall, my voice tired. They’re all toads, and if they’re not toads, then they’re weasels, and the very few that aren’t weasels are gay.

  “Not all of them.”

  He doesn’t see me roll my eyes, but I do. “Mos
t of them.”

  “You attract assholes.”

  No shit.

  My head snaps back and I swing around to give him the most incredulous look I can manage. Niko doesn’t know me, but for some damn reason, he likes to talk like he does. “Me? What about you?” He might be the biggest asshole of them all.

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “Of course we’re not.”

  “You’re too sweet. Too trusting. Too open from the jump.”

  “Seriously?” But as soon as he says it, I wonder if he’s right. I don’t say that, but I think it.

  “Seriously. Make a motherfucker work for it, Shay. He wants to know your name? Make that asshole jump through hoops to get it. And if he wants to take you to dinner, he better spend two fucking weeks texting you sweet shit and asking about your day, every day, to get that date. And if he wants between your legs, then he better be a goddamn saint.”

  While that all sounds lovely, it’s just not how dating goes. Not for me anyway.

  “And you do this?” I ask him skeptically, not seeing Niko doing any of the above.

  He chuckles darkly, no humor in the sound. “No, and that’s why I only have one crazy fucking ex and one-night stands.”

  “So why are you telling me this then? If you’re no better than these assholes out here trying to date me, why should I take your advice?”

  “Because I think you deserve better than some asshole who’d rather hang out with his friends than give you the attention you deserve.” Pushing away from bar, he walks toward me. “You deserve better, Shay,” he says softly, standing next to me.

  I swear to God, I can feel the look he’s giving me.

  “You don’t know me enough to know what I deserve,” I counter, my voice distant and soft.

  Niko shakes his head again. “I know you deserve better—deserve more.”

  “Yet here I am, alone, at ten o’clock at night in date clothes, painting a wall in an empty bar, and my date probably playing a game of beer pong with his homies.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  Sighing, I look over at him, into his dark eyes. Something passes between us, a current of feeling. A twist of emotion. We’re having a moment. Niko must feel it, because he breaks the spell by asking, “You hungry?” too scared to take it further.

  Niko

  SHAY’S LOOKING AT ME, her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed slightly. Always looking at me like I’m a fucking puzzle. Like I’m some fucked-up problem she just can’t seem to figure out. She’s not wrong, but she’s also not figuring me out.

  “You hungry?” I ask again. I already said too goddamn much, got too deep. I had to stop myself from saying more, so I changed the subject. I fucking had to.

  She looks confused.

  “Yes or no question, baby.”

  “I could eat,” she answers slowly.

  I nod, grabbing my phone and dialing Tasty Taco. “Hey, can I place an order?” I wait a beat, watching Shay watch me. She’s standing near the wall, her arms crossed and her paintbrush resting on the crook of her arm.

  Jesus, she’s wearing that fucking dress, the one from the picture. Short, and showing a shit ton of long leg. Legs I want wrapped around my head.

  I need a drink.

  Walking around the bar and behind the counter, I quietly grab two beers and offer her one while ordering. “Can I get a number one, number three, an order of nachos, chips & salsa, and a number nine?”

  The guy on the other end chuckles, his accent thick, even in laughter. “Niko, si?”

  “You know me well, Hector,” I answer, handing Shay her beer.

  “Thirty minutes,” he says before telling me to have a good night and hanging up.

  Shay pops the top on her bottle and takes a quick drink. “How many people are you planning to feed?”

  “You one of those girls afraid to eat in front of a man?” I ask her, opening my beer and taking a long pull.

  She laughs. Fuck, even her laugh is sexy. “Yes,” she says sarcastically, grabbing at her stomach and shaking what little fat she has. “Obviously.”

  There’s not an ounce of imperfection on the woman.

  “Diggin’ for compliments?”

  “Absolutely. Do you think I’m pretty?” Her sarcasm is thick.

  “What I think is that you’ve got shit taste in men,” I offer instead, meaning the shit out of that statement.

  She holds up her beer. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Shay gets back to work. I watch, observing the talent my brother just can’t seem to get over.

  She’s good. Talented and artistic. Shay knows her shit and it shows.

  I’m not exactly sure where this mural is going, but from the dark shades and sharp lines, I can tell it’s something deep. A lot of dark greens, various shades of black and gray, and woodsy browns. Might just be a mess of lines and slashes right now, but I have no doubt this shit will be something damn good by the time she’s done.

  EATING HER TACO, SHE hums in appreciation, enjoying the shit out of her food. The girl’s got an appetite on her. Never in my fucking life would I have thought that shit would or could be sexy, but here I am, watching her like a starved man, my cock as hard as steel.

  “You’re staring.”

  “How the hell would you know? You’ve barely looked up. You’re really into that taco.”

  She lifts a shoulder and gives me the side-eye. “That’s because it’s a good taco.”

  “Looks like it,” I muse, wiping the drip of salsa from her chin with my thumb. Not even something I think about, just something I do. Almost out of fucking instinct.

  “I need a bib,” Shay chuckles.

  “Nah. You enjoy your food. I like it.”

  “You like that I like food?”

  Shay is sitting on the bar top, her back resting against the columns at the end of the bar.

  “I like that you are who you are, no matter who you’re around.”

  She smiles, taking a bite. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Play a game with me, Niko.”

  “Nah.” Sounds like a bad goddamn idea. Especially with her.

  “Come on,” she pleads, smiling.

  Jesus, that smile.

  “I don’t know. You seem like the cheating during games kind of woman.”

  “You know me too well.”

  “In that case, let’s play.”

  13

  Shay

  “Worst date. Let me give you my top ten,” I say, nursing my third beer and savoring my taco smothered with salsa and pico.

  We’re in the empty bar, sitting at a booth, eating Mexican food and swapping dating war stories in a nasty game of twenty-one questions. The lights are still low, only coming from the beer sign in the window, and a single bulb streaming in from the small storeroom at the back of the room.

  It’s a midnight picnic.

  Niko’s eyes widen and he laughs. “You have a top ten?” He’s judging me, and I should be annoyed. But at this point, my dating record has moved into the comical column.

  “More than ten, but I’ll give you the CliffsNotes.” I hold up ten fingers and start. “First one, the guy was a pot dealer and was arrested while we were on a date.” That was an interesting evening. “Two, this guy Steve picked me up, drunk. Like, fall-down drunk, reeking of stale booze, and expected me to hop right in his car and drive off into the sunset with him.” Which I didn’t. “Number three was a doozy. His car got a flat while we were headed to the movies. No biggie, right? But instead of just getting out and fixing it, or calling for a tow, he said he couldn’t because he didn’t want to ruin his suede pants.” The smirk on Niko’s face tells me he’s enjoying this.

  He makes a noise in the back of his throat. It’s somewhere between a scoff of disapproval and a snort of disgust. “Suede pants?”

  “Gray suede.” They were fitted and skinny, and wrong on so many levels.

  “Jesus.”

 
“So, we stood on the side of the road while I attempted to change the tire.”

  Niko growls, “What a fucking pussy. Make your date change your fucking tire because you don’t want to get your pants dirty? For the record, I’m not that guy.” I have no doubt about that.

  “I don’t blame the pants. I doubt he could have changed it even if he were wearing coveralls and reading a manual.”

  “Could you change it?”

  “No.” I smile, remembering me on the side of the road, a jack under the car upside down and the tire iron in my hand, neither doing the job they were intended for. “But I tried. Ruined a skirt trying.”

  “That’s got to be number one.”

  “These are in random order,” I laugh, despite myself. I’m embarrassed and amused.

  I move on to number four, because why not? We’re already on a roll. “Number four was a guy I met online.” I stop, holding up my hand when I see Niko about to tell me online dating is a horrible idea. I can see the cogs of disapproval turning. “I already know, online dating is stupid. But anyway, we met at a restaurant. He ended up being some weird guy that followed me around in high school. He catfished me, along with a few other girls from school who wouldn’t go out with him back in the day.”

  “That’s fucking scary,” Niko tells me, popping a chip into his mouth, giving me a serious look. “Fuck, that guy could have hurt you.”

  “He was more creepy than dangerous.”

  “Still don’t like it. Don’t do that shit again.”

  Rolling my eyes, I nod. “Yes, Dad.”

  “Online dating is a bad fucking idea.”

  Taking a bite of my taco, I nod in agreement. I’ve had my fair share of scary dates, but more often than not, they’re duds, losers, and scumbags. It’s not often I get a stalker or a serial killer in my DMs.

  “I’ve had a wife and girlfriends show up on dates looking for their husband and boyfriends. Guys bring friends along. I’ve had to pay for dinner and give rides home. And I’d like to think I’m pretty cool and understanding, but after paying for your dinner, I don’t really want to have to give you gas money too, ya know?”

  “Fuck, Shay, you’re a mess.”