Bad Boys Under the Mistletoe: A Begging for Bad Boys Collection

by Anthology

  Wait… did that mean—“What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never slept with Beatrice. Never wanted to. Never will.”

  “But—but that night after prom…”

  “That night I made the biggest mistake of my life, but it wasn’t the one you thought it was. When you bolted to the bathroom, I was disappointed, but also a little relieved. You were my best friend. You were so important to me that I was afraid of messing things up between us. And I knew it was your first time, and it was mine too, and I wanted it to be special. Fucking on top of a pile of coats in Angie Henderson’s parents’ bedroom was not special.”

  I stared at him in the dim light. “Your first time? But you said you’d done it with Gina Thresh.”

  “I lied. Most high school guys do about their sexual experience. Anyway, that night I’d just pulled my pants on. I was going to come looking for you, but then she came in. Beatrice. I didn’t see her lock the door, I was looking for my shoes. She came onto me, big time, but I turned her down. I swear to god I didn’t touch her except to push her hands away from my dick. But she kept teasing me, she took off her shirt, and I—”

  I looked away. I didn’t want to hear the details of this.

  “Long story short, it was a while before I was able to leave the room.”

  “Because she made you hard,” I said bitterly.

  “Because you made me hard,” he said. “But then her showing up and flashing her tits at me didn’t help. I was eighteen, Liv. It’s a hard thing to control at that age. Hell, it’s a hard thing to control even now, at least when I’m around you.”

  He gave a half smile, but I wasn’t going to soften. Not when it had hurt for so many years.

  “When I went back downstairs, all I could think about was finding you. I didn’t think about how it would look for me to come bursting down the stairs with her following right behind me, her shirt buttoned up wrong. Everyone assumed we’d fucked, and she did nothing to dispel that notion, grinning and putting her hand on my ass. All I wanted to do was to find you, but those guys, we were all such assholes back then, they kept congratulating me. Giving me high fives. And I realized that if I told them nothing had happened between Beatrice and me, they’d turn on me. Tease me about it. I’d lose respect in their eyes.”

  I was silent for a long moment as I digested that. It was still hard to believe that he hadn’t slept with her. “I hope that saving face was worth losing me.”

  “It wasn’t. Not by a long shot. But I was an idiot. Those guys had spent so many years picking on me. The nerdy kid with the camera. Remember how bad they could be? To both of us. And then suddenly they seemed to admire me. I’m not proud of it at all, but I didn’t want to ruin the illusion and go back to being the kid they picked on and teased.” He paused and leaned toward me, looking into my eyes. “I never, ever meant for that to happen. Please believe me. Please forgive me.”

  And part of me wanted to, but that wasn’t the only thing he’d done, and I told him so. “We had one more week of school left. You could have told me you didn’t sleep with her at any point during that week.”

  “Actually, you skipped Monday and Tuesday, remember? And you never missed school, so that’s when I realized how upset you were. Over me. And that’s when I realized that maybe you had the same kind of feelings for me that I had for you.”

  Hearing him say this should have been cathartic after six years of thinking he had never cared, but instead it led to more confusion. “Shouldn’t that have been a reason to talk to me about it?”

  “Probably,” he said. “But I’d been keeping a secret from you. Remember how much you talked about how’d we spend the summer together? And go to the same school in the fall? You were so excited about it, and I got caught up in it, too. But there was something I hadn’t told you. I’d sent a portfolio of my photos to a news organization, and they’d called me up for a phone interview. I never thought I’d get it—I was eighteen, and they were a major news organization. But two days after prom, I got the job offer and I knew I’d be leaving town right after graduation. And so I began to think that maybe it was easier to just disappear in the wind.”

  “Easier for you,” I said. “I never even got to say goodbye to you. Or anything to you. One minute I was in the arms of a guy I cared about and the next minute I was humiliated, watching another girl put her hands all over him. And then you were gone.”

  “I’m sorry. I truly am. I know it was cowardly to leave without saying goodbye. Without apologizing. But I guess I figured that since you weren’t talking to me anyway, it might be easier to just have you hate me. Rather than tell you that I did care for you and hated the thought of missing out on spending the summer with you. I thought you’d think that I was choosing my career over you.”

  “You were.”

  “I know,” he said and sighed.

  “But that was the right call. You needed that opportunity to become a better photographer. It was the right call. But it was the wrong call to leave without talking to me.”

  “I know. If I could change that, I would. I’d give anything to. But I can’t. It was six years ago. All I can try to do is to fix the mess I’ve made now.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked warily.

  “First, to tell you that I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I know I should have told you long ago. But I am. What happened at that party is the biggest regret of my life, and trust me, that’s saying something. I am truly sorry, Liv.”

  His hand squeezed around mine, and I no longer felt the need to pull away. “And the other day?”

  “The other day was nothing. She was trying to get under your skin. Using me to do it—again. But she means nothing to me. Less than nothing. A pathetic woman unhappy with her life. With her marriage. So she’s lashing out, trying to ruin other people’s shot at happiness. She’s got nothing to do with us. There’s only one woman I’m interested in, and it’s not her.”

  No words came to me, which was ironic considering that I was now an author. So I just waited for what he was going to say next. Waited and hoped that whatever it was would build me up, not tear me down.

  “I have something for you,” Jackson said, and he released my hand and bent down and picked up the box at his feet. He scooted back and put the box between us, whisking the smaller package off the top. The bigger box made an odd clinking noise when it landed. It was obviously heavy. “Go on, open it.”

  Gingerly, I lifted the lid. Inside were bottles. A dozen of them at least. Some clear. Some tinted. Some full, some half full. I held a few up to better see in the dim light. Two were vodka. One was gin. The next one was whiskey. “Why did you… you know I don’t drink this kind of stuff.”

  “I know,” he said, smiling at me. “And you know that I do. Or did. Because this is my way of saying that I’m giving it up. Gonna go cold turkey and see where that gets me.”

  Staring at him, I tried to assess if he was serious. If so, this was a big deal. I didn’t have enough experience in this area to know if he had an out-of-control drinking problem, but clearly his drinking wasn’t healthy for him. “Really?”

  “I haven't had a drink in two days. I know that’s not long, but it’s a start.”

  “But why did you decide to do this?”

  “Because it was a crutch. I thought it was a way to help me transition back to a normal life away from the horrors I saw, but instead I used it as a way to mask my feelings. To hide from having a normal life. But then you and I reconnected, and I didn’t want to drink myself into a stupor. I didn’t want to spend half my day drinking, or thinking about drinking, or recovering from drinking. So you take that stuff. Drink it, throw it out, use the bottles for target practice, whatever you’d like. I don’t need it anymore.”

  I looked deep into his eyes, and I could tell he meant it. He really did. That he would recognize it was holding him back and do something about it showed so much about the kind of man he once was and could be again. “Thank you,” I said. “That’
s probably the best present I ever got.”

  He smiled. “Well, don’t go saying that just yet, because I got you something else. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it, though.” He handed me the other package. It was flat and about the size of a calendar. Once I had it in my hand, I knew what it was but not why he was giving it to me.

  I unwrapped the package and pulled out a copy of Everyday Elf. I cocked my head at him quizzically.

  “There’s something I wanted you to see,” he said. “Turn to the last double page spread.”

  That was journalist talk for the last two facing pages, I decided. In other words, not the acknowledgement page. I found the page and looked at it while he dug in his pocket. It was a busy photograph, one that had taken us forever to set up. We’d done our best to make it look like I was at Santa’s workshop even though we’d staged it behind a counter at the department store when everyone else had gone home. There were shelves behind me piled high with presents, all the fake ones we’d used around the Christmas tree. And there were tools, too, on every surface. And in the middle, I was peering at a toy, looking as if I were about to fix it by smashing it with a huge hammer. It was a busy shot, but it worked, in my opinion.

  “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  “A word,” he said. “Look up near the top righthand corner.”

  “You wrote something on here?” I asked, squinting at the area he’d indicated.

  “No, it’s in the photo itself.” He handed me a magnifying glass. “See if you can find it. Oh, and you’d better take this,” he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a small flashlight. “I didn’t think we’d be on the porch, but I always have one with me. Old habit.”

  Holding the flashlight, I peered through the magnifying glass at the spot he was pointing too. Squinting, I burst into a smile. There were three little bronze letters balanced on the shelf. LIV. “It’s my name,” I said, delighted. How had I never noticed that before? Even without the magnifying glass, it was visible if you looked close. “Did you put your name in here too?” I asked, panning the flashlight around the rest of the page.

  “No,” he said. “And it’s not your name.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

  He chuckled, a low sexy sound. “I mean, it’s not just your name. It’s part of a message. See if you can find the other words.”

  I stared at him in surprise for one long moment. Whatever this message was, he’d hidden it in the picture weeks ago. When we’d just started to work together. What could it be?

  Before long, I found the word “you.” I also found a pile of little toy figurines that appeared to spell the word “to,” but Jackson laughed and said that was coincidence.

  With a few hints from him, I located the letter “I” in the bottom right corner. “Just one more,” he said, and my heart started beating faster.

  I looked all over the photo, and at every spot I noticed the craftsmanship he’d put into setting up the picture. And into the lighting. And into capturing my expression. He’d put so much care into this photo that it was astonishing to realize he’d done even more than I thought.

  At last, I spotted something that looked like an “e.” Moving my finger to the left, I saw the other letters, and my hand stilled. It said “love.”

  Suddenly, my head felt too heavy to lift. Too heavy to turn and face him. So he reached for me, lifting my chin with his finger, turning my head toward him. “It says, “Liv, I love you.” He let go of me and moved the box of bottles off the bench between us. Moving closer, he said, “So, what do you think of that?”

  “That’s not what it say,” I whispered.

  “I’m pretty sure it is,” he said, echoing my earlier words.

  “No, it’s not,” I breathed. “Because look here, at these two toy boomerangs leaning against the toy soldier. Know what those are? Those are commas. So what it really says is: “I, Liv, love you.”

  His smile of delight was quick and genuine. With a sure, confident movement, he grasped me around the waist and picked me up, depositing me on his lap. “Have you been a good girl this year, Liv?”

  “Yes, Santa,” I said.

  “Then it’s time for your third present.”

  Surprised, I looked around, but then I realized what he meant as he leaned toward me. “Funny, I got the same thing for you,” I said as I wrapped my hands around his neck.

  When our mouths met, I didn’t care about the cold. I didn’t care about the past. And I definitely didn’t care about a pathetic hussy who’d tried to steal the man I was meant to be with twice.

  All I cared about was him. And us. And our future.

  That was best Christmas present ever.

  Epilogue

  Jackson

  It was springtime, and I was visiting a local second grade class. My girlfriend’s class, actually. It was my second time there. The first time, I’d shown her students my cameras and a slideshow of some of my best nature shots and portraits. And we’d sent each kid home with a photo release form for their parents to sign. Today, I’d be taking some candid classroom shots.

  The Everyday Elf book was a huge success. The money helped Liv make a down payment on a roof for her house, and workers were going to start as soon as it got a little warmer. But more than that, it had unleashed her creative side. She’d already written the text for a sequel, and we’d shoot for that in the fall. Today’s project was a book about her students, their hopes, their dreams, their tentative understanding of the world. She’d been interviewing them individually during recess and after school.

  “Just pretend I’m not here,” I said as I moved around the classroom, taking shots. A couple of the kids giggled. Clearly, they weren’t savvy enough to ignore a six foot two guy moving past the tiny little desks and chairs. I felt like a fucking giant around here. But maybe that was okay, because there was an elf here, too.

  I smiled at her as she redirected the students. “Let’s get into reading groups. Whose turn is it for the bean bag chairs?”

  “The blue group,” four or five kids shouted, and they hastened over there. Liv got another group started on some tasks and then went to work with five or six kids who appeared to be in the red group.

  My gaze kept returning to her as I moved around the classroom, taking shot after shot. She was so good with them. She was so good with everyone. Including me. Loving her made me want to be a better man. And I was getting there. I still fucked things up a lot, but I wasn’t drinking. I hadn’t had a drink since before Christmas Eve. And all because of her.

  When I had enough candid shots, I moved to the back wall which was filled with bookshelves, cupboards, child-size coats on hooks, boots on the ground, and dozens of other things. But the clutter was what I needed. Surreptitiously, I checked on the items I’d set up earlier in the day.

  Ten minutes before the bell, it was time. “I think we have all the candid shots. How about a group shot along the back wall?”

  Liv helped me organize the kids into rows, the taller ones in the back, the easily distractible ones seated in the front with a book to keep them busy. Once they all were in place, she took a seat right in the middle. The kids all crowded toward her, wanting to be the one closest to her, and I didn’t blame them, but it took us a while to get them in rows again.

  Finally, they were ready, and I took a minute to re-check the lighting. And then I looked through my camera, making sure I could get them all in the shot. And making sure I could get the special items I’d planted in the shot.

  I checked them now to make sure:

  Up on the top shelf of a bookcase were wooden alphabet blocks that spelled out the word “will.”

  Then over on top shelf of the cubbies, small brass letters spelled out “you.”

  On a lower bookshelf in front of a set of children’s dictionaries, hand-drawn letters, made by one of Liv’s students, spelled out “marry.”

  And lastly, on a bulletin board over a bench wher
e the kids could sit to put on their boots, a poster I’d had made at a print shop said “me?” Liv hadn’t even glanced at it earlier when she’d passed by.

  But I’d make sure she noticed it a few weeks from now when we got back a proof copy of the book. And I hoped with all my heart she’d say yes.

  I was pretty sure she would.

  Santa and his elf.

  Seemed like a perfect match to me.

  Naughty & Nice

  By Holly Hart

  Chapter 1

  Liv

  The music beats down on my skin.

  I feel like I’m stumbling through a rainstorm, except I’m inside, in a ramshackle house that’s seen ten too many parties. The plop splat of raindrops vibrating against my skin is the bass of the speakers. The cold chill isn’t winter rainwater; it’s worry creeping through me.

  I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be in a place like this. I’m not supposed to be around people like these.

  I shouldn’t have let Katie drag me here.

  A man bursts out of a restroom. He knocks the door shut behind him with his shoulder, almost over-balancing in the process. He wipes a trail of white from underneath his nose. He looks at me like I came out of nowhere.

  He licks his lips.

  “You lookin’ for someone, girl?” The man asks. My eyes dart up to meet his. His pupils are wide, huge and black. He’s taken something – something illegal – something I want no part of at all.

  “I’m fine,” I say, trying to pick a path past him. Long hair falls in thick, greasy brown curls to his shoulders. He’s wearing a ripped, torn denim jacket. He smells of cigarettes and hard work. He’s blocking the entire hallway.

  “I didn’t ask if you were fine,” the man says. There’s a snarl to his voice: an edge that wasn’t there before. His eyes rake up and down my body; they hover on my chest. “I asked if you were looking for someone.”