Bea and the Bad Boy: Young Adult Sweet Romance (Love in Ocean Grove Book 3)

by Anna Catherine Field

  “No!” I say, a little too forcefully. “I was just in the hallway waiting on my camper. I may have accidentally heard some of it.”

  “Well, then you know that because of your little stunt yesterday, I’m about to get fired.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure you can blame all of that on me, I mean, I didn’t force you to hit on the pool moms.” His jaw tightens and it does this deadly thing where it makes him more handsome and terrifying at the same time. “But! I will concede that the falling in the pool thing was my fault. I mean, I did apologize, remember?”

  He stares at me for a long moment then sighs, leaning against the hood of his car. “I really can’t lose this job.”

  He says it so normally. So conversationally. I actually look behind me to see if he’s talking to someone else. There’s nothing there but a stack of Mountain Dew. “What?”

  He opens and closes the cap on his tea. “I’ve got a lot riding on this job—as you know. I’m under a lot of pressure from my dad and my coach about swimming in college. Although my times are good, my, uh,” he looks up at me, “extra-curriculars aren’t so great. I have a few marks on my behavior report at school and then, you know, the other stuff.”

  I don’t know about the other stuff except for the rumors I’ve heard. There are many, each more extreme than the other. He got busted with weed. He stole a car, joy-rode it all over town and abandoned it in the desert. He got Missy Kensington pregnant and she had to go to the Girls' Home by the Sea.

  What I do know is that he showed up at his dad’s house in the 8th grade with a suitcase and nothing else. That he sneaks out on the back balcony of his house, which is visible from my bathroom window, and smokes cigarettes sometimes. I know there’s been a steady string of wannabe girlfriends that have ridden in the front seat of his car for the past two years. And I also know that he practices hard in the lap pool in his backyard, sometimes for hours on end.

  “This job is my last chance,” he continues, running his hand through his dark, almost black, hair. “The schools are willing to overlook some of the past stuff as stupid, juvenile behavior if I can prove to them I can keep this job and maintain my training schedule over the summer. If not, my dad is going to send me to boarding school in the fall.”

  “So, what?” I ask, trying to follow. “You’ve made it approximately two days and already failed?”

  He scowls, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have some impulse control issues.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes. He pushes off the car and walks to the driver’s side. “Like you know anything about the lure of having fun and a little excitement in your life. I’ve never seen you at a party, and after what your brother told me today, you’ve definitely never had a boyfriend.”

  The anger from before rises up again. “My brother needs to learn to shut his traitorous, arrogant, obnoxious mouth.”

  That makes Carter smile. “He’s definitely arrogant. My dad talks about him all the time. 'Atticus Clarke, the star of the water polo team. Courted by dozens of colleges. Straight-A-Student.'”

  I snort. “You have no idea. He’s a total kiss up.”

  “I’d love to knock him off his high-horse, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I take a sip of my slushy, getting a hit of sugar and cold. A strange thought pops in my head. “You know what would drive my brother crazy?”

  “What?”

  “This.” I nod between us. “The two of us hanging out together.”

  His studies me curiously. “Listened in on that conversation as well?”

  “Dude, you were in the parking lot!”

  He chuckles. “Fair enough. You’re right, though. He gave me the total big brother speech.” He scoffs. “As if you and I had something going on.”

  “Yeah, that would be dumb,” I agree. “Like I’m going to date a juvenile delinquent that can’t even keep a basic job like a lifeguard.”

  His eyes dart to mine and there’s a hint of hurt in them. He recovers quickly and that pain shifts to something different. Mischief. The grin on his mouth spells trouble and the tiny twist in my stomach is a signal of why so many girls are attracted to it.

  “What?” I ask nervously, as he walks around the car studying me, as though he’s really looking at me for the first time. I tug at my sweaty camp shirt. “What are you looking at?”

  “You know, with a little effort you’d be pretty cute, Clarke.”

  “Bea,” I correct. “And I’m not sure that’s the compliment you think it is.”

  He’s standing close to me now and it’s all too noticeable that he towers over me in height. His shoulders are so broad and confidence wafts off of him like expensive cologne. “Do you really want to make your brother’s life hell?”

  I swallow. “I wouldn’t mind making him and Katherine know what it feels like to be betrayed.”

  He nods. “Well, I need someone to help me clean up my reputation, and what’s better than the innocent girl next door?”

  It clicks where he’s going with this. What he wants to do. My chest fills with the familiar tug of anxiety but also something else, something I don’t experience very often because I am innocent and naïve: excitement.

  He gives me his best grin, the one he uses to get out of detention with Mrs. Lee in the front office. “What do you say? Do you want to be my girlfriend for the summer?”

  I swallow, pushing past the fear and the nerves and the part of my mind that tells me this is a terrible, horrible idea, and say, “Yes.”

  9

  Carter

  I’m still trying to figure out what just happened between me and Clarke an hour later as I walk into the kitchen, looking for some dinner. I’d spent the time since I dropped her off idling between annoyed that she listened in on my private conversations, and intrigued that she actually said yes to this crazy idea.

  And make no mistake, this was my idea, I’m just not sure what I was really thinking when I suggested it, other than I need Erin and Coach Adams and my dad off my back. Keeping my job is the best way to go about it and hanging out with the weird, but straight as an arrow, Beatrice Clarke may be the answer to my problems.

  Or the start of a bunch of new ones.

  I’m mulling all this over when my dad walks down the hall. I hear the wheels of his suitcase on the marble floor before I see him.

  “Carter,” he says, seeing me at the refrigerator. There’s a housekeeper that keeps it and the pantry stocked with food. Otherwise, we’d both starve. “Good, I’m glad you got home before I left. How was work?”

  There’s no way I’m telling him about the little talk I had with Erin. It took me hours to get over being mad about her accusations and the rest of my afternoon was ruined while I tried to keep a distance from Sabrina and her friends.

  “Good. Where are you going this time?” I see the passport in his hand, confirming it won’t just be an overnighter.

  “Paris, actually,” he slips the blue rectangle into his coat pocket. “I’ll be home on Sunday, which means I’ll miss your meet.”

  I reach for a prepared salad and a chicken breast and carry it to the counter. “That’s okay. It’s just summer league.”

  “You know I like to be there.”

  To micro-manage, I want to say but don’t. Swimming is the only part of my life that he cares about.

  “If you need anything you can call me, okay, son?”

  Son.

  That’s still a hard word to swallow coming from him. “Okay.”

  “I also told Mrs. Clarke I’d be gone and she said you could go over any time if you need something.”

  “Sure.” He told me this before each trip. I never took Mrs. Clarke up on her offer and he knew that, but I think it made him feel better about leaving.

  There’s a difference this time. Somehow, in the last hour, I’ve gotten myself tied up with Beatrice Clarke and agreed to be her fake boyfriend.

  Dad’s phone buzzes and
he picks it up. “My car is here. I’ve got to run.” He gives me an uneasy look. “Good luck on Thursday.”

  “Thanks.” I shovel a forkful of food in my mouth.

  “And stay out of trouble, okay?”

  I nod and fight rolling my eyes. “You got it.”

  It’s clear he’s not buying it, but what he doesn’t know is that I’ve got a new partner to keep me on the straight and narrow. Someone that needs my help as much as I need hers. Unfortunately, the way things are, no one is going to believe this about the two of us, not her brother or anyone else.

  But I have an idea of a few things we can do to change that.

  10

  Bea

  I toss and turn all night trying to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into. Carter Haines? I’ve really decided to get into a fake relationship with Carter Haines this summer? There’s no way we can pull this off.

  Carter is popular, handsome, and athletic. He orbits around in the same universe as my brother, which is not the same universe that I occupy. Sure we may have shared a womb and have the same color red hair and green eyes, but the similarities end there. And as much as I wish this arrangement didn’t push me into being an insecure twit, it does.

  “Bea! Hurry up,” Atticus shouts, pounding on our Jack-and-Jill bathroom door.

  “One minute!”

  Usually, this isn’t an issue for us. I get up, pull my hair back in a sensible and easy ponytail, brush my teeth, and walk out the door.

  But today is different. If I hadn’t imagined that conversation with Carter yesterday or ridden home from the Corner Market in the front seat of his Mustang or heard him tell me to meet him out front to ride to work together this morning, I’d do the same as always. But I hadn’t imagined those things. I did do those things.

  Which means starting this morning, Carter and I are dating, which means I take a few more minutes in the bathroom than usual. Not to actually do anything different, but panicking takes time.

  “What have I done?” I whisper to myself in the mirror, other than get in way over my head. I swipe a little mascara on my eyelashes. There’s only so much I can do with a blue camp shirt and tan shorts.

  No one is going to buy this.

  “Bea!”

  “Fine! I’m done!”

  Even though we live in this big house, my mother still felt like we should share things just because we’re twins. A bathroom. A Spotify account. A car. As if the womb wasn’t torture enough. The car part isn’t an issue, though, since I haven’t gotten my driver’s license. It seemed unnecessary, since Atticus can drive me anywhere I want to go.

  This was before he hooked up with Katherine and destroyed my life and means of stress-free transportation.

  I head downstairs and shove a bagel in the toaster, then search the cabinet for the hazelnut spread. My mother sits at the kitchen table in paint-splattered clothes, drinking coffee.

  “I’ll be in the studio most of the day,” she tells me. “Your father is on a business trip.”

  Dad is a motivational speaker and travels around the world, pumping up boring business people into believing they can do more to make their companies more profitable. He’s got a big personality, which my brother obviously inherited. Mom is an artist and much more introverted. She has a studio out back in the guest house. She tends to get in “the zone,” vanishing for hours to work on her collages that sell for big bucks to the tourists that shop in the galleries downtown. I blame their focus on their careers for the lack of attention on the comings and goings in this house as one of the reasons everything blew up lately.

  While I wait for my bagel to toast, I fix a quick lunch and stuff it into my backpack. Atticus comes down the stairs just as my breakfast pops up. He’s wearing a similar outfit to mine but his is a golf shirt and shorts. He’ll follow around the golfers all day, hauling bags and doing whatever it is they need him to do.

  I pull the hot bagel out and drop it on a napkin before slathering on the rich, chocolaty spread. Atticus pushes me aside to pour his protein smoothie into a travel cup.

  “That’s disgusting,” he says. He’s not a fan of my eating habits.

  I lick the knife. “Mmm, delicious.”

  “Kids,” my mother warns. She knows how quickly this can escalate. I don’t need it this morning, though. I know the big scene is about to unfold. I grab my bag and my bagel and head out the door. Atticus follows with his car keys in his hands. I walk past his SUV and keep going, heading toward the house next door.

  I can do this.

  I can do this.

  I can do this.

  “Where are you going?” my brother calls, tossing his bag in the backseat.

  My stomach flutters with nerves. What if Carter was joking yesterday? What if I’m about to make a huge fool of myself? The insecurities compound with each stubborn step, but just as I hit the sidewalk I hear Carter’s front door open. He appears, looking half-awake in his lifeguard T-shirt and swim shorts. A pair of sunglasses hangs from the collar of his shirt. His eyes lock with mine and just when I think he’s going to tell me to get off his property, he gives me a slow grin.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  “Uh…morning?” I reply though a mouthful of bagel. That kind of greeting may be overkill. I glance over at my brother, who is watching the two of us with an incredulous expression.

  Or maybe not.

  Carter meets me at the passenger side of the car, eyes twinkling with amusement.

  “Seriously, Bea,” my brother calls, “I don’t have time for this.”

  Carter opens the door like the gentleman I know he isn’t.

  “Nice touch,” I say quietly.

  “Your brother may be a tool, but he isn’t dumb,” he replies. Then he shocks me by reaching out his thumb and swiping it by my mouth. My jaw drops. Carter smiles and holds up this thumb. It’s covered in a smear of chocolate. He brings it to his mouth and sucks it off.

  Good. Grief.

  “She’s riding with me,” Carter calls out to Atticus.

  “Bea?” he says once more.

  I wave and Carter shuts the door.

  My heart races as I wait for Carter to get in the driver’s side and when he does, it closes the two of us in the small space that instantly fills with his warm, clean scent. I exhale and lean back against the leather seat.

  “That was—”

  “You can’t eat in here,” he says, reaching for my bagel. I pull it back and he gives me a hard look. I shove the rest in my mouth. He starts the car, pulling out of the driveway with his standard loud rev of his engine and squeal of tires.

  He drives with one hand on the steering wheel and another on the gear shift. As we pass the houses in our neighborhood he glances over and says, “Do you think he bought it?”

  “I think he’s probably pretty confused.”

  A few moments later, a text buzzes on my phone. It’s from Katherine.

  Atticus just told me you’re in Carter Haines’ car. WTH??

  I ignore it like every other text from her for the past three months, but look over at the boy driving next to me and hold up my phone. “Bingo. They’re definitely confused. And curious.”

  “Good,” he says, giving me another amused smile. He pulls up to the staff entrance at The Club, flashing his ID card to get inside. The gate lifts and he eases his car in a parking spot.

  “So, listen,” he says, extracting the keys from the ignition, “we probably need to work the parameters of this arrangement a little better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He tilts his head and looks at me questioningly. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

  My cheeks start to burn. He knew the answer to that. Everyone did. “You know I haven’t,” I snap.

  “I’m not judging you, Clarke, it’s just…”

  “Just what?” Not sure I like where this is headed. Talking about my lack of experience socially or with a boyfriend is a sore spot. It’s the one thing Katherine and I had i
n common—until we didn’t.

  “It’s just, if we’re really going to pull this off, then we’re going to have to act like a couple that’s dating. We’ll need to go places together, hold hands,” his eyes, dark as hazelnut spread, hold mine, “you know, other boyfriend-girlfriend stuff.”

  I blink and a montage of teen rom-coms flash before my eyes, everyone ending in the same place; an amazing kiss.

  “Clarke?”

  I come back to the present. Carter Haines isn’t the stuff of teen rom-coms. He’s the stuff of dark romance novels you read under the covers. The bad boy girls think they’re the only one that can save. That their love is bigger than all the problems in the world. Is that what I’m doing? Am I one of those girls?

  “I think this is a mistake,” I blurt, scrambling for the door handle. I hop out and start walking toward The Club. I hear a car door slam behind me and footsteps pounding on the pavement. A hand grips me by the arm and pulls me back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Reconsidering,” I say, noticing Atticus’ car pulling into the parking lot. “I’m not one of those girls willing to drop my convictions because I think I can save you and in return is willing to become a notch on your bedpost. I’ve already watched my best friend sell her soul for a guy. I’m not going to do the same.”

  Carter frowns. “I don’t need you to save me, Clarke, any more than you need me to save you, but we both have something to prove, which doesn’t have anything to do with being in or out of my bed.” My cheeks grow red at the imagery. He continues, “Let’s show these people we aren’t who they think we are. I’m not some stupid, unreliable jock, and you’re not just a naïve, lame prude.”

  “Is that what people think about me?” I ask, taken aback. I mean, I had just run from the car at the idea of the realities of having a boyfriend.

  He crosses his arms over his chest and my eyes slide to the bulge of his arm muscles. “They won’t after dating me for a few weeks.”

  His flirtatious grin makes it hard to say no. As does the sound of my brother and Katherine walking toward us. I take a deep breath, knowing this could be the worst idea ever, and hold out my hand. His gaze drops down but his eyebrow raises in question.