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

by Anna Catherine Field

  She frowns at the word “buffer” and I instantly feel bad for calling her that but she speaks up, “You’re right. We should see this through until the Fourth of July. Then we can have an epic breakup.” She grins with excitement. “It’s just three more weeks, right?”

  I nod. That should be long enough to convince my dad and coach I’m taking things seriously and maybe bore Sabrina enough that she’ll find someone else to bother.

  “I also have something to add to our agreement—something we need to do.”

  She narrows her eyes. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a surprise. Just meet me by my car in an hour. I’ll tell you then.”

  Her face is guarded, suspicious but she says, “Okay. That should give me time to get a little food in Katherine’s belly and help Atticus get her out of the house and back home.”

  I touch her knee. “You’re a good friend and sister.”

  She gives me a tight smile. “I’m not sure about that. I am still lying to them.”

  We’re both lying. Both still hiding. But I think neither of us are ready to reveal ourselves yet to anyone but each other.

  22

  Bea

  When I return to my room, the lights are still off, and Katherine is passed out on the bed. I climb in next to her and shake her gently.

  “Hey girl, it’s time to get up.”

  She shifts, wrinkles her whole face, and then groans. “Buzzbuzz, why do I feel like a freight train ran me over?”

  “Because you decided to drink a gallon of beer.”

  “Why would I do that?” she asks, smacking her mouth. “I don’t drink beer.”

  “Exactly.” I turn on the light and she cries out, covering her eyes. “What was that all about last night?”

  She blinks, adjusting her eyes. “I don’t know. I was mad at you and sad about you and wanted to have fun to prove that I could have fun without you and instead, I just acted like an idiot.”

  “Wait,” I say, “you did all that stupid stuff to prove something to me?”

  “Yes. I’m miserable without you, can’t you tell?”

  “Well, I’d be miserable if I had to hang out with Atticus all the time, too.”

  She laughs. “Don’t make fun of him.” She looks up at me. “I really like him.”

  I make a face. “Yeah, that’s why this is so hard, Kath. Making fun of Atticus is kind of our thing.” I take a deep breath and then exhale. “And I’m jealous that he gets to spend time with you and I don’t.”

  “Can’t we come up with some kind of solution? Isn’t there a way to have both?”

  “Basically you want your cake and to eat it, too,” I point out.

  “Well yeah, cake is amazing.”

  “It really is.” I look down at my hands. “I’m sorry I was such a jerk.”

  “No.” She struggles to get to a seated position. “I was the jerk. That first night with Atticus, I just got caught up in it. It was crazy and weird and wonderful—"

  I hold up my hands and shake my head. “Nope. No. If we’re going to try to be friends again, there has to be some rules. Number one: no talking about how wonderful my brother is, in any capacity.”

  “Okay, fair enough.” She gives me a side-eye. “Can we talk about Carter?”

  My heart flip-flops at his name. “What about him?”

  “Uh, everything! How did this happen? What’s he really like? Are the rumors true?” Her voice lowers. “Have you kissed him?”

  She must not remember me telling her last night that Atticus interrupted us kissing and I feel both relief and a little sad. But after the conversation with Carter this morning, I decide not to lie to her anymore. At least not from here on. “You saw it happen when I ran into him at the pool and then went over to apologize. Something just clicked between us.” I take a steadying breath. “He’s an enigma. A little scary sometimes. There’s some baggage and bad choices in his past, but the rumors?” I shrug. “I think they’re exaggerated.”

  She leans forward. “And the kiss?”

  I look down at the comforter. “Yes, I kissed him.”

  “And…”

  I can’t help but smile. “It was pretty great. Like really great.” And even though it wasn’t real, it felt real, and if we’re going to be together for three more weeks? I think I’ll probably get a chance to do it again, which may or may not be a terrible idea.

  “Well if you like him, I’m happy to give him a shot.”

  I roll my eyes. “He’ll be glad to know you approve.”

  There’s a knock on the door and I ease out of the bed, walking over to open it. Atticus stands on the other side, an apprehensive look on his face and a bottle of water in his hand. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s alive.” I swing the door wider. “I need to take a shower. I’ll leave you two alone.”

  He steps in and goes over to the bed. I grab a change of clothes and my towel. I’m opening the bathroom door when I hear Atticus call my name. I look up.

  His face is kind, appreciative, and void of any of his usual arrogant hostility. “Thanks for taking care of her,” he says, meaning it. “And I’m sorry, you know, for screwing up your friendship.”

  I nod, unable to speak after hearing my brother apologize. It may be the first time ever, and I need a little time to process it and everything else that’s happened over the past few days. I head into the bathroom, feeling conflicted and confused, happy and exhausted. I remind myself that there’s time; we have time to figure it out.

  After showering and eating, I meet Carter in the front of his house, by his shiny, black Mustang.

  “So what’s the surprise?”

  “Hop in and I’ll tell you.”

  I hope whatever it is doesn’t take long. I’ve got plans this afternoon. I get in the passenger seat, immediately overwhelmed by the strong Carter-centric scent that lingers there. That unique mix of summer and boy. Chlorine and sunscreen. He backs out of the driveway and heads down the street. I notice a bag of jaw breakers in the little bucket between the seats. He plucks one out and pops it in his mouth.

  “Want one?” he asks.

  “No, thanks.” I watch him suck on the candy. “I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”

  “I don’t,” he says. “Well, I didn’t, but you told me I had to stop smoking. Those keep my mouth busy.”

  At the words “mouth” and “busy,” I feel my temperature rise. I can think of a few other ways to accomplish that.

  “And you’ve stuck to the no smoking thing?”

  “Yeah,” he says, shifting gears. “It’s a bad habit. I needed to stop. I only started because my mom’s boyfriend thought it was hilarious to teach a fifth grader how to smoke. It upset my mom but the kids in the neighborhood thought it was cool, so I played it up.”

  “Well good, I’m glad I could help you stop. I can’t imagine it helps with your swimming.”

  “It doesn’t.” He gives me a grin. “Thanks for encouraging me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Since this is the summer of proving ourselves,” he says, flashing me a cheeky grin, “I thought maybe we could have a little driving lesson.”

  I bolt upright. “No. No way.”

  “Why not?” he turns down the street that leads to our school, Ocean Grove Academy. The front gates are unlocked. “There’s no reason you can’t drive.”

  “There are several reasons. I’m lazy. Gas is expensive. It’s time consuming.”

  He gives me a look that says he’s not buying it.

  I shrug. “Why do I need to drive when I have you and Atticus to do it for me.”

  “Ah,” he says, pulling into the empty parking lot. “You’re just spoiled and entitled.”

  My jaw drops. “Not true! Take it back!”

  He laughs. “I knew you and your brother must have something in common.”

  I press my head against the leather headrest and groan. “Come on, there has to be something else you’d rather do to
day. It’s your day off! Enjoy yourself! Go to the beach! Hang with some friends!”

  He holds my eye with that same, annoying, cocky grin that I used to hate so much. Why do I suddenly find it compelling and adorable?

  “If you’ll practice for thirty minutes, we can go do something else.”

  Together? What I’m really catching on to here is that Carter wants to spend his day off with me, and that flusters me so much I’m not sure I should get behind the wheel of his super-expensive car.

  “Fine, if I practice driving with you, then you have to do something I want later on.”

  “Deal.” He holds out the car keys and drops them in my palm.

  That’s how I end up driving Carter’s Mustang around the school parking lot. Which, by the way, I’m sure he thought would be a safe location for us to start. He’s never been in a car with me behind the wheel. I can make the simplest drive terrifying.

  “Watch out for the median! Watch out for the median!” His voice raises with each warning. “Clarke!”

  “What?!” I slam on the brakes, two feet from the median in the middle of the parking lot. We both lurch forward, the seatbelts holding us in our spots. Even so, Carter’s long arm is across my chest, like he can single-handedly hold me in place.

  “Are you kidding me? How did you even get over here? We started,” he looks out the window to a location diagonal from where we are now, “way over there. This isn’t even a straight line.”

  “Look,” I tell him, feeling the smirk pull at my mouth, “you’re the one that wanted to do this.”

  “I just had no idea. I think I owe your family a huge apology for the fact I judged them for not teaching you to drive.”

  “Oh, they tried. They just refused to do it anymore.”

  “Is it really that impossible for you to follow directions?” He runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up in all directions.

  I consider this thoughtfully. “Maybe I have some kind of learning disability.”

  “Called stubbornitis.” He shakes his head and sets his jaw. “Back up carefully. Let’s do this again.”

  A determined yet frustrated Carter is pretty cute, especially when directed at me.

  More than once he leans over the center of the car, adjusting the wheel, or placing his hand over mine on the gear shift. Each time we touch, my skin prickles, like it’s charged with electricity. I keep my eyes focused forward so that he can’t tell the affect he has on me.

  We practice for a full hour and by that point I’m able to at least keep the car in the right lane as well as park next to the curb without rolling over it, and stopping without the two of us flying toward the windshield.

  “I think we’re done,” he says, obviously exhausted. “Or I’m done. I may need a drink to settle my nerves.”

  I make a face. “Not funny.”

  “A calming tea,” he clarifies. “I told you, I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “I know. But don’t you think that pretending like you do all that stuff is just as bad? It’s not being very authentic.”

  He doesn’t reply, just gets out of the passenger seat and walks around the car. I’m double-checking that I’ve put the car in gear and locked the brake when he opens my door for me. I hop out and hand him back his keys. He takes them and our fingers brush once again.

  “Thanks for giving me a lesson. You’re right. I’ve been stubborn and scared. It’s just easier.”

  “You’re welcome, although next time maybe we’ll use your car instead of mine.”

  I laugh, knowing how much he loves his car. “You were very trusting to let me get behind the wheel.”

  I start to walk away but he touches my hip, stilling me. “I trust you, Beatrice.”

  His eyes hold mine and I swallow back a bundle of nerves at his closeness. “Thank you,” I say, again, because I know it’s hard for him. “I trust you, too.”

  I think he’s going to release me but he doesn’t. He chews over something—a thought—a decision. Finally, he says, “And you’re right about being genuine. It’s important. I just never felt the need to be that way before.”

  “Before what?”

  He releases me and opens the car door. I think he’s not going to answer but just as he bends to get inside, he replies, “Before you.”

  23

  Bea

  We don’t get tea, but we do get milkshakes at Davie's. Well, I get a milkshake. Carter gets a double bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake.

  “What?” he asks when he places his order. “I swam this morning. What did you do?”

  “Learned to drive.”

  “That’s a little generous. You basically learned how to not crash a car into standing objects.”

  I shrug. “Same thing.”

  He shakes his head but grins. I really like his smile. Especially when it lights up his eyes. “So what’s the trade-off? What did I agree to do this afternoon?”

  That makes me light up. “Well, there’s this thing I wanted to do today, but I didn’t want to go alone, and with things rocky with me and Katherine—”

  “I thought you made up?”

  “Things are better, but she’s hung over and that’s not my idea of the ideal date.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Are we going on a date?”

  I pretend to be aloof. “If you want to call it that.”

  He leans back in his seat, crossing those long, magnificent arms over his chest. “Fine, I’m calling it that. Where are we going on our date, Clarke?”

  The waitress shows up with our food. I grab my milkshake and take a long drag. “You set the trend, Haines. I’m keeping it as a surprise.” I gesture to his greasy, delicious-looking burger. “Finish up and then we’ll go.”

  “I don’t get it,” he says an hour later. We’re standing in front of Bazinga!, the comic book store a few blocks away from Davie's. “You want to look at comic books?”

  “No.” I point to a poster in the window. It’s the new issue of the Photobooth Society. “There’s a special event today. The author of my favorite graphic novel is speaking and singing books. I have two tickets.”

  Carter gives me a wary look. “Did you just trick me into some kind of nerd-thing?”

  “No more than you tricked me into death-defying acts earlier on.”

  He rolls his eyes at my dramatics. I reach for his shirt and tug on it. “Please! I promise it’s pretty cool and won’t take that long.”

  He looks down at my hand and then back at my face, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “Well, you did come to my swim meet.”

  “You’re right. I did.”

  He nods and I take his hand before I realize what I’m doing and direct him into the store. There’s already a good crowd. The Photobooth Society is not only growing in popularity but Gabe Foster, the creator, went to the art school at Ocean Grove High. There are a lot of kids here to support him—and they’re not all nerds. Even so, Carter shifts uncomfortably on his feet looking at the interior of the shop. The walls are papered with old comics and a big, bold sign over the counter says Bazinga! in comic book font. There are bins throughout the store at the perfect level for flipping through the smaller comics and shelves for the graphic novels. In the back are a few old-style video games that customers can play for free, and there’s actually a little coffee shop up front with couches and comfy seats. Katherine and I spent a lot of time here together. I feel a little bad not bringing her with me.

  “Does this bother you?” I ask, as we wait to give the girl at the desk our tickets.

  “It’s just not my usual scene.”

  “Why? Because there are no half-naked girls throwing themselves at you or beer-chugging contests?”

  He gives me a withering glare. I may deserve that.

  “Bea! You made it!” She gives me a wide smile. “I haven’t seen you or Katherine in a while.”

  “Hey, Norah,” I say, handing her my two tickets. Her gray eyes flick to Carter. “Katherine’s sick, but I
brought my friend, Carter, with me.”

  He tosses his arm around my shoulder. “I’m her date.”

  Norah laughs. “Okay. Nice to meet you, Carter.”

  “Norah,” I explain, “is the best friend of Gabe Foster.”

  “Who is Gabe Foster?” Norah and I both give him annoyed looks and I pick up the book on the counter, showing him the name at the bottom. “Oh. Right.”

  I shake my head. “He’s a total noob.”

  “Well, welcome to our world,” Norah says, handing us each a copy of the new book. “Gabe is over at the table signing copies for the next thirty minutes. Then we have a surprise for everyone.”

  “Yaaay,” Carter mutters sarcastically, “more surprises.”

  “Come on,” I tell him, moving away from the counter. Unfortunately, that means he has to drop his arm and I miss the weight and warmth of it immediately.

  “So is that a friend of yours?” he asks.

  “Norah? I just know her because we come in here a lot. She helps Gabe out with a lot of the behind-the-scenes stuff for his novels. Website, promotions, tours and stuff.” I smile. “Sometimes I may try to pump her for inside information, but she’s pretty close-lipped.”

  “Okay,” he says as we get in line behind a group of middle-schoolers, “tell me a little about this book.”

  I grab it from him and start talking. “So there’s this old arcade that this group of teenagers discover and they go every day after school to play. One day when they arrive, there’s an old photobooth, you know the kind that you sit in with the little curtain and everything.”

  “Yes, Clarke, I know what a photobooth is.”

  There’s that smirky grin again. It creates butterflies in my stomach. “Anyway, they decide to take some photos, all jamming in at once. When they press the button it takes four photos. When they walk outside the booth, they’re in a different time and place. The photobooth is an alternate universe time travel machine. In the slot where the photos should be are directions about something they need to do to get back home. It could be to save someone or stop someone from doing something bad or surviving a tragedy.”