Bad Boy Next Door: A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance

by Hunter Rose

  I think about it for a few seconds. My eyes drift over the intensely boring philosophy works spread out across my desk.

  “Well …”

  Her eyes widen, and she squeals. “I’m going to take that as a yes. Come on, let’s find a costume for you.”

  It turns out Halloween on college campuses isn’t like Halloween back home. All I have to do is put on a pair of Christina’s black jeans, a black tank top, and a headband with some ears on it, and I am instantly a black cat. It doesn’t feel particularly convincing, but a few extra swipes of mascara and ruby lipstick I would never choose for myself make me feel transformed.

  “Are you sure this looks alright?” I ask as we walk down the sidewalk in the direction of blaring music.

  Christina has a different frame than I do, so even though I fit in her jeans, they are skintight. Her tank top swoops down lower over my cleavage more than I’d particularly like. I wish I had a sweater or shirt of some kind of throw over it.

  “You look incredible,” she smiles. “I didn’t even know you had it in you. Why are you always covering up in all those baggy clothes and long dresses? If I had a body like you, I just walk around naked all the time.”

  “You’re skinny as a rail,” I tell her.

  “Exactly,” she says. “When was the last time you heard a song about a guy admiring a woman for being so pole-like? Doesn’t happen. With your curves, you take over half the Top 40, easily.”

  I’m still laughing when my phone rings in my pocket. It takes some doing to pry it out from the tight jeans, but I eventually manage and look down at the screen.

  “It’s Isaiah,” I tell Christina.

  “Are you going to answer it?” she asks.

  “I didn’t tell him I was coming out tonight,” I admit with a sigh. “I mean, I didn’t lie. He never asked me what my plans were. I just didn’t volunteer. Does that make me a terrible person?”

  “Would he make you feel guilty for wanting to come out tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, no.” She takes a few more steps, then pauses and looks at me. “Don’t ever let a guy make you feel guilty for a decision you make for yourself. Just words of wisdom for life. In general. If he’s trying to stop you from having fun, he’s not worth it.”

  The serious moment passes almost instantly, and she dances the rest of her way to the steps leading up into the apartment building. The building looks like it’s big enough to hold several apartments, but it turns out to only be three. Two on the bottom floor and one on the top. The doors on the bottom floor are both open, and both apartments look stuffed to the gills. I’m already questioning my decision to come, but Christina tugs on my wrist.

  “He said to go upstairs when we get here,” she says.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “My friend Damien,” she tells me. “He’s the one who invited me tonight. And so, by extension, invited you.”

  “Oh.”

  We weave our way through a cluster of people standing at the bottom of the stairs and make our way to the top. At the landing, the stairs curve again and end up at a single door. A large man stands outside it, and Christina flashes him the megawatt smile I saw the first day I moved in.

  “Trick or treat,” she says.

  The guard is not amused.

  “This is a private party,” he frowns.

  “I know. Damien invited us.”

  “This isn’t Damien’s apartment,” he says.

  “But this is the address he gave me. And he said to come up when we got here. We’re here. So, we came up,” she says.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” the giant man says.

  The door beside him pops open, and Damien Waters looks out at us.

  “Damien?” Christina and I say at the same time.

  “Wow. In stereo,” he says. “Come on in.” We walk into the apartment, and he opens his arms to hug me. “I can’t believe your here, Wren. Christina didn’t tell me you were the one she invited to come along.”

  “You two know each other?” Christina asks.

  “We went to high school together. He was on crew in the theater department,” I explain.

  “Oh. Funny. Small world,” she says. “Damien, you seriously need to work on your security staff.”

  “What security staff?” he asks.

  “That enormous wall of a guy who stopped us when we got up here,” she tells him.

  Damien laughs. “That’s Rodney. He’s not security. He’s just very dedicated to his costume. Come on in.”

  We walk further into the apartment, and I’m blown away by its beauty. Easily the square footage of a house, it’s lavishly decorated with a luxurious touch. Damien leads us through the marble entryway where we came in and into the next room. Several other people gather on heavy wood and leather furniture. I recognize a few of the two dozen or so faces and exchange hugs and waves. Several bowls of food are spread out across a coffee table, and I pop a pretzel in my mouth.

  “So, Wren, have you seen him?” Penny, a girl who played a background character in a play when I was a sophomore and hasn’t stopped talking about it since, asks.

  “Seen who?” I ask.

  “Talon,” she says. “This is his apartment.”

  “This is Talon’s apartment?” Christina asks. “As in, Talon, your homework buddy?”

  “He’s my project partner,” I clarify, but turn back to Penny. “This is his apartment?”

  “Wait, why would they care if you’ve seen him?” Christina asks.

  Before I can say anything, one of them shoves a phone in her hands. Her eyes slowly lift to me, and I know exactly what’s playing out on the screen. I cringe.

  “Yeah,” I sigh.

  “Oh,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m going to need the whole version of this story when we get back to the dorm.”

  31

  Talon

  I come into the room just as Wren’s roommate hands a phone back to Greg, and Wren starts to try to explain. It doesn’t take a whole lot of thought to come up with what just got shared. It doesn’t seem like the video of everything going up in flames last year spread all the way down here to Richmond, but I suppose it wasn’t going to take long with as many of us from the high school who ended up here.

  I step up behind Wren, and Christina’s eyes widen innocently.

  “So, I invite you to come to my Halloween party, and you won’t come. But somebody else does, and you’re more than happy to?” I ask with a hint of teasing in my voice.

  “You didn’t invite me to your Halloween party,” Wren argues, looking up at me.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  I can see the gears turning in her head until she nods. “Oh, wow, you did. You said you were having a little get-together on Saturday night and thought I should come by.”

  “That is not an invitation to a Halloween party,” Christina rolls her eyes. “That’s what people say when they’re going to have an intervention for somebody.”

  “Trust me; I’ve tried it,” I say.

  Wren narrows her eyes at me, and I reach down for her hand to help her up. “Let me give you a tour.”

  I guide her out of the living room and down a hallway to the library.

  “This is beautiful,” she says. “I can’t believe it’s yours.”

  “Graduation gift from dear old dad,” I tell her. “He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of me ditching his alma mater to come here, but I figure he’s just happy I’m ending up at any college.”

  “What was the alternative?” she asks.

  “Prison?”

  “I don’t think you would ever end up in prison,” she says.

  There’s a softness in her voice I try not to focus on. I’m also trying not to focus on the swell of her breasts coming up out of the neckline of her tank top, or the way her tight jeans cup her round ass. That proves a completely futile effort.

  “What kind of outfit is that?” I ask.

  She l
ooks down at herself. “I’m a black cat.” She touches the narrow black metal ears on the headband she’s wearing. “See?”

  “A black cat?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “It’s Halloween,” she defends herself. “This is my costume. Is there something wrong with it?”

  I shake my head and step up closer to her. “Not if I’m the only one seeing it.”

  She looks up at me, her mouth opening as if she’s going to say something, but she closes it. Drawing in a breath, she takes a step back.

  “I think we should go back in with everyone else,” she finally says.

  I gesture to the door, and she walks out, heading back into the living room at a slightly faster speed than she probably needs to. It’s that speed the tells me she hasn’t pushed our past as far out of her mind as she wants people to think she has. When we get back into the living room, the rest of the group is steadily chugging down drinks.

  “Trick or treating got very intense,” Damien says, holding up his bottle. His arm is slung around Christina as she nurses her way through a bottle of rum.

  “I can see that,” I note, dropping down into a dark brown leather chair.

  Christina holds her bottle out toward Wren. “Want a sip?” she offers.

  “No,” Wren says, shaking her head. “Thank you.”

  “It tastes like coconut,” Christina says. “It’s practically a health beverage.”

  Wren laughs. “I’ll pass.”

  “Talon?” Damien offers.

  I shake my head. “I’ll pass, too. But the health beverage argument is a pretty compelling one. Haven’t heard that before.”

  “Just got to keep trying,” Christina says. “That’s what college is all about.”

  A few of the people gathered around the table cheer and lift their drinks.

  Greg takes a huge swig of the beer in his hand and deposits the empty bottle on the table beside him. He reaches down onto the floor and picks up another one. Apparently, he came prepared. He cracks it open and swallows down a good portion of the bottle.

  “Why don’t we play a game?” he announces more than asks.

  “What kind of game?” Wren asks.

  “A party game,” Greg says. “We are at a party, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah,” Penny says, “but not a five-year-old’s birthday party.”

  “I don’t know,” Christina shrugs. “The game could be fun. What about a couple of rounds of Truth or Dare?”

  “Really?” I roll my eyes. “We came to college to play Truth or Dare?”

  “Come on, Talon,” Damien says. “Where’s your party spirit? Or are you afraid of what you might have to reveal?”

  It feels like a challenge. I lift my chin, squaring my shoulders at him. “Fine. Truth or Dare it is. Who goes first?”

  “I will,” Christina offers.

  “Perfect,” Damien says. “Truth or Dare?”

  “Dare,” she grins.

  The reaction of the group makes me laugh.

  “Starting off hot right from the beginning, huh?” Damien asks. “I like your style. Alright, if you’re feeling sexy like that, then I dare you to go flash the street.”

  Christina scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I thought I asked for a dare, not a casual suggestion.”

  She slings herself off the couch and walks directly over to the French doors leading out onto a balcony overlooking at the historic street. Stepping out onto it, she pulls the neckline of her sexy inmate costume down and performs a few shimmies for good measure. When she’s finished, she turns around and gives a wide grin.

  “Impressive,” Damien says. “Of course, that costume is being held on by your nipples and good intentions, so it wasn’t exactly a leap.”

  Christina holds up her hands. “You’re the one who came up with the dare. But now it’s your turn. Truth or Dare?”

  “Truth,” Damien says.

  The group protests, but he shakes his head, not swayed by their pressure to take a dare.

  “Alright. What’s your favorite position?” Christina asks.

  I have a feeling this is as much personal research as it is for the game. Damien thinks about the question for a few seconds, then leans close to Christina and whispers something in her ear. She jumps away from him, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

  “No fair,” Greg cuts in. “No secret answers. It’s not really the truth unless you share it with everybody.”

  “Let’s just say there may very well be some boots and a hat in my future,” Christina winks.

  Everybody laughs, but out of the corner of my eye, I notice Wren staring at the wall, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Who’s next?” I ask, trying to move the game along.

  “How about Wren,” Damien says. “She’s been pretty quiet through this game.”

  “She doesn’t have to,” I start, but Wren nods.

  “Go ahead,” she says.

  “Truth or Dare?” Damien asks.

  “Truth,” she says.

  “How many people have you slept with?” he asks without flinching.

  “Alright, that’s enough,” I say. “Somebody else take a turn.”

  “None,” Wren says. I look at her, and she shrugs. “What? That’s the truth. I’m not ashamed of it. Isn’t that the point of the game?”

  “You’re a virgin?” Christina asks.

  “They do still exist,” Wren says. “I promise.”

  “I mean, I know, but… really?” Christina asks.

  “Yep. Still the truth. Now, isn’t it somebody else’s turn?”

  “I’ll go,” I offer.

  Christina turns slightly narrowed eyes at me. Her lips pressed together, working back and forth as she contemplates. Finally, she nods.

  “Alright. Truth or Dare, Talon?”

  “Dare,” I tell her.

  She grins. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, we’ve all seen the video. We know what happened between the two of you. At least, what might have happened. Some of your lovely friends here filled me in a bit on your reputation from high school, and if what Wren just told us is actually true, I have the feeling you didn’t get much of a chance to try with her. So, I dare you to kiss her. See what you missed out on.”

  Wren and I meet eyes. Only we know about the kiss in the gazebo. We know just how intense it really felt. Her breath deepens, and she turns to Christina and the others.

  “I have a boyfriend,” she says. “Christina, you know that.”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Christina shrugs. “It’s Halloween. Everything goes. Besides, it’s a dare.”

  I walk up to Wren and take her by the hand to help her to her feet again. I guide her closer to me. My fingers trace the side of her face, and I rest two fingertips beneath her chin to tilt her face up toward mine. My lips draw close to hers, but at the last second, she steps back.

  “I need to go back to the dorm. I have a lot of schoolwork I need to do, and I really can’t be distracted. Happy Halloween, Talon.”

  My hand wraps around her wrist to hold her still, and I lean closer to her.

  “Runaway little bird. It’s what you’re good at.” I tell her.

  My hand falls away from her, and I watch her disappear out of the room. A few seconds later, the door closes. Christina untangles herself from Damien and gets up.

  “I’m going to go with her. She shouldn’t be walking back to the dorm by herself.”

  She rushes after Wren, and I turn back to look at those left at the party. Damien takes a sip from his bottle.

  “You still owe us a dare, Talon. New one. Make that girl fall in love with you.”

  “That isn’t much of a dare,” I say.

  He takes another swig. “Then let’s make it a bet. We all heard your reputation for being able to make panties drop no matter where you go. But never hers. And from what I understand, you’ve never had a relationship with anyone. Fuckbuddies that straddle seasons right along with you notwithstanding. So, prove it. Keep up your reputati
on and prove you’re the king of winning hearts while never thawing out that ice cube around yours.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “We’ll make it particularly interesting. A two-for-one. I bet you can’t make Wren fall in love with you. And if you do, I dare you to break up with her without a second thought.”

  In the other chair, Greg holds up his phone, playing the video of Wren shouting at Isaiah and me in the hallway. I remember how I felt that day. And how I felt the moment I found out she’d gotten back with Isaiah. I draw in a breath and hold it in my chest for a second then extend my hand to Damien.

  “I accept. Come up with the terms of the bet and let me know,” I say.

  He smiles. “Let the games begin.”

  32

  Wren

  My state of existence for days has been just sitting in the cafeteria, holed up in a corner with a small blanket, a cup of coffee, a plate of snacks, and my laptop. The cafeteria workers have learned my name and what snacks I like, but I think they might be more worried about me than being friendly for the sake of friendliness. I can’t help it, though; finals are coming soon, and there is still so much left to cram into my brain before then. Besides, the more I focus on studying, the less I have the brainpower to think about anything, or anyone, else.

  A new document is pulled up on my laptop, but it has remained blank for a while now. I can’t seem to get the words to come out and have devolved into bouncing between munching my food, taking sips of my drink, and tapping my fingers on the keys willing words to come out. They refuse.

  “You seem stressed out,” comes a voice from above, and I look up, half expecting it to be imaginary.

  Talon is most certainly not imaginary. He is very, very real.

  “Oh, hey, yeah, I am,” I say, suddenly struggling to decide if I should justify the empty document, the mostly empty plate of fries or the pajama pants-hoodie outfit.

  “Finals?” he asks in a way that says he knows the answer already. I nod.