by Blair Holden
The Bad Boy’s Girl
Blair Holden
THE BAD BOY’S GIRL
All Rights Reserved © 2017 by Blair Holden
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published by Blair Holden
Dedication
For my mom, I never would have had the courage to write without you. And for my Wattpad family, thank you for always loving this world and these characters.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter One: He’s Bush and I’m Like His Mini Afghanistan
Chapter Two: I’m Her Evil Russian Twin, Svetlana
Chapter Three: Death by Spearmint—I’d Revolutionize the World of Crime
Chapter Four: In the Name of Your Pea-Sized Balls, I Say Unhand Me!
Chapter Five: If You Wanted Me To Play Sexy Doctor You Could’ve Just Asked
Chapter Six: My Life’s One Big Spanish Soap Opera, Let’s Call It Ugly Tessie
Chapter Seven: It’s Spoon Lifting, Not Grand Theft Auto!
Chapter Eight: You’re Smiling Like A Horny Guy On A Dodgy Street Corner
Chapter Nine: Well At Least The Kidnappers Are Keeping It Classy These Days
Chapter Ten: Discussing Who The Peeping Tom Creeper Likes More?
Chapter Eleven: I Think Cole Is A Sex God
Chapter Twelve: I’m Not The Love Child Of Edward Cullen And Tinker Bell
Chapter Thirteen: Is That A Rhetorical Question?
Chapter Fourteen: I’m As Smooth As Chunky Peanut Butter
Chapter Fifteen Part One: He’s Searching My Body Like It’s A Map To Atlantis
Chapter Fifteen Part Two: Ripping Jay’s Bieber-Sized Ego into Shreds
Chapter Sixteen: Victory for the Socially Inept of the World
Chapter Seventeen: Don’t Strip on Top of the Pool Table, Nana
Chapter Eighteen: “You’re Not Sexting Stone, Are You?”
Chapter Nineteen: I’m Trapped in a Never-Ending Episode Of General Hospital
Chapter Twenty: My Inexperience Is as Obvious as The Scarlet Letter
Chapter Twenty-One: Girl Hospitalized for Checking out Cole Stone’s Chest
Chapter Twenty-Two: I Asked You to Make Soup Not Babies
Chapter Twenty-Three: It’s Like The Freaking Jungle Book in My Stomach
Chapter Twenty-Four: You’re A Tweedlewart
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Lecherous Ho Has a Point
Chapter Twenty-Six: Cole Is Stone Cold Sober. Get It? Stone Cold?
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Not All Boys Are Giant Douche Sickles
Chapter Twenty-Eight: You’re as Lickable as Your Ice Cream Namesake
Chapter Twenty-Nine: I’m Thinking about Jumping Your Bones
Chapter Thirty: I’m more Clueless Than a Kardashian Without a Camera Crew
Chapter Thirty-One: What It Feels Like to Get Your Heart Broken
Chapter Four: Cole’s POV
Chapter Eleven: Cole’s POV
- Introduction-
Mom and Dad are at it again and I can hear their shouts through our thin, almost paper-like walls. They are still under the impression that if they shout downstairs, I won’t be able to hear them. Yet sadly for them, and for me, I can hear each and every word crystal clear.
But that’s what they do. They fight up to the point where they want to tear each other’s hair out and then go to their room. Lately, however, my dad has taken to sleeping in the guest bedroom, which he sneaks out of every morning before I go to school.
He thinks I don’t know, but I do.
I’m aware that things are bad between my parents but they’ll never leave each other. They’re stubborn like that. I get that from them, the stubbornness, but I really do hope I’m never put in a situation like theirs. Though I don’t have to worry about finding someone I love and then ending up hating them, because the guy I love will never love me. He’s too busy being in love with Nikki the Ho. Oh wait, let me rewind and tell you exactly why Nikki’s a ho.
Nicole Andrea Bishop, also known as the reason behind every bad thing in my life, is my ex-best friend and vice-captain of the varsity dance team. I’ve known her since kindergarten when everything was rainbows and butterflies, and sharing a cup of Jell-O meant that we were BFFs.
Truly, that’s what Nikki and I were for about ten years. Then high school happened and turned her into the spawn of Satan.
Gone was the girl with missing front teeth who used to braid my hair because I was physically incapable of doing so. Gone was the girl with severe acne who stayed up all night with me, helping me prepare for the nightmare that was my French final in junior high. Gone was the girl who’d become a sister to me, who had dinner with my family every Saturday night before we started our weekly Gilmore Girls marathon.
By the time freshman year ended, she had been possessed by the spirit of Regina George and I was that pesky fly that kept hovering near her. I fought to keep our friendship alive, I truly did, but there was only so much my pride could suffer.
This is the part where I tell you that I used to be fat. Oh, and when I say fat, I don’t mean the kind of fat where you could wear skinny jeans and crop tops yet still find it in yourself to criticize those few extra pounds.
I weighed a whopping two hundred and thirty pounds. I was that girl who wore sweatpants and XXL hoodies with my Converse all day, every day, and didn’t think twice about it. But before you begin to pity me, let me assure you that I was never conscious about my weight. In fact, I was pretty okay with it. I didn’t diet, nor did I exercise (much to my mother’s chagrin), and I didn’t sacrifice small animals so that the gods would miraculously make me shed all the extra weight. I ate what I wanted, I stayed inside watching Gossip Girl on my laptop, and in school I was ignored, never bullied, but ignored.
Then Nicole joined the dance team and suddenly everyone hated me. I can still hear them, you know, the catcalls and hushed, well, not completely hushed, whispers as Nicole and I would pass the other students.
“What’s Nicole Andrea Bishop doing with a girl like her?”
“How is Fatty Tessie blackmailing Nicole into being her friend?”
“Why doesn’t Nicole just get rid of the extra weight?” Yeah, that one was hilarious.
Suffice it to say Nicole realized that I was damaging her reputation. So after months of avoiding my calls and not “having time” to hang out with me, she made it clear that I was now a bother to her and that we couldn’t be friends anymore.
I swallowed my pride and agreed. Just like that, ten years of friendship went down the drain, all because my best friend was too big of a coward to stand up to the people who questioned our friendship. Now, if she’d stayed a coward, I would’ve been okay with it, but she decided that one humungous character flaw wasn’t enough. Oh no, apparently the prerequisite for popularity is becoming some sort of twisted villain you find in the classic western movies. Which Nicole did.
While I returned for sophomore year eighty pounds lighter, she returned with a boyfriend. Not just any boyfriend at that. N
icole returned as the girlfriend of the boy I’d been crushing on since I was eight.
Jason “Jay” Stone was the first boy who ever got me flowers. Well, if you consider a single, roughly plucked dandelion a flower. He did this when we were in the third grade and I came to school wearing my favorite bow. He told me I looked pretty and that was it—I was in love. As time went on we became good friends. Well, he was a good friend to me. I simply became tongue-tied in his presence. He was your typical All-American Boy with his blond hair, blue eyes, and enviable baseball skills. However, as I added pounds to my body, I became shy about my association with him. I was overweight and carried prepubescent awkwardness. I told myself that I wasn’t the kind of girl who deserved to spend time with Jay Stone, and I distanced myself from him.
Nicole knew full well how I felt about him. She even encouraged me to ask him out because she claimed he had a crush on me despite my weight problems. Let’s just say I was very, very opposed to the idea. However, during the summer before my sophomore year, I realized that maybe I’d finally stumbled upon a breakthrough. As I slaved over the treadmill and consumed my body weight in water, I felt that maybe this would be the year. The year when I’d finally have a shot, that I could finally be someone who could possibly flirt with Jay Stone.
I was in for a rude awakening.
The first time I saw Jay after that summer was in the school hallway just before the bell for first period rang. I had worn my best pair of skinny jeans, which coincidentally made my butt look good, a fitted top showing just a hint of cleavage, and some pretty badass biker boots. I’d painstakingly styled my blond hair into beachy waves with my makeup expertly applied. However, my eye makeup ran down my face not five minutes later when I saw him.
He had his tongue down my best friend’s—excuse me, my ex-best friend’s—throat. If I’d eaten anything at all, the contents of my stomach would surely have made their way back up. I remember clearly feeling a viselike grip around my heart, like someone was squeezing it tightly, cracking it up into minuscule pieces. Tears stung my eyes and my throat closed up. It was the worst I’d ever felt.
I had lost Jay Stone, the love of my life, to my ex-best friend, and boy, did she rub it in my face. It was like losing all that weight made no difference to them. I was destined to remain Fatty Tessie, friendless and invisible to the only guy I’d ever wanted.
***
Fast forward two years and here I am, a senior going into my second week of high school. Not quite shockingly, a senior sitting at home on a Saturday night and stalking the love of her life on Facebook. Yes, I’ve grown into referring to myself in third person because that’s what mind-numbing boredom does to you.
I’m scrolling down his profile, which seems to be filled with photos from his girlfriend in different stages of a selfie. Sickening, that’s what this level of self-obsession is.
His display picture is one of the two of them on the beach. He’s lifted her up around the waist and is kissing the side of her head as she grins that evil, Grim Reaper grin at the camera. I try blocking out the various pictures of Nicole as I veer deeper into Jay’s profile. He’s perfect, utterly beautiful with his messy golden hair and ocean blue eyes. His smile kills me, those dimples in his cheeks, the freckles on his nose, those sharp cheekbones . . .
How lovesick do I sound? But he won’t even look at me because he’s too busy swapping spit with freaking Nicole Andrea Bishop. They’re the perfect couple. The kind that’s most likely to be voted Prom King and Queen. The kind who would eventually get married one day because it seems like the only logical conclusion. Perfection ends up with perfection, even if said perfection has a rotten, rotten core. Why can’t he see how evil his girlfriend is? How could he be blind to all her faults?
Oh wait, I remember. The fangs only come out when I’m around, and around him she’s as harmless as a Chihuahua. To give him credit, Jay always goes out of his way to say hello to me, and whenever we have class he offers to carry my books. Obviously I never let him because Nicole’s always just a few feet away with fire coming out of her nostrils.
I refresh his profile a couple of times because I’m feeling particularly sadistic. But my fingers freeze midway when I see a post. Not just any post, it’s The Post. The one that makes me want to shriek and throw the laptop fifty feet away. The death decree staring me right in the face says:
“I’m coming home, brother. Better throw me a killer party, Jay Jay.”
Curious to know who on earth could make me cower in fear, tremble in my proverbial boots, and wish that we still lived in the day and age of moats?
Well, the name that’s glaring at me viciously from the screen is Cole, Cole Stone, and it’s a name right up there with Nicole Andrea Bishop. The universe tends to work in mysterious ways, right? Well, at times I feel like with me the universe works with a slightly sickening sense of humor. What else would explain why the two people who have wreaked so much havoc in my life have rhyming names?
But I digress; my problem isn’t rhyming names, it’s the fact that Cole is . . . wait, Cole’s coming back? Oh crudsticks.
Cole, for those unaware of why my skin crawls at the sound of his very name, is Jay’s stepbrother and the one person apart from Nicole who seems to have made a hobby of making me miserable. He bullied me relentlessly all through elementary school and junior high. However, before we started high school, he being the delinquent that he is, inevitably ended up where all the miscreants do. Military school has kept him away from me for three years now.
And now he’s coming back.
Cole Stone, the reason why the nurses in the emergency room and I are on a first-name basis, is coming back to town. Oh my God, now there’s going to be two of them! Cole and Nicole will combine their evil satanic powers to make my life a living, breathing slasher flick.
I gulp and shut my laptop down, tossing it aside like it’s possessed.
Score one for the universe’s sickening sense of humor, and none for the blonde who always ends up dead in the bathtub.
Chapter One : He’s Bush and I’m Like His Mini Afghanistan
Monday morning when my dad drops me off at school, I stealthily pull on the hood of my jacket. It is a remnant of Fatty Tessie days and hence is so baggy that it almost swallows me. The mission is to be as invisible to the human eye as possible, and what better way to do that than wear something that “the new me” wouldn’t be caught dead wearing? A potato sack would be more flattering.
My father eyes me curiously as I tiptoe toward the building. I can always explain it to him later that I’m trying to save my life. When he finally drives away I rush, still on my tiptoes, imitating a bad spy thriller, and merge into the crowd of ALHS—so far, so good.
The plan is to quickly grab my books from my locker, which might be the only way someone might identify me today. The strategy also involves sitting way at the back, about as noticeable as a flea on Yorkshire terrier. It’s funny how easy it is to channel James Bond when you’re in mortal danger.
Now, you might say that I’m overreacting and that I don’t even know if Cole’s going to be in school today. But the thing is, I’ve known that boy long enough to be aware of his twisted schemes. He will attack when I lower my defenses and that, my friends, will not be happening.
“Tessa.”
My cover’s been blown! I squeeze my eyes shut and start walking toward homeroom, which happens to be in the direction opposite of whomever it is that’s ruining my carefully constructed plan.
“Tessa, wait!”
I keep walking, glancing to the sides, hoping that Cole won’t jump out of some random corner with a paint gun in his hand. That devious baboon . . . he’s got minions now, does he?
You can tell paranoia does not suit me well.
I try to hurry as much as I can but I’m not fast enough. A hand clasps down on my shoulder and I open my mouth to scream but then my eye falls on the bracelet on the wrist of the person holding on to me and I sigh in relief. That charm br
acelet with the ‘I Heart Nerds’ charm is familiar, and the owner happens to be my best friend. I know for certain that she doesn’t mean me physical harm, well, at least not intentionally.
“Why,” she pauses to take a deep breath, “are you . . .” deep breath again, “running so fast?” She’s panting like she’s just run a marathon instead of chasing me down a school corridor, but in her defense, she’s a bigger nerd than I am and exercise is a foreign concept for her.
“Let’s get to class and I’ll explain,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her along before she attracts too much attention.
“Ooohh, I smell gossip.” She rubs her hands together manically and her green eyes shimmer in delight.
Meet Megan Sharp, one of my best friends post-Nicole. We bonded over our mutual hatred of chemistry and late hours at the library. She’s an honors student destined for her dream school, Princeton. In her spare time she loves nothing more than knowing everything about everyone, even though that knowledge might not be credible. Megan is stunning, with her deep red hair and flawless complexion. She looks like a porcelain doll, and I envy her ability to be petite and delicate while I am anything but.
We enter the classroom and as usual Miss Sanchez is fast asleep in her chair while paper planes are whizzing by her head. The two of us spot our other best friend, Beth, sitting by the window, scribbling furiously over her notebook, and we head over to her direction.
“Hey, Beth!” I wince at the shrill tone of Megan’s voice, but you cannot tone this girl down. Her morning greeting is a way of life.
Beth doesn’t look up and I realize that she’s in that zone. Her “I’m writing a song; come near me and I’ll kill you” zone, so I pry Megan away from her and we both silently take our seats.
Beth Romano is my other best friend post-Nicole. She transferred to our school during sophomore year so she hasn’t witnessed Fatty Tessie, but what she has witnessed is Nicole’s torment. She doesn’t do well with bullies, and that’s an understatement. If I had a penny for each time I’ve had to stop her from punching Nicole in the face, I’d be able to skip town and move to Timbuktu. She’s got that rocker chick look nailed with her distressed jeans and band T-shirts, along with her trademark leather jacket. The ebony black hair and her piercing blue eyes only cement her intensity.