Interview with the Bad Boy

by Rylee Swann

  Her brow rises again. I’m full of surprises this morning, it seems. “Oh, wow. Were you drunk?”

  I snort. “No. I had a gin and tonic. Not even a full one. I just… I don’t know what I was thinking! He’s good looking, but that wasn’t all of it. Something about him that’s hard to put into words. He pushed all my buttons in the best way.” I shrug helplessly. There is no other way to describe the inescapable chemistry we had, though I’m afraid it was only one way.

  She nods along, her gaze sympathetic. It’s nice to get it all out, but I know she won’t be satisfied with just that part of the story. She’ll want all the gory details. “Well,” she says thoughtfully. “Make it a two-night stand?”

  The thought had occurred to me, popping up like an obnoxious soap bubble, but Cole had already shot that idea down pretty damn fast. Which is for the best because I need to finish the story. I can’t continue sleeping with him. Once was enough. Once was a mistake. “I can’t, Mia.”

  I get another dramatic eye roll and feel myself growing defensive already. I know what speech is coming, and I don’t want to hear it. “Becca, you’re in college. Live a little! What if this is the love of your life and—”

  I cut her off. “He’s not. It was only hot sex. The love of my life right now is journalism.”

  “Becca, come on! It’s just the college paper!” She sounds so exasperated with me. Even though I came to her to unload, now I just want to leave.

  “Mia, I know you mean well. I do. I know you care, but you just don’t get it, okay? Journalism for me is like art for you. Can you imagine giving that up for a guy? And let’s be clear, he’s not a good guy. He’s just a good lay.”

  She sighs, and I know I’m making some headway. “No. I wouldn’t give it up.” She narrows her eyes. “Wait a minute. You went to a bar to interview Cole James Friday night. Are you saying…?” She cleared her throat. “Are you saying that you slept with Cole James?”

  I’m tempted to make up a different name. I run a hand over my eyes and feel a headache circling my temples. Finally, I cave. “Yes. It was Cole James.” I don’t like how his name tastes on my tongue. It tastes an awful lot like regret and longing.

  Mia is quiet far longer than I expect her to be. When I’m finally able to meet her gaze, I see she looks really surprised. I give her a flat look.

  “No, no!” she blurts. “I mean… look, he’s just not your type, ya know? And he usually goes for bimbos. Tiny blondes with big fake boobs.” She holds her hands out in front of her chest to demonstrate.

  Fair enough. “Yeah, yeah,” I grumble.

  “You’re gorgeous, Becca. You know that. That’s not what I’m saying. Hell, you can have just about any guy you want.”

  I’m not so sure about that. Sure, I’m pretty enough. I get looks. I get asked out, but I’m not used to casual flings, and Cole doesn’t seem like relationship material. Plus, he’d been brutally honest with me — he never sleeps with the same girl twice.

  My silence gives me away. “Do you like him?” she asks, voice soft, tinged with pity.

  I bristle. I don’t want to be pitied. Not ever. I cross my arms over my chest and look away. “I don’t know,” I answer, a little snappy, but truthful all the same. “I don’t even know him other than he plays football, is good at it, fucks like a stallion, is a slob, and has a violent temper.” Saying the words out loud cement it. I can’t pursue him.

  Mia’s jaw sags. “Slob? You’ve been inside his house?”

  I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. And it’s nasty.”

  She stares at me. “He never takes women home with him. Rumor has it, that is.”

  “Well, I don’t know about the rumor, but I woke up in his bed with only a note on the table for company.”

  Mia gets up, dusting more granola crumbs off her clothes. “This is a little more serious than tea. I’m opening the wine.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cole

  I have a hard time getting to my Monday morning classes on a good day. And today isn’t a good day. It starts bad because I wasn’t able to sleep last night. I kept seeing Becca’s face, the way her feelings were naked and bare. The hurt in her beautiful eyes. I want to tell her to stay away from me, that I’m not any good for her, but that isn’t entirely true either, and I know it. I’m just not ready to be with anyone again.

  I’ve spent so long building up these walls to keep people out that I’m stuck inside them alone. I know it. I might be failing my classes, but I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks. I get it, everyone has their pain, bad stuff from the past that shapes who we are. But I’ve worked really hard to get past it, and I’m not about to put myself back there because of some nice piece of ass.

  Women just can’t be trusted. Hell, I couldn’t even trust my own mother. I know they say that when a relationship ends, everyone is to blame, but sometimes one party is more at fault than the other. Anyway, I don’t have time to think about all that shit. I have to get to class.

  I knew the night before that once three a.m. came and went, that it would just make more sense to pull an all-nighter. I’d sleep through my alarm otherwise. So, I drink a bunch of black coffee and jog to class so that the cold, bracing morning air might wake me up a bit.

  I sit through history, barely able to keep my eyes open. I try to take notes, but fifteen minutes in and my mind is wandering to more pleasant things already. I can’t keep her out of my head. I think about how sexy she looked going down on me, how good it felt to have her delicious lips wrapped around my dick.

  I need to snap out of it. I can’t get a hard-on in class. Rubbing my eyes, I try to focus, but barely coast until my first class is over. I sling my backpack over my shoulder but am stopped by the professor.

  “Mr. James? Can I speak to you for a moment?” She isn’t being rude. She’s a nice teacher. An older lady who smells like my grandma. Even has those little wire glasses perched on her beak like nose.

  Even though she’s polite, I already feel pissed off and defensive. What is she going to do? Bitch at me? Tell me I’m a failure? I already know that. People have been telling me that my whole damn life. “Yeah, sure,” I mumble, shouldering my backpack and following her to her office.

  I sit across from her in a chair that isn’t designed to be comfortable. She gives me a stiff smile that says that she doesn’t really want to have this conversation, and it makes me want to put my fist through the wall. I don’t need this shit today.

  “Mr. James, I hate to tell you this, and I’m sure you already know or at least have an idea...” She trails off. Bad news never goes down well, and I wish she’d just get to the point.

  I just nod. Go on, I want to scream. Fuck.

  “If you don’t do something about your grades, you’re going to be put on academic suspension, which will mean you’ll be suspended from football as well.”

  Of course. Just when I think things can’t get worse, they just did. And I don’t know what to do about it.

  At the start of the season, I wasn’t on top of my game. My coach rode my ass at practice. At games. It felt like he blamed me for everything. But in that part of my life, I had control. I trained harder, put in more hours watching films and doing drills. It paid off. Hell, it’s still paying off.

  But here… now… I don’t think there is a fix like with my athletic performance.

  As I listen to just how bad my grades are, my ears start to ring. Part of me wants to run away. Just keep running and never look back. Maybe I can start over somewhere. I have some money in the bank. But I know that’s bullshit the moment I think of it. I don’t have a lot of money, and no school in the world will take me if I’m on academic suspension. Hell, the NFL will probably turn their back on me too. My school is all paid for, and I’m throwing it away. I don’t even know what to do about it.

  The professor rummages in her desk, further getting on my nerves. After a lot of shuffling, she hands me a piece of paper with names and phone numbers on them. “Those are student t
utors. Some of them are free, those are the ones at the bottom. Some you have to pay, but I would recommend finding a tutor that you can learn from.” Her smile is stiff and forced again. She probably thinks I should be expelled. She seems like the type.

  “Thanks,” I manage to get out without sneering or flipping her desk over.

  I leave the office, feeling hopelessness settle around me like chains. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. Coach will yell at me. Teammates are going to give me a hard time. And once again, everyone will remind me how useless and dumb I am. Just like my dad.

  I think again of Becca. I bet she makes good grades. Her and her good girl sweater. She said something about being on the school paper. I’ve never read the school paper, but I’m sure they don’t let guys like me write for it. So, she has to be smart. Good at school.

  On the way home, I think about what she wants from me. Just a story. I guess it can’t hurt. And maybe if I do her a favor, she’ll do one for me in return. That’s it. I’ll make a trade. If she will tutor me, I’ll give her an interview. Win-win for us both.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know what I’m really doing. I want to see her again. I can’t deny that. I don’t want a relationship with her, and it’s probably trouble in the making, but I’m going to do it anyway. I just can’t help myself. That’s how I am when I find something I like. I can’t leave it alone.

  And I don’t want to leave Becca alone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Becca

  I open my email, face still burning with humiliation and rage. I’ve thought about it all weekend, and I just need to admit to Rob that I won’t be doing that quarterback story after all. I can’t face Cole James again. I’ll do the fluff piece on the team and be done with it.

  I think about going to Mia’s again, but I can’t handle her ‘real talk’ or her messy apartment when I’m hurting. It’s going to be a quiet night at home doing school work and soaking in the tub. It’s hard not thinking about Cole, but every time his face swims through my memory, I shut it down, think about something else.

  I send a quick email to Rob in what I hope is a humble enough tone. Not that I feel humble, he just behaves better when I act that way. He was like that in our relationship too. I was never sorry enough. I was always wrong. Living that way is far more damaging than I realized. Is that why I’m willing to accept so little from a man? I shake my head. The whole thing with Cole just seems like a fantasy taken too far. I have to stop.

  If only I can shake the disappointment in myself. How can I be so stupid?

  Not expecting Rob to respond right away, I’m surprised when my computer pings with his incoming message. I click open the email and stare at my screen in surprise. He says he wants to take me out to dinner, emphasizing that it isn’t in a romantic way, which is a relief. He just wants to have some company during dinner and wants to go over a new article idea. He also apologizes for assigning me the sports story in the first place. He realizes it probably came off as shitty. It did.

  I sit back, a little stunned. Rob has been acting like a big, childish man baby ever since the breakup. I don’t quite know what to make of this email. He wants to have dinner and be professional? I read it again, hardly believing the words. I want to pinch myself.

  Part of me realizes it’s likely a ploy, but how can I turn down a dinner and conversation about work? He knows how to reel me in. At the same time, I don’t want to get carried away. Maybe Rob is getting over us at last. Maybe he’s make peace with it, and this is how he wants to make it up to me. After a great deal of consideration, I decide to accept the olive branch.

  At six, I step into Maria’s, a wonderful little Italian restaurant, glad that the place isn’t too crowded. Rob is already there, and I join him in a booth in the back. He looks nice, I can’t deny it. Smells nice too. He’s a clean cut guy. No tattoos. He works out but isn’t built, just lean. He wears stylish, thick framed glasses, and he has beautiful, warm brown eyes. I’ve missed him a little, though I wonder if I’ve simply missed intimate, male company. There are many things about Rob I don’t miss at all.

  “Hey, Bec,” he says as I sit down. He’s already ordered me a glass of wine. A dark, dry red. Not my favorite. It’s a disappointing reminder of how little attention he always paid to what I actually liked.

  “Hey,” I say, trying not to sound too glum.

  He takes a sip of his own wine and waits for me to settle in my seat and take off my coat. “You look beautiful,” he says, and when I glance up, he looks earnest and sincere.

  I don’t feel beautiful. I feel dirty and used, but I thank him anyway.

  “Got your email. I should have known that Cole James would refuse an interview. Seems like even a pretty face couldn’t get him to loosen his lips. The guy won’t talk to anyone.”

  That had been my excuse. That Cole had simply refused the interview, which is completely true. I just left out the bit where I sucked his cock in his car and went home with him and fucked all night. Nope. I’m not telling him that, not ever.

  “It’s okay, Rob,” I say, downing my wine in a few gulps. I try not to shudder and go ‘bleck’ but it’s hard. I’ve never had a taste for dry, red wine. I like the sparkling whites. Sangria. Fruity things. “He just seems like a very private person.”

  He shrugs. “Still. He has a reputation for being an asshole. It feels like I threw you to the wolves.” Rob frowns, running his hand over the back of his neck.

  “Again, it’s okay.” I just don’t want to argue about it. He has a way of arguing with everything I say, even if I agree with him. “It isn’t going to be a front page article anyway.”

  He cocks a brow at me. “No? I think it can be. Why can’t it?”

  I feel on edge now. We’d argued about this before. I’m not writing front page material, that’s what he tells me, even though he’s the one assigning me non-front page stories. I’m not about to have that old hat argument again. Just thinking about it makes me tired.

  “Look,” he says, smoothing his hair back again. He does that when he’s nervous. “I know things have been… strained between us. But we were friends once, Bec.”

  I try not to cringe. He’s being nice, in his way. I’ve told him twenty times if I’ve told him once that I don’t like to be called Bec. “I know,” I say, trying my best not to sound defensive. Again.

  Our food comes even though I haven’t ordered. He used to do that when we were dating. I sigh. Maybe my friends are right. Rob is essentially a decent guy and sometimes tried hard to please me. No one is perfect. I’m feeling a little tender and vulnerable after what happened with Cole. I have to remind myself not to fall into the old trap of going back to Rob for comfort. Rob has never made me feel really comfortable. Not that it’s his fault really, he just isn’t home.

  We chat over our meal and talk about better times between us. It isn’t something I find particularly enjoyable. Those times are over, and I don’t understand why he wants to walk back down that road. Maybe something has happened to him, and he needs this for closure. That’s fair. When the conversation finally turns to work, he gets a phone call.

  Usually, during outings with friends, I don’t take out my phone. Nothing annoys me more than people playing on their phones while I’m trying to talk to them. But since Rob is already on the phone, I take mine out to check my email. Much to my surprise, there’s a message from Cole James.

  After I pick my jaw up off the floor, I stare at it. Do I answer? Should I just mark it as spam and move on with my life? I open it. I can’t help it. If I don’t, I’ll always wonder what it says.

  Becca,

  I got your email address from the school paper’s website. Sorry for how I acted. Going through some stuff. I’ll do your interview.

  I make a face. Gee, he sure sounds so very sorry. His insincerity pushes all my buttons. I wish the email was a physical object so I can shove it up his ass. I have to take a deep breath and tuck my phone away before I fire back a me
an-spirited email. Maybe I can salvage a story out of this anyway. Rob doesn’t have to know until the story is actually done.

  And besides, I shouldn’t be so hasty, I try to reason with myself. He says he’s going through some stuff and I’m more than a little peeved at myself for taking that as any hope that he and I...

  I cut myself off right then and there. No. It was a mistake in the first place. I blew off some steam, had some fun, and now I’m moving on. Cole was a great fuck, and maybe now I can salvage some pride too. I need to. It sure has gotten knocked around a lot lately.

  Rob finally finishes his phone call and gives me a rueful smile. “Sorry, Bec. Girl I’m seeing doesn’t like that I’m out to dinner with you.”

  Sometimes I wonder if men have a book they pull this crap out of. “If I were your girl, I wouldn’t like that much either.”

  “We’re co-workers now,” he reminds me even as he looks a little sheepish.

  I shrug. “Sure. People sleep with their co-workers all the time.” God, I have to stop thinking about Cole. “And we used to be together. Go get her, Rob. And apologize. And mean it.” I stand and throw a twenty down on the table, making damn sure he knows this isn’t a date. “Now.”

  He laughs and holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. You’re right. You’re a real lifesaver. She’s sure pissed off.”

  “Then stop by the grocery store and get some flowers too. Chocolates. Bottle of wine. The works.” I give him a smile. Maybe he isn’t malicious, just terminally dumb sometimes. Like an affable puppy who piddles on your carpet. It’s cute for a minute, but not forever.