The Rebel: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aria Ford

  He headed off.

  I stayed where I was, turned away. Then I heard my brother.

  “Come on, Mimsy.”

  He always called me that. I felt the familiarity soothe me. “Okay,” I said.

  We headed to the car, his suitcase behind us.

  When we reached my car, I got in behind the wheel and he sat down heavily beside me. I watched him lean back, eyes closed. He’d just flown in from Long Beach and I should have had some compassion—he’d been traveling for hours.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  I eased our car into the traffic and we headed home. I tried to watch the road, but I wasn’t thinking about driving.

  “Thanks for fetching me,” Lance said. “It’s great to see you. How’s Mom?”

  “She’s okay,” I said. I felt dazed. It was all really unreal, talking about things like travel, flights, care. I was lost in the sight of my hero.

  My Jay.

  I wanted to ask Lance if he knew anything. He hadn’t told me anything, really, about Jay, but if he knew anything, he was quiet. I knew Lance—he’d say something if it was relevant and when he thought it was a good idea to say something but not a moment sooner.

  “Weather’s great, huh?”

  “It is springtime,” I reminded him.

  Lance laughed. “Yeah. It sure is. I’m even tanned.”

  I grinned at him. He’d gone to Long Beach for a weekend, and he was spending the rest of his holiday with Mom and me. Then he’d head back to Kenosha where he worked as a consultant. I had no idea what he did, other than that it involved large sums of cash and it was something he did entirely at odds with his hobby of kitesurfing. And it sounded confusing. Well, not that kitesurfing didn’t, but it was confusing in another way. Though kitesurfing also involved risks, if a lot of sunshine too.

  “Well, you’re more tanned than me, Lance. I need to avoid sunshine.”

  He smiled. “You know you’re always beautiful.”

  I glowed. His gentleness made up, at least in part, for how unkind Jay had been. It was weird. Why had he just ignored me? It was really rude considering he disappeared from me in the first place. I sniffed.

  “Mimsy?”

  “Mm?”

  I blinked, trying hard not to cry.

  “It’s because he’s injured. That’s why he’s ignoring you. He doesn’t…”

  “Lance, did I say I was upset?”

  He looked at me with tenderness. “Well, not really.”

  “Exactly,” I said tightly. Man, why did my dumb voice have to wobble like that? I didn’t need Lance feeling bad for me.

  “Mims, I should have told you what I heard,” he said. “When he had his accident…” he trailed off as I interrupted angrily.

  “I don’t want to know. Okay? Can we just pretend I never saw the guy?”

  Lance sighed. “If you want.”

  “Fine.”

  I stepped savagely on the gas and we shot out through the light as it changed.

  When we got to Lance’s hotel, I stopped and then looked at him sorrowfully.

  “Lance, I didn’t mean it,” I said.

  He smiled. “I know you didn’t. I get it. And if you want to talk, just say so, Mims.”

  I nodded. “It’s just…I’m confused. I’ll talk when I’m not as badly confused.”

  He laughed. Those brown eyes twinkled cheerily.

  I reached over for a hug. He hugged me back. The gear shift dug into my ribs, and I didn’t care. I could smell the comforting presence of Lance, and I felt better.

  “You look after yourself,” he said, looking into my eyes tenderly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow. Yes.”

  We squeezed hands and he slipped lithely out of the car and headed off, suitcase behind him. I watched until he’d gone into the place and then leaned on the steering wheel miserably.

  Why is it that the one guy I care about, Lance aside, is so unkind?

  I didn’t know how to understand what Jay just did. I hadn’t seen him for years and here he was treating me like I didn’t exist. Or, worse. Like I did exist and somehow that was bad.

  I drew in a shuddering breath and looked at my reflection. My makeup had run and there were dark streaks down my face. I reached for a tissue and dabbed away the tears. Then I drove off.

  When I got home, my mind was still full of Jay. I couldn’t believe it. I had seen him after almost four years. As if he’d never gone, suddenly he was here in Milwaukee again with no explanation of where he’d been for the last while. And no sorrow for having walked away.

  “Well,” I said aloud, angrily, “if he can’t say sorry after four years, then he can just go away.”

  I wasn’t about to hunt down a guy who wasn’t really interested. Why would I?

  But, then again, the more I tried to forget about seeing Jay, the more it haunted me. I kept on thinking of him, seeing things that made me think of him, smelling him. From the sunset outside my window, I remembered watching it with him from the hilltop that time we’d headed to Green Bay, and the marigolds in the window pot. He was allergic to them and they made him sneeze. The whole house was full of him.

  “Get outta my head!” I groaned.

  I wanted to shout at him. I went through to the kitchen and cooked dinner. Then, while I sat eating it, I thought of a plan.

  He’s got to be online somewhere.

  Everyone had some kind of presence, surely even a football player who’d vanished. If I wanted to have words with Jay, I just needed an email. Or a phone number. Or Facebook.

  I should just walk away. Why would I want to take time in pursuing a guy? I could take Alexandra up on her offer of going out to find a date if I wanted to. We were planning to go to Singles Night or something. So why should I be bothered with someone who had no interest in me?

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn’t exactly because—though I wouldn’t say no—I wanted Jay with me now.

  I just wanted an explanation.

  That was all I wanted from him now. I didn’t need remorse or regret. All I wanted was to understand why he’d left me, what had happened, and where he was. And why, now, after four years, he still treated me as if I was some poison?

  I sighed and pushed my plate away. I was sad. My brother was right, despite my trying to pretend he wasn’t. I stood, closing the curtains where yellow sunshine leaked slow nostalgia across my tabletop. I was too sad already to want any more tender reminders.

  In the living room, I reached for my phone.

  I did a search. The Jay Locke profiles that came up weren’t him. Not Facebook. Not Twitter or LinkedIn or any of the other social media sites. If they had people of that name, none of the pictures were Jay. Well, to be fair—if he had a Facebook, it’d be full of media types wanting to hound him.

  And Jay wanted obscurity. Or so it seemed, anyway. Ever since that one game where he’d been injured, I’d heard nothing about him. But surely, he must have some kind of contact details online?

  I sighed. Not if he doesn’t want to be contacted.

  I paged through the results, hoping for some inspiration. Then my eye landed on a hit from a college site.

  “Jay Locke, graduation.”

  I stared. He’d graduated in sports science last year. I felt a shiver of anticipation. This was crazy. I wasn’t on CSI Miami—who did I think I was, trying to find his details? Even if I found them, I might be too shy to use them after all.

  I persevered. “Jay Locke, sports scientist.”

  That search brought fewer results. On the second page, I found something.

  “Nutrify, Houghton.”

  I had found some sort of sports-nutrition supplier, and I scrolled down the list of consultants. The third one was Jay.

  “Nutrify is a small but passionate enterprise dedicated to helping pros and amateurs alike have access to the best the sports nutrition field has to offer. With a small and motivated team of consultants, we assure the mo
st recent…”

  I read the motivation statement of the company with mild disinterest. The thing that was absorbing me was the picture of Jay. In a pale shirt with his sandy hair neatly combed and a tight smile on his face, he could have been a rep for any company.

  Except that he had the huge shoulders of an ex-football player and that wide jaw and those melting blue eyes…

  I put down the phone. I knew I might as well acknowledge it. I was in love.

  I laughed. If it had been anyone but me, I guess it would have seemed funny. Or would it? If any of my friends had come to me for advice, what would I have said? I closed my eyes. I knew exactly what I would have said.

  “Go for it. You only live once. Live happily.”

  I copied the email address and pasted it to Gmail. Then I set about writing a letter. A hard letter to write too. What can you say to someone after three-and-something years?

  Dear Jay.

  I canceled that. Too formal.

  Hi Jay. How’s it going? I know it’s kind of weird to write, but when I saw you, I couldn’t help missing you. I wonder how you are and what’s up. I’d love to catch up.

  I read through it, brow raised. Was I thinking straight, to be being so direct? So honest? I sighed. I reminded myself of the advice I would have given anyone else in my situation—to go for it.

  I closed my eyes and sent it.

  Then I put my phone aside and went into the kitchen to make some herbal tea. I refused to keep on thinking about Jay. I’d sent the email and that was all I could do. If he read it and thought I was a loser, then he could just think that. It didn’t seem like he thought much better of me at the moment anyway.

  I sighed and sat down heavily at the table, a cup of steaming mint tea in my hands. The steam drifted up, scented and calming. I drank it and wished that it could calm my mind like it calmed my body.

  Not that, I reflected wryly, my body was calm. Not exactly. When I thought of Jay, I couldn’t help remembering how he touched me, how he kissed me. How he aroused me.

  I sighed, feeling my insides ache. I wanted him badly. I shook my head, laughing at myself.

  “Come on, Margo,” I told myself harshly. “Go to bed.”

  I had a long day planned for tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JAY

  My body was in torment. I couldn’t forget her. She still looked exactly like she had all those years ago, with that pale cleavage and that narrow waist and that amazing, stunning face.

  “Jay, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

  I sighed, feeling my mom’s hand on my bicep. I turned to face her. She shattered my wild fantasies of that pale body under mine, my chest pressing those high, firm breasts flat as I entered Margo, pushing right into her…

  “Jay?” My mom’s voice insisted. “What’s up?” She looked sad, her sweet, kind face pinched.

  “Mom, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “I know,” she said sadly. “It’s just…something’s bothering you.”

  “I’m fine,” I said gently. “I just need sleep.”

  She watched me walk past and I headed upstairs, wishing I could think of more to say. I just couldn’t.

  I sat on the bed. It was the one I’d occupied throughout my late teen years and early twenties. Whenever I was in Wisconsin, in fact, until that happened. The accident. My leg.

  I don’t belong.

  That was what was so weird about being here. The whole house seemed like it preserved who I had been. The strong, athletic, buff guy who’d had no worries.

  There wasn’t any room for the new me.

  Mom and Dad were still unsure of how to handle things. They tried to pretend they didn’t see any difference—that I was the same as I had been. The thing was, I wasn’t. My life changed. Their refusal to acknowledge it made it seem, stupidly, as if they were ashamed.

  Not that I wanted them to go on and on about the fact that I’m unable to walk. That would be wrong too. But I just thought that some change would be appropriate.

  Stop it. What do you expect them to do? What do you expect anyone to do?

  I didn’t know. All I knew was that being here in Wisconsin, in this place, this house, depressed me more than anything on earth.

  I sat there and looked out of the window, watching the sunset leak across the hills. It was yellow and white, and it tore at my heartstrings. I remembered other sunsets, other times.

  The smell of her hair as she leaned on me, the way her arm tucked round me. The smooth thigh under my hand where it rested on her.

  I found myself drifting in memories of Margo. I could almost taste the sweet lips against mine, feel the urgency that thrusting my tongue between them brought on. I wanted to push her down on the bed and spread her and thrust right inside…

  Oh, come on, Jay.

  I closed my eyes, forcing the images from my mind. I was desperate for Margo. I had to face it. My body wanted hers more than anything. Ever since I’d seen her, my loins had been aching. It seemed as if now that I had set eyes on her, there was no shutting out the wild fantasies that filled my mind or the aching arousal of my body.

  Which was, of course, the problem. My body.

  Or, rather, its lack thereof.

  I thought back to what I’d been when I dated her. My rippling shoulders, huge arms. Muscly legs. I had been proud of my body, And she had reveled in it as much as I had. There were many incidents in my memory of her stroking my chest, kissing my shoulder, her legs wrapped around mine.

  I still had the shoulders, for which I was thankful. But my arms had withered somewhat, my waist thickened and my legs no longer muscle-bound as they had been. I looked, to my eye, like a regular guy. Not too built, not too unfit, just somewhere in the middle.

  I didn’t think that was enough for her.

  I sighed. It was dumb, I guessed. But Margo had been with me at my top condition. I’d been on newspapers and television, known for my physique as much as my physical skill. But not now. And for all I knew, that was all Margo had ever liked about me—my looks.

  I was just regular Jay, she’d be disappointed. And that was what I wanted to run from. I’d rather stand in the middle of the railroad and dare the trains than I would dare Margo’s distaste. If she looked at me with pity, I’d die.

  So that was it. I had it: my game plan. I’d lie low here for a week, celebrate with Dad and go home. Back to obscurity.

  Maybe I’ll even find a girl. Someone who puts up with my leg and who never watched football. Someone who has no idea who Jay Locke was and who won’t mind who he is.

  That was my goal. So far, I hadn’t had much success with it. I’d dated once or twice, but both times I’d come up against the same mix of pity and discomfort at the state of my leg. I’d tried to ignore it, but it wore on my self-esteem. I hated the thought of anyone being with me because they were overlooking my injury, because they were able to tolerate it for the sake of being with an ex-football player. Both the girls I’d dated after her were like that.

  None of them were like her.

  I felt a fresh wave of longing come on, painting my mind with images of her. Her soft, warm body melting against mine, her hands reaching down to hold my cock, stroking it and playing with it in the way she knew stimulated me.

  “Jay?”

  I sighed. It was my cousin, Carrington. “Hey,” I called.

  “Jay? You coming for dinner?”

  I paused. I really didn’t want to. Talking to friends and relatives was hard. They either looked pained or tried to be bracing. Carrington didn’t.

  “No. I’ll pass.”

  “Jay?” She opened the door. Big brown eyes and a mass of curls met me. She looked confused.

  “I’m fine,” I said sadly.

  “Jay, you’re not missing dinner. You must be starving,” she said succinctly. “If you won’t go down, then I’m bringing it up.”

  “You can’t do that,” I protested, trailing off as she grinned.

/>   “Watch me.”

  When she returned ten minutes later with a tray of ravioli—two bowls—and some tea, I was really touched.

  “Carri, you can’t fuss over me…”

  “Watch me,” she said again. An accountant by profession, Carrington has a heart that should have gone into the caring field—there was a hospital out there missing the world’s top nurse.

  “Thanks, Cari.”

  She chuckled. “Well, up here is better than down there. I’m in need of a nice view and some new company.”

  I smiled. “You’re just nice.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said briskly. “I’m honest. If I hear Uncle Jake tell that story again, I’m going to hit my head on the closet just to drown out the words. C’mon. Eat up.”

  I laughed. She was so full of life.

  “This is good,” I said. I was impressed.

  “Your mom made it,” Carrington said tersely. “You might want to tell her how good it is. She misses you.”

  I sighed. “I know, Cari. I just…” I trailed off, unsure how to express it.

  “You hate feeling like she’s stepping around your pain,” she said.

  I stared. “Exactly.”

  “Mm. Well, you know I don’t.”

  I chuckled. “I know. And I appreciate it. Really.”

  “Well,” she said, swallowing a mouthful of dinner, “I appreciate being able to be as obnoxious as I like. You’re the only person who doesn’t act as if I’m breaking the rules.”

  I stared at her again. “Cari? You don’t feel like that, do you?” I was astonished. She was always so sassy, so superconfident. And she was a formidable career woman. How could she ever feel so insecure?

  She chuckled. “Well, I do. Surprised?”

  “Yeah.”

  That made her grin. “Come on, Jay. You don’t mean you’ve never noticed how everyone gets tired of my bossiness?”

  “No,” I said honestly. “You aren’t bossy, Cari. You’re someone who has natural authority.”

  She laughed. “You do have a way with words, Jay. Thanks.”

  I smiled. “Not at all. Now come on, let’s finish this dinner.”

  We ate in companionable silence. When she’d gone, I felt better. It was impossible to feel depressed after that. I looked out at the night sky and a sense of peace washed over me.