Page 65 of The Good Girl's Guide to Being Bad

Me: “Yes, I’m here. And Mom, I know Colton may have done all those things. But he’s really trying to help me.”

Mom: “I know, baby, but your dad and I just worry. It’s the norm, the universal condition of parents everywhere to be concerned.”

Dad (in the background): “Especially when their baby girl decides to date a guy like Colton Bishop.”

Me: “Ugh. Please tell dad this is not a date.”

Mom: “You sure about that, baby?”

Me: “One hundred percent.”

Mom: “Hmm. Well, I think it’s fine if you go, date or not. Your dad and I trust you. Isn’t that right, David?”

I could hear Dad’s muttered, “Yeah…it’s him I don’t trust.”

Mom (whispering): “No TP’ing tonight, right? You’ll text when you get home?”

Me: “No, none of that, and I will definitely text when I get home.”

Mom: “Okay, then.” She was smiling; I could hear it over the phone. “Have fun, be safe, and I love you.”

Me: “I will. I love you, Mom. Tell Dad I love him, too.”

It hadn’t been the worst conversation, though I wasn’t loving the fact that I’d caused them to argue. And I could totally understand why they were concerned—but to be honest? I was more concerned with the state of my list. Specifically, the kissing parts.

15) Kiss in the rain.

16) Kiss in the car.

17) Kiss in public.

18) Kiss in my bedroom.

No matter how many times I went over it I kept coming to the same conclusion. I just had no idea how I was going to tell my coach my thoughts while keeping my pride and dignity intact. Sighing, I checked the clock again. Five more minutes, and Colton would officially be late. I was debating the pros and cons of him not showing up when there was a knock at the door.

I went to answer, and there he was. Colton Bishop, on my doorstep, right on time.

My stomach was in knots, and I couldn’t tell if it was from fear or excitement.

“You changed,” he said, looking me over from head to toe. “What happened to the dress?”

I shrugged, stepping out and shutting the door, feeling a lot more like myself in my cardigan and jeans. “I wanted to be comfortable,” I said as I pulled on my Corner Street Ballroom jacket. “Plus, somebody wouldn’t say what we’re doing tonight, so I didn’t know what to wear.”

“Okay.” Colton gave a small nod, turned and walked away, expecting me to follow.

Which I did.

Ugh.

When we were both in the car and on the road, I’d finally had enough.

“Will you just tell me where we’re going?” I said exasperated.

“There’s this club just outside of Durham calledShots. I’ve been there a few times,” Colton said, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. “We’re going to check that off your list—but I’m telling you now, Sadie, I don’t dance. You’re on your own for that part.”

Colton said it so easily, but at the word “club,” my body tensed. Social dancing was something outside of my comfort zone. Going to an actual club with a ton of people I didn’t know, doing steps that had no rhyme or reason was kinda daunting. Oh, who was I kidding? I was shaking in my sneakers—which was why I’d added it to my list in the first place. I’d wanted to conquer that fear.

“Oh,” I said, “that sounds like fun.”

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