Page 22 of The Bad Boy Rule

If I wanted to hold on to my virginity until I’m a hundred and die an old spinster without ever giving it away, then it would be my decision, and no one would make it for me.

From that moment on, I made a promise tomyself.

That when the time came, I would give my virginity to whomever I felt ready to without consequence.

No one would control me by guilt or archaic expectations.

I took the ring to a jeweler and had the phrase “De meo arbitrio” inscribed inside of it in Latin, which means “from my will.”

Fuck the patriarchy and their arbitrary roles that women should play.

I’m going to play by my own rules.

A realization ripples through me, an idea forming somewhere in the depth of my anger and hurt.

“Mais…” I start, swinging my gaze to her. “You know my father wants so badly for me to be a perfect, dutiful wife, hanging on the arm of a man who doesn’t love or respect me because itlooksgood for him. He doesn’t care that I have my own hopes and dreams, my own goals. He doesn’t care that I would be in a loveless marriage with a man who can’t keep his dick in his pants. All for appearances.”

“Right, because he’s a superficial dick,” she says.

“He chose someone perfect, in his eyes, at least. Influential family, good gene pool, a trust fund. He chose the epitome of the ‘good guy’…” I trail off, chewing my lip until a smile tugs at my lips. “So what if I choose the exact opposite?”

“What do you mean?” Maisie asks, brow furrowing.

My knees drop, and I sit up, turning toward her. “I mean… from this point forward, fuck the good guy. The one with the perfect mask in place. Look where that got me. Cheated on. Heartbroken. Used. I’m going after the type of guy my father would hate. Not only because it’ll send him completely over the edge, and I can’t wait to see it, but because the bad boys? They’re the safe bet. They don’t want wives. They don’t care about anything but having fun, no strings attached.” I shake my head. “Me telling Chandler to fuck off and throwing his shit in his front yard was clearly not enough to send a strong enough message that I’m done with him, but moving on with a guy that’s his polar opposite, and a guy out of my father’s nightmares… sure as hell would.”

Maisie perks up, her blue eyes widening while a smile takes over her face. “Okay, okay, okay. I’m listening.”

“Imagine if I brought the absoluteworstguy I could find on my arm to an event, paraded him in front of my father and all his colleagues. He would have a heart attack on sight.”

She laughs, the sound echoing throughout the hall, causing me to laugh too. “Yeah, I’d pay money to see you walk in with someone like your new ‘skating partner.’ Can you even imagine his face if you rode up on Saint’s motorcycle in a freaking Chanel gown?”

My nose scrunches.

“First of all, he is absolutelynotmy skating partner, and second, well, that would require us to survive in each other’s presence for longer than an hour. We can’t stand each other.”

“Len… wait,” Maisie squeaks. “What if you actuallydidthough?”

I scoff. “Okay, this went a little haywire. Let’s rein it back in. It would never work. He’s an arrogant, self-centered, intolerable asshole who has the manner?—”

Suddenly, her hands are on my forearms, and she’s shaking me, cutting me off. “Lennon, listen to me right now. This is the perfect idea. Saint Devereaux isthebad boy of Orleans U. He’s covered in tattoos, always has a black eye or busted lips from getting into fights. He drives a freakin’ motorcycle and is a hockey enforcer with a horrid reputation. If you brought him around your dad, he would actually keel over and die. I can’t even think of anyone more perfect than him.”

Okay, well, she’s right about one thing: he is absolutely an asshole and the definition of a cliché bad boy. It’s a little ridiculous, if I’m honest. Maybe that’s why he acts like that. It fits his whole broody, fuck-the-world vibe.

The reason I want to strangle him with my bare hands, and I’m not even a violent person.

Well, unless it comes to him.

“Maisie, we hate each other, like… wholeheartedly cannot stand to be in the same room together.”

Her shoulder lifts. “And? You don’t have to like each other for him to be your pretend boyfriend to piss off your father. I mean, he’s also not that bad to look at. There are worse guys to dangle around like a boy toy, for sure.”

I chew my lip contemplatively. God, this sounds insane, but also…

I’m considering it. Aren’t I? I’m actually entertaining this. She’s right, heisn’tbad to look at… and if I could harness his assholeness for good, it would actually help that he’s horrible.

But how? How would I get him to agree to that, with his obvious hostility, even if it was just fake?

Oh.

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