Page 10 of The Bad Girl
Chapter 4
Nadine
Likesa high school football event, no surprise there.Likesa ski resort.Likesan engine repair shop.Likesa tattoo parlor.Likesa dive bar I’d have no business being at.Check-inat Central Rink.Check-inat Midnight Racing.Check-inat Boros Arcade.Check-inat Harley Davidson.
I exhale, rubbing my tired eyes. It’s six in the morning after a night of an epic, apocalyptic-level meltdown, courtesy of my anxiety.
Yeah—I’ve been in full-blown panic mode over this Tom business—epic levels of panic. It seems that after all these years, my torch still burns brightly.
The first two hours after I noticed the message, I paced, and when I realized I couldn’t power-walk away from my feelings, I tried desperately to find something on TV to take me from reality. I rented five movies, none of which I made it more than five minutes into. Then, at around five, I finally gathered enough courage to open Tom’s message.
Tom:Hey, long time no see. I was wondering if you’d like to be my date to Allison’s wedding.
On the surface, it all seems rather innocuous. A friend’s brother wants me to be his date for his sister’s wedding. No big deal.
Then we add the layers.
I haven’t heard from him in six years. My friendship with his sister has deteriorated. And who could forget, I snuck into his room, shed my clothes, and asked him to take my virginity.
To which he said no.
So, why is he asking me to be his date now, after so many years have passed? After totally and completely humiliating me?
Is it possible he regrets not taking me up on the offer? Ehhh, maybe.
Is he trying to make someone else at the wedding party jealous? Possibly.
Is he trying to mend a fence that was undeniably broken after my booby-baring blunder?
Ding, ding—I think we have a winner.
But I needed to be sure. I knew I needed to do more research.
I started with Facebook.
His profile pic is a headshot of him in black and white, his banner is him seated on a motorcycle. From there, I moved to his ‘About info’ to see if it indicates he’s ‘In a relationship.’ Thankfully, it said no, so I moved down to his likes, check-ins, and whatever other stalker-worthy information is provided.
And now, it’s time to move to pictures.
I click into the Photos tab, and holy smokes—time has done Tom’s body good.
He’s the kind of hot you don’t see in the middle and upper class. It’s the‘I don’t give a fuck if my white shirt is torn and has pit stain, I’m not here to please you, and if you don’t like me, get the hell out of my way.’
And holy fuck, I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He’s covered in tattoos, and at times, motor oil. Did I mention that he has the chiseled body of an underwear model? And boy does he know he’s hot because he takes more pictures than a self-absorbed teenager. He’s posing with brick walls, motorcycles, in his shop, at cafes, and with his biker bros.
Unfortunately, over the last year, he’s been photographed with a blonde biker chick, a fiery redhead in a pair of badass stilettos, and a competition-worthy bodybuilder who also happens to look great in a dress. Seriously, her calves could crush a man.
None of these women look anything like me. In fact, they are the antithesis of me. They are the alpha female to my prim and proper, or as my arch-nemesis Prince Harry—Maxwell’s inferior assistant—would say: mousy presence.
I locate his Instagram and find more of the same—a LOT more of the same. He has a bunch of hot biker friends and at least seven women over the course of the last three years, dining with him, lounging with him on couches and chairs alike, sitting on the back of his motorcycle, and even a few pictures of him cuddling with them.
If ‘bad boy’ had a brand—it would be Tom Decker. Tattoos, muscles, overwhelming confidence, hot, edgy chicks, all the things you’d imagine a bad boy doing, he’s done.
Why, oh why, do I have to be attracted to bad boys?
Which brings me to my logically sound conclusion of why he’s asked me to the wedding. It’s to mend broken fences. We were a pretty big part of each other’s lives growing up, and since my proposition, nothing’s been the same. This is his way of saying, “We’ve grown past that. We can be adults, and be friends, and laugh. We’re going to be okay.”
Not to mention the fact that he’s recently announced on Facebook that he’s opening a shop in the city, which means I might be seeing a lot more of him, and I’m going to have to get used to seeing him with other women.
