Badd Boy Read online

  "Jesus, Xavier." I whispered it, choking back tears at what he'd endured.

  He smiled at me, nudging me with his shoulder. "None of that, if you please. I am stronger because of it."

  I smiled back. "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, huh?"

  He nodded, exhaling a deep sigh. "Exactly." He traced the back of my hand with a fingertip, following the blue veins up to my wrist, sending thrills and chills racing through me. "So. The story is this. When I was fifteen, almost sixteen, I was walking home from school when I was approached by a girl who lived in the same neighborhood. Her name was Brittany Delany-Price, and she was a senior from a well-to-do family, the most popular girl at the school, beautiful, captain of the cheerleaders and the dance team, and prom queen and all that. Every guy in the school had a crush on her, including me. I never even bothered to pretend to myself that she would ever give me the time of day, because I simply knew better. Being a senior, she had a car and a license and usually left school with all her friends. So, when she walked up next to me that afternoon, I was surprised."

  He was silent a while, and then he continued.

  "She told me some story about getting her car fixed and all her friends having other appointments, necessitating her walking home. Being wary, I didn't say much. We walked a few blocks, until we came to the place where she would turn to go to her house and I to mine. She grabbed my arm and asked if I wanted to come over and hang out with her. I was...apoplectic with disbelief. I mean, she was being nice to me. Showing interest. I was fifteen, and she was the hottest girl in the school, the girl every guy had fantasies about, and she was talking to me. Asking me to hang out at her house. Instinctively, I would have said no. But I told myself I had to at least try stepping out of my comfort zone. I told myself to act like my big brothers--be bold, be confident. Step out of my comfort zone and see what happens."

  My heart constricted at the bitterness in his voice, at where this story was going. I didn't say anything, though, and continued to listen and hold his hand.

  "So I accepted her invitation, and we walked to her house together. Being the only child of busy, wealthy parents, the home was empty. She fixed us a snack--soda and pretzels and homemade brownies. She told me she'd always thought I was, quote, 'cool and chill, if a little weird,' end quote. She told me she'd always wanted a chance to hang out with me, but just never got the opportunity. She chatted with me--at me, really-- and then asked if I wanted to see her room. It felt unreal, you know? Was this happening? She wanted me to see her bedroom?"

  Oh, no. No.

  He continued. "So up we went. She invited me to sit beside her on the bed." His voice dropped to a barely audible murmur, his words tense and hard with remembered pain freshly felt. "She asked me if I liked her. I nodded. She asked me...if I thought she was pretty. Even looking at her was difficult, in that moment, because my nerves and fears and desires were so overwhelming. All I could do, again, was nod."

  He paused here, his breathing rapid, his hands clenched, the hand holding mine squeezing so tightly it hurt, but I didn't dare let go.

  "Her next words...I hear them in my head...I can hear her voice, even now, as if she had just spoken to me. She looked at me, her expression...sultry, I suppose is the correct word. I didn't know that, then. Reading people and situations is even more difficult for me than touch. Anyway. She looked at me with this weird expression on her face, and said, 'Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?'"

  Another pause.

  He shook his head, laughing bitterly. "Once more, I could only shake my head." He swallowed hard. "She was wearing a sweater, a thin, soft sweater, stretchy. Pale blue. V-neck. She twisted to sit so she was almost but not quite facing me. She said, 'You know, I've always thought you were cute, Xavier. I've always known you have a crush on me.' And then she reached up and drew down the neck of her shirt, and her bare breasts emerged, propped up when she released the sweater. I was...I could not breathe, could not believe what was happening. I could not look away." He closed his eyes, speaking through clenched teeth. "'You can touch me, if you want,' she said. 'I know you want to. Go ahead.'"

  I didn't want to know the rest--I could guess. But he continued, and I listened.

  "I was fifteen, a virgin in every way. Seeing breasts for the first time--well, you can imagine how immediate my natural hormonal response was. I reached up one hand, which was shaking like a leaf. I put my hand on her breast. I remember it being soft, and heavier than I'd expected--" Here he broke off with a fierce blush, stammering. "I--I--um. That is irrelevant, my apologies."

  I squeezed his hand. "It's fine. It's your experience--and your observations are not irrelevant."

  "But I do not wish for you to think--"

  I cut him off. "Xavier, it's fine. It's okay. Don't worry about it, please."

  He nodded, breathing out sharply. When he started again, it was haltingly, his gaze on the deck between his feet. "Brittany...touched me, then. She reached out and put her hand on my...on my crotch. Over my jeans." He swallowed hard, several times. "I...the touch was--it was far, far too much for me. No one had ever touched me there, in that manner, and I...you know. Um. I lost all control over myself, right there, in my pants. Words like embarrassment or mortification are not nearly sufficient."

  "Oh...my god," I breathed.

  He laughed bitterly. "I wish the story ended there, but unfortunately it does not." He sighed. "So, with my embarrassment complete, a very visible and obvious wet stain on the front of my jeans, sticky and wet and horrible, Brittany jumped up off the bed, laughing as she righted her sweater. Her bed faced a computer desk, you see. The screen was dark, which I had assumed meant it was off. It...was not. She shook her mouse to wake up the screen, laughing hysterically. 'I did it, bitches!' she shouted, looking into the webcam. 'I made the little twerp come in his pants!' And then she turned back to me, pointing, laughing. 'Oh my god, you're so dumb it's honestly adorable,' she said. 'You actually thought someone like me could want someone like you? You really are naive, aren't you?'" He choked, but continued. "She had live-streamed the entire encounter. The whole situation had been on a dare, a bet. The whole school saw. I went to school the next day and everyone was pointing, laughing, calling me 'preemie' for reasons you can extrapolate."

  My heart hurt for him. How could anyone be so cruel?

  He glanced at me, and his expression softened. He reached up and his thumb brushed my cheek, swiping at a tear I hadn't realized had slipped out. "Such a tender heart."

  I shook my head. "I don't understand why she would do that. That's...so vicious, so vile. So cruel. You were so innocent, so genuine."

  "We must account for the caprice of human cruelty, Low," Xavier said.

  I moved closer to him. Met his eyes with mine. "That probably scarred you pretty badly, huh?"

  He nodded. "Trust was already difficult for me, and what Brittany did to me made trust nearly impossible. Especially when it comes to women. So, while I truly want to believe, and do believe you are nothing like Brittany, it is difficult for me to overcome my instinctual defensiveness."

  My heart squeezed. "Xavier, you have to--you have to know I'd never, ever do anything to hurt you."

  "I...I desperately want to believe that." He was barely breathing, then, as I moved to stand in front of him, wanting to be closer to him, to comfort him.

  His gaze on mine was searching. "You have questions, I believe."

  "I don't want to push, or sound...insensitive. I just want to understand."

  "Ask, then, and I'll answer to the best of my ability."

  "Didn't she give off any clues that she was being disingenuous? That she was leading you on?"

  He lifted one shoulder, and dropped it again. "Perhaps, but I missed them if she did. Subtleties, clues, hints--I almost never read these correctly, if I notice them at all."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Social connectivity, awareness, and sensitivity are things I struggle with. Being around people overwhelms me.
Crowds overwhelm me. Excessive noise or visual stimulation, being jostled, all of this triggers that sense of too much. And people are largely a mystery to me. I have read hundreds of books on human psychology, sociology--and I can recite them all. But...understanding people in situ?" He shook his head. "They say and do things I don't follow, or understand. So when Brittany asked me if I wanted to come over, I doubted her motives, and I doubted her sincerity, since my experience thus far was that cool kids never liked me. That no one ever liked me, or wanted to be around me. But I wanted so desperately for her to like me that I ignored my fears. What would a clue of disingenuousness have looked like? A facial expression? I still don't know what that would look like. If she was lying, how would I have known? She was speaking in a tone of voice which seemed nice and sounded interested."

  I frowned. "So...you never even suspected she was tricking you?"

  Xavier shrugged. "Of course I did. I doubted it was real the entire time. But I forced myself to follow through, hoping against hope that it was genuine. At first I thought I was dreaming, and then I thought it was too good to be true. Which, of course, it was. So...was I surprised? As in I couldn't believe it had happened, that she'd turned on me like that? No." He sighed. "I absolutely believed it. I castigated myself afterward. Even now, it is difficult to think about or speak about that event, because the pain and shame and embarrassment are just as potent as they were then. But no, I was not shocked. What Brittany did? That is, to use a phrase from the popular vernacular...par for the course, in my life."

  My heart broke even further. "Par for the course?"

  "Yes, meaning the common average."

  "I know what it means," I said. "That's just horrible. How could anyone be so cruel?"

  He only shrugged. "Other than my brothers, and their respective significant others, my experience with the majority of people is that in their treatment of someone they do not understand or feel inferior to, cruelty is the norm. And nearly everyone misunderstands me and feels inferior to me, so...nearly everyone is cruel to me."

  "God, Xavier. I'm so sorry."

  He smiled, shrugged, and shook his head. "Such is life."

  I inched closer staring up at him, our bodies flush. His gaze was intense and inscrutable.

  "You talked about not being able to read clues and hints correctly."

  He nodded. "Yes. I often miss even blatant sarcasm."

  "What about flirtation?"

  "What about it?"

  "Can you...I don't know...read it? See it for what it is?"

  He frowned, wobbling his head around in a gesture of uncertainty. "Somewhat. But I don't trust it."

  "You don't trust the person flirting with you, or your understanding of the flirtation?"

  "Both. I don't trust my own ability to detect whether a girl is flirting with me, or mocking me like Brittany, drawing me out for nefarious purposes. I do not trust, because Brittany taught me--no offense meant to you--that women cannot be trusted. I've learned that even when a girl seems interested in me, or appears to like me, it's not real. It's not true. If it seems too good to be true, it most definitely is."

  "So, when I flirt with you--" I said, tangling both of our hands together. "You don't trust that to be real? You don't believe that I actually mean it?"

  "Well, flirtation is such a subjective thing, is it not? What counts as flirtation? Is it a particular look in your eyes, or tone of voice? A way of touching? Body language? What is simply your natural friendliness and kindness and extroversion--am I supposed to interpret that as flirtation?"

  I laughed. "Wow, I never really thought about it like that."

  "Probably because most, if not all, of the people you've ever flirted with have innately understood flirtation and do not have any qualms about assuming your flirtation or potential flirtation is real and meant for them, and is genuine."

  Oh god, if only he knew. Most men, and some women, took the slightest hint of friendliness as flirtation--ohmygod, THE Harlow Grace LIKES ME. She's flirting with me! And really, I just want a cup of coffee, or my check at the restaurant, and smiling at people is a natural response.

  But now, the one man I want to know I'm flirting with him is incapable of understanding that.

  I decided to try a different tactic with him.

  I rested my hands on his shoulders, rubbing my palms gently up his shoulders and down to his chest in a gesture of affection--once again, at the initial touch, he tensed, and then after a few deep breaths, he seemed to relax.

  "Let me ask you this, then." I gazed up at him. "You trust me, right? Like, you believe that everything I'm saying to you, my flirting with you, spending time with you--you believe I really mean all that, right?"

  He winced as if the question was physically difficult to hear, and harder to answer, sighing deeply before he spoke. "I am...trying. But it is...it's very difficult. My instinct is to distrust, and my nature is to mistrust. So, I want to trust you--I want to believe you."

  "Could logic apply to this, in helping you trust me?" I said, letting my hands wander downward to trace his abs over his shirt. "For one thing, I'm a grown woman, not a high school girl. Not that adults can't be cruel, too, but...I don't have a circle of friends or a clique I want to impress. There's no one whose approval I want or need. So, what reason would I have to be in any way disingenuous about my interest in you?"

  His gaze flicked down to my hands, where my fingertips were following the grooves of his abs. "As much as I hate to admit this given your fondness for calling me Spock, but...logic does not always win out over emotion, because, in reality, I am not actually Spock."

  I laughed. "Figures the one time I want logic to work in my favor, it doesn't."

  He was quiet, then, and I let the silence breathe, let him think. Hesitantly, he reached out with one hand to hold a lock of my red-gold hair that had come out of the loose chignon. He ran it through his fingertips, following the spiral.

  "Low," he said, tentatively, "I hope I'm being clear, here, that this is an issue of mine, and my distrust of your intentions is not meant as a reflection of my assessment of your character."

  "Can I be honest?"

  "I hope you always have been, are, and continue to be, in all circumstances, honest with me, even to a fault."

  That stung, a needling dart piercing my knowledge of the fact that he had no idea who I was and that I continued to keep that information to myself.

  I slid my hands around his waist to his back, pulling him up against me, relishing the hardness of his body and the heat of him, his masculine scent and virulent green fire of his eyes on mine. "It's kind of hard not to be a little hurt that you don't trust me." I spoke over his objection. "I know you have painfully good reasons not to, and that you can't help it. I just...I wish there was something I could do to prove to you that I'm really, truly interested in you."

  "Why, though?"

  I tilted my head, confused. "Why what?"

  "Why are you interested in me?"

  I couldn't help a laugh, a gentle, disbelieving huff as I slid my fingers through his hair. "Why am I interested in you, Xavier Badd?"

  "Yes."

  "Because I like talking to you," I said, leaning closer, inching my face gradually nearer and nearer to his. "You're funny, and weird, and unpredictable in the most delightful and fun way. You're smart--the smartest person I've ever known, and that challenges me. I don't feel inferior to you, because I know myself, and I know my skills and talents, and I'm comfortable and confident in them. I know I'm smart. So, I'm not threatened by how intelligent you are, or jealous, or anything. I just feel challenged by talking to you and being around you, and I like that."

  His chest swelled, and the corners of his mouth tipped up in a smile, as if he was daring to believe me. "I see."

  "I have fun hanging out with you. I never in my life thought I would ever enjoy fishing, but I did. Watching the eagle catch that fish was one of the most exciting things I've ever seen. Watching that show with you was fun a
nd relaxing--and to be honest, I don't relax well around other people."

  "Nor do I." He made an odd face, somewhere between a smirk and frown. "And to be honest, I cannot say I was especially relaxed, although I did enjoy the experience immensely."

  "Why couldn't you relax?"

  He hesitated over his answer. "I was...distracted. Focused on..." He blinked, swallowed hard. "On the sensation of...cuddling with you, to use a word one might label emasculating."

  I smiled up at him. "It's not emasculating at all, Xavier. There's nothing unmanly about a guy cuddling with a girl. It's just showing affection, demonstrating that you enjoy each other and enjoy being close, touching, being together."

  His smile returned, and had gained confidence. "Thank you for that clarification. So, yes. The physical sensation of cuddling with you precluded my ability to relax, but nonetheless, it was an experience I shall treasure always." His expression darkened. "At least, until I freaked out."

  "A hiccup, that's all," I said. "All of which leads me to the other reason I like you--you're sexy. I'm just crazy attracted to you on a physical level."

  His frown was adorably befuddled. "Sexy?"

  I couldn't help laughing. "Yes, Xavier." I feathered his hair away from his eyes, and then slid my fingertip down his temple to his jawline. "Sexy. Hot. Gorgeous." I leaned closer yet, so my lips brushed his. "You need more? I've got more. Sinfully sexy."

  I wasn't sure he was breathing. "Please do not say things you do not mean, Low."

  I dove my hands under his T-shirt, untucking it from behind the belt, finally getting my hands on his bare skin, on those steely abs. "Oh, I mean it, Xavier. I mean every single word."

  He sucked in a sharp breath. "Your touch is setting my skin on fire."

  "Should I stop?"

  He shook his head slowly. "No. Please...don't stop."