So Maybe I Want A Bad Boy!

Harley

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Oh, someone dig a grave for me right now.

I was dying. Literally. A bad stomach and a bold, audacious move against the boy—now man—of my high school dreams. Honestly, I didn't know stomach bugs could grant such strength. I mean, I almost sat on Clad's lap.

And my insides? Dead. Melted. Jelly. My legs are still shaking, and I'm just praying he doesn't notice because I did my best to throw on an I-don't-give-a-fuck smirk. I hope he bought it. Oh boy, I hope he did. He better have. He can't know how much this affected me.

And God, if he could just stop staring at me like that, that would help—a lot. Please. Because he hasn't said anything, nor has he shown anything. His face is a blank mask. I can't read him.

Oh, and if looks could kill, the bitch in front of us would have gouged my eyes out already. I can feel her glare searing into my skull. But I ignore it. Intentionally. Not because of Clad—because she's that vixen from earlier.

God, I'm glad I found you, Fiona.

But before I can utter a single word, Clad makes a move.

His hands shift as if oblivious to the dagger-like gaze watching us. He smooths out his jeans, like they needed that action. Lol.But my eyes follow his every movement, unable to stop myself.

Then, finally, he turns to me.

Oh God, he's opening his mouth.

I hold my breath, waiting.

"Well, that was an interesting choice," he muses, a playful smirk curling on his lips. His long lashes dip slightly before lifting again as he locks his gaze with mine.

I freeze.

H-he's gorgeous. His side profile? A blessing from the heavens to us walking mortals.

My mouth parts slightly. My heart pounds. Races.

He's dangerous.

"What? After your little bold move, you can't talk? Cat caught your tongue?"

Oh no.

Oh no.

His voice—no, it dropped an octave. Rough. Raspy. The glint in his eyes sharpens as he narrows them at me like I'm some sort of prey.

Oh no.

I'm doomed.

My throat dries up. I want to say something. Come on, say something!

But I can't.

The words choke me. My body burns, heat crawling up my skin, and I can't tear myself away from his gaze.

Then, his smirk stretches into a full-blown grin—a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, I thought you had a man. Should I be worried?"

And just like that, he breaks our eye contact, turning toward the attendant.

I stare after him, still dazed, my brain barely catching up to what just happened.

"Right?" He continues, this time addressing the attendant. "She said so earlier, but now she's glamorously climbing onto another man's lap. What do you think? Weren't you shocked?"

My stomach lurches.

"What?" I mutter, still struggling to recover. But the moment I do, horror grips me.

I almost outed my own lie.

Shit, shit, shit.

I slap a hand over my mouth and whip my head forward, hoping, praying they didn't hear me.

But then, the attendant's words make it clear—I was heard.

"Well, of course," she coos, voice dripping with a sickly-sweet tone. "For a man like you…" She pauses, letting the words hang, but I feel her gaze shifting onto me. "I think it's safe to say any woman would forget about the man she left at home."

I stiffen.

She continues, undeterred, "So, I suppose I can't blame her. You are too hot, after all. And who can resist a face like that—" she practically purrs, "—and a body tattooed by manliness?"

This bitch should be fired.

Clad chuckles.

Oh hell no.

That fires up my indignation. I would have let this slide if it were anyone else. But not her.

I have deep animosity with her.

"Excuse me, are you saying my man isn't manly?" My words slip out before I can stop them. "Have you seen him? Or maybe you're talking about your man—if you even have one?"

She freezes, her flirty expression instantly hardening.

"I don't believe I should be talking to passengers about my private life, miss."

I smirk.

"Then maybe you shouldn't be flirting with passengers either. Do you think telling your boss about this little incident might fix that attitude of yours?" My voice drops low, matching hers in that venomous tone.

Her eyes widen, fists clenching at the hem of her uniform skirt.

My smirk stretches before threatening to drop as my stomach makes a move. I fold my arms.

Dear stomach, please don't betray me now. I am in a middle of catfight and stomach bug acting up would be embarrassing.

Clad touches my arm lightly. "Why are you fighting my savior? She did nothing wrong," he teases, shooting her a smile.

Great. She's blushing.

I hate how her emotions flip like a switch.

"She's your savior, not mine," I snap, glaring at both of them.

The attendant's lips curl as she tilts her head. "I'm sorry, but I wouldn't want to be your hero either."

"Oh?"

Clad's gaze flickers between us. "Did something happen?"

I glance at him momentarily before remembering my earlier humiliation.

Hell no. There is no way I'm letting him know.

But the little vixen opens her mouth—

"I dare you to say another word," I hiss, eyes narrowing. "And I promise you'll pay for it."

She freezes.

I arch a brow, silently daring her.

She's smart enough to shut up.

Just then, someone calls her from a distance, and she scurries off.

*Phew.*

"What?" Clad nudges my shoulder playfully. "Tell me. What happened?"

At this point, I'm starting to think he's bipolar.The way he looked at me earlier—like I was prey—and now this unserious self? Wow.

"It's none of your business," I mumble, turning away.

He chuckles. "Well, I can always ask Fiona."

I freeze.

And like a slap to the face, a memory from thirty minutes earlier crashes into me.

Shit.