So Maybe I Want A Bad Boy!

Harley

I should've known from the second I stepped into the airport an hour early—things would never go that smoothly for me. And sure enough, luck yanked the rug right out from under me the moment I stepped into the boarding line.

It started as a whisper in my stomach. A soft, almost innocent rumble.

I ignored it.

Then came the second, louder this time, vibrating through my core like a damn earthquake. Oh no.

I locked my knees, clenching every muscle in my body as panic crept in. This wasn't a simple stomach ache. This was something evil. Something that promised devastation.

'Breathe. You've got this.'

Except I didn't. Because right as I reached the middle of the bridge, boxed in by passengers ahead and behind, my stomach roared.

Someone turned. I saw their eyes widen slightly before they politely looked away, but the damage was done.

'They heard that.'

'Oh God, everyone heard that.'

I pressed my lips together, sweat forming at my hairline. Seven-hour flight. Seven hours.

I had to get out of this line.

I shuffled forward, scanning the area for a flight attendant. Then, like a beacon of hope, I spotted one strutting past, all confidence and authority.

"Excuse me!" I called, my voice edged with desperation.

She stopped, turned, and gave me a look. Not the kind that said, How can I assist you? but the kind that said, I've already decided I don't like you.

"Yes?"

"I—uh—I have a situation. Would it be possible for me to board first?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to cut in line?"

"What? No! I just—"

"Are you dying?"

"...No?"

"Then I don't see how I can help you." She adjusted her scarf, lowered her voice, and leaned in like she was telling me a secret. "Listen, I know your type. Fancy dress, big attitude, thinking the world bends for you. Let me ask you something—do you own this airline?"

I blinked. "What?"

Before I could process the absurdity of that question, she clicked her bag shut and sauntered off, leaving me to suffer.

'Fiona.' (Was that her name? Didn't matter. I'd remember her.)

I took a slow, deep breath, clenching my jaw. Fine. Whatever. I could power through this. Mind over body.

(Grumble.)

God hates me.

The moment another attendant walked by, I hesitated. I couldn't ask again. Not after that humiliation. But before I could talk myself into enduring the agony, a deep voice behind me spoke up.

"Excuse me."

I stiffened. The voice was smooth, confident—dangerous in how effortlessly it commanded attention.

The flight attendant turned, smiling immediately. "Yes, sir?"

Couldn't be me.

"Could you assist this lady?" the mystery man asked. "She seems to be in trouble."

I froze. Oh, my God. I had tried to maintain my composure, to act normal, to not look like I was about to suffer a public catastrophe. But apparently, I had failed.

The attendant's face softened. "Oh! Of course, please, follow me."

I barely managed a "Thanks," too mortified to glance at the man who had saved me. Instead, I bolted onto the plane.

"The restroom is that way. Let me know if you need anything," she said kindly.

"I need new organs," I muttered before speed-walking straight into the bathroom.

I had never been so grateful to be alone.

By the time I was done, I was drained. I slumped against the mirror, dragging a hand down my face before pulling out my phone.

Dialed Rebecca.

She picked up immediately.

"Yo, why are you calling? Did you change your mind?"

"Yeah, do you want us to kidnap you?" Mands chimed in.

I groaned. "No, I have a problem."

There was a pause. Then, interest. "Ooooh. What kind?"

I inhaled sharply. "Rebecca. The other night, when you slept over, what exactly did you put in the mac and cheese?"

Rebecca didn't answer right away. "The usual stuff. Why?"

"Because my stomach is staging a violent rebellion, that's why!"

Silence. Then—

"Wait. And you think it was my cooking?" She sounded offended.

"I'm not saying that, but it was the last thing I ate!"

"Fine, fine, hold on, I'll check." I heard her moving, opening the fridge.

Then, a very distinct," Oh shit."

I gritted my teeth. "Rebecca."

"Hey, don't blame me! I only used what was in your fridge!"

"What. Does it say?"

"...It expired five days ago."

"Hell," I heard Mands mutter.

"*Hell is what I'm experiencing!*" I snapped. "Why didn't you check before using it?!"

"Okay, first of all, we were drunk. You woke me up demanding a midnight snack. I was barely functioning!"

...She had a point.

I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. "Why did I have to want mac and cheese with cream ?"

"Because you said it wouldn't taste the same without it!"

"Okay, okay, enough," Mands cut in. "Harls, how bad is it? Do you want to come back?"

I hesitated. This was my chance. I could leave. Avoid the dinner. Avoid Clad.

Say yes. Say you're sick. Go back.

But before I could answer, my stomach twisted again.

"Hold on," I muttered, tossing my phone on the counter before lunging back into the bathroom.

By the time I emerged, I heard Rebecca sighing, "It's bad, Mands. Really bad."

I snatched my phone. "What do I do?" I asked, slightly panicked.

"You can come back," Rebecca offered.

"Or," Mands cut in, "you could just ask the attendants for stomach medicine."

Silence.

The first option sounded so much easier. So tempting.

I wasn't one to run from problems.

But tonight? Given the chance?

I wanted to.

'But, Lord, you know I didn't'

"Clad, Clad, Clad," I exhaled. "Move."

His eyes gleamed with mischief. "What? Are you just gonna fake an emergency every time you want to dodge a question? Where exactly are you running off to this time?"

This handsome, smug little asshole.

'Oh, he thought I was faking?'

I moved closer, arching more towards his seat, locked eyes with him, and deadpanned, "Clad, fucking move, or I swear I'll make you regret it."

His smirk faltered.

'Oops. I cussed.'

Happens.

I was in a hurry.

"Alright," he said, stepping aside. "Hurry back. I'm still waiting for my answer."

I shot him a glare. I hope you get a stomach bug too, you cocky bastard.

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