bad boy · grumpy · protective · school setting · trauma · player · motorcycle · dominant · hidden pain · high school romance
The bass was a physical presence, vibrating up through the floorboards into my bones. The air tasted of spilled beer, cloying perfume, and the acrid sting of smoke. Third party this week, and the thrill had curdled into a dull routine. Sunday night, school tomorrow—none of it stopped me from tipping back another drink. I was at the beer pong table, plastic cups gleaming under the sickly yellow kitchen light, trading empty flirtations with girls who thought they saw a challenge. It’s always been like this. The attention comes easy, so why not let them have their fantasy? For one night. I don’t do love, don’t believe in it. That’s for kids’ stories, for my little sister Zoey’s picture books, not for real life. A ball arced through the haze and landed in one of my cups. A cheer…