Resisting the Bad Boy - A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Page 3

  He took a step towards me and examined my face.

  “There, on your face. You have a strange openness in your features, a way of moving your eyes, it’s really …it’s really something. Just there, your face collapsed a little. You were the picture of doubt. Beautiful.”

  Who the hell was this guy? He was so intense. Too much. My expressions were beautiful? Perhaps he just had some …colorful ways of hitting on people.

  I cleared my throat and thanked him and made as if to go back into the theatre.

  “Hey, I’m sorry about sticking my foot in it, with your dad…” he said. I turned around, fingers on the door handle.

  “It’s OK.”

  “Is it really?”

  I looked at him. Yes, it was ‘OK’. Could anyone bring my parents back? Would being sad do anything at all? Then there was no use in crying. I had to be realistic now. There was work to do.

  “Yes, really.”

  “Really though …are you sure?”

  “Yes…”

  “Really?”

  I flashed him an angry look.

  “What the hell do you mean really?”

  He clapped his hands and grinned.

  “There! There it is again! Your face is a miracle, you know that? You’re almost better at angry than you are at sad. I could watch it forever.”

  I blinked and looked at him, then smiled despite myself. All at once he was close up to me again, and I was pinned to my spot again, held fast to that patch of ground like his gaze was a kind of sorcery pinning me there. He dropped his voice, tilted his head to the side and looked at me. My face was hot.

  “No, I changed my mind. That’s the best one yet,” he said, voice so quiet it almost felt like he was about to share a secret.

  “Which one would that be…?” I asked, laughing at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

  “Oh, the one you have right now. It’s too subtle to be embarrassment …but it’s getting there. It’s a subtle one. You’re very good at that, you know?”

  I laughed. “Good at being embarrassed?”

  “No, you’re good at looking embarrassed. You’re an artist. Your tool is your face.”

  Without thinking, I laughed again and playfully slapped his arm.

  “OK, OK, you can stop with the compliments now, I forgive you for mentioning my dad. We should probably get back inside and arrange our schedules with Tamara…”

  His gaze was unrelenting.

  “I want to see all your faces,” he said, as though he hadn’t heard me at all.

  “What?”

  The air between us was electric. My heart was beating loudly in my ears and my palms had started sweating. I had only known this guy for ten minutes and he had already thrown my world into a strange, hot chaos. I liked it. I liked him. Or at least, I couldn’t tear myself away. My hand was still on the door, but I was stuck. Spellbound and wondering what he would say next.

  “You’re a natural performer. I’d like to see what you’re capable of,” he said, suddenly sounding very serious.

  “Well, you’ve already made me cry, and then you made me angry, so can we tick those off the list?” I blurted, and he smiled at this.

  “Deal. There’s one I haven’t seen, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s than then?”

  “Pleasure.”

  I swallowed hard. He was flirting with me. Was I going to flirt back? I laughed again and trilled my fingers on the door handle. His eyes were dark and penetrating and completely, utterly inappropriate. It was broad daylight. I had only just met him. We were humans and not animals – how could he give me a look like that?

  “Maybe …uh, maybe later,” I mumbled and blushed furiously, then opened the door to go inside. I sensed him walking closely behind me as we went back into the theatre. My shoes were killing me. I felt him behind me, felt his presence prickling the hairs at the back of my neck, but I couldn’t turn around, couldn’t risk blushing and blubbering like an idiot again. I didn’t know what the hell had just happened but I was determined to get a finger sandwich and get on with my proper, organized, adult day. I wasn’t here to flirt.

  “Don’t let him rattle you.”

  I spun around to see Tamara standing behind me. With a pang of disappointment, I realized that Adam had already melted back into the crowd.

  “Who? Adam? Oh, it’s all right. He didn’t mean anything. I usually don’t cry like this. To be honest, I must be a little stressed or something.”

  She tightened her lips and her eyes lost their focus for a moment.

  “Yes, well,” she said, ”Adam certainly has a way of bringing out the chaos wherever he goes.”

  Chapter Four

  Three thousand five hundred pounds.

  Just thinking of that amount of money made me break out into a cold sweat. Three thousand five hundred pounds to build a set, from scratch, by little old me.

  I sneezed and tried to look around in the dust.

  The college theatre seemingly had millions of back rooms, store rooms, side rooms, under-rooms, trapdoors and little cupboards wherever you cared to look. The stage was where the magic happened, but it was all around the stage where the levers and pulleys of that magic were set up and managed by unseen hands. By my hands. And three thousand five hundred pounds.

  “I’m pretty sure I saw loads and loads of chipboard in here from last term,” Nicky said for the hundredth time that afternoon. “Maybe look at the back …right at the back.”

  I stifled another sneeze, stepped over some cardboard boxes and rolls of fabric, and tried to navigate to the back of the storeroom. She stood near the front, peeling some plastic wrappers off ball gowns and fancy dress and having a look.

  Nicky was the costume designer and I was glad that we got to work closely together. She was relaxed and kind and didn’t think that ‘electric beige’ was a stupid way to describe anything. We liked each other. She was effortlessly artsy, unconventionally attractive and all-round full of good ideas. One of those good ideas was to come here first, to see if either of us could resurrect any old bits and pieces from last year’s production.

  I rummaged through an old pile of dowel rods and spied some paint sitting in the corner. It was a dream come true, really. All this was here for our disposal. I picked up a knotted shopping bag filled with tinsel. Underneath it was a solid pile of painted chipboard, clearly some kind of background foliage for a play long finished.

  “Ooh… this might work,” I said.

  Nicky was busy rubbing the satin bodice of a nightdress between her fingers. “I told you they’d have good stuff here!” she said.

  We hunted and poked around in silence for a moment. Three thousand five hundred pounds. A fair wad of cash. Enough money, in fact, that I wouldn’t have any excuse not to do well. An intimidating amount. If I failed, it would be down to me, and not because I didn’t have the money to do things properly. I ran my fingers over the dusty chipboard and tried to decide whether it was worth salvaging.

  Nicky’s phone beeped.

  “Ah crap, I have to go,” she said quickly. “Nyx, will you be all right here? I have to run.”

  I smiled.

  “Sure.”

  Off she went and I returned my attention to a roll of plastic chicken wire. Somehow, by term end, I’d have to create the creepy castles and dreamscapes for Bluebeard. Out of chipboard and paint and gauze I’d have to construct a convincing new world, one that would transport the actors and audience alike.

  I could do it. Of course I could do it. I mean, it’s not like I had a choice in the matter, anyway. I had been given a million second chances in life. Now, it was about proving to aunt Lila that I was worth it.

  “Ah, the enchanted forest!”

  I gasped and turned around to see a figure standing in the doorway.

  It was him. Adam.

  My mouth hung open.

  He waltzed over and took one of the boards from my hands.<
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  “Oh, lookie here,” he said, “I remember when we did this show. It’s hard to imagine it now, but this was once our enchanted forest, the background for when we did Pocahontas.”

  He turned it over in his large hands, looking at the faded leaf shapes painted on in greens and blacks. I desperately wished I could think of something, anything to say.

  “I’m …I’m trying to see if any of it can be reused. For our play,” I said, and put my fingers again on the rough surface of the boards. No sooner had I said this though, had he turned away and started looking around the room with interest. He took a heavy military jacket off a rack and held it out against his body, put it carelessly back on the rail and then flipped through the other outfits hanging there.

  “You’re the set designer, right?” he said.

  I straightened and watched him opening bags and looking around disinterestedly.

  “Yup. Today I’m starting with the main bed chamber, since that’s where a lot of the play takes place.”

  I suddenly felt stupid. Of course he knew that already. He was the main actor, Bluebeard himself for heaven’s sake.

  I was beginning to get that feeling again. That feeling that in his presence, I could do nothing but watch him, nothing but wait to see what he would say next. Do next.

  “Cool,” he said. “Any ideas so far?”

  I smiled. “Well, yes, actually. I sketched out some ideas yesterday, wanna see?”

  He put on a pork pie hat and adjusted it a little on his head. It was a ridiculous thing, truly, but it looked made for him. It was just a prop, but on his head, it somehow seemed the most real and natural thing in the world.

  “Yeah, let’s have a look,” he said.

  I reached for my satchel and pulled out my notebook. I had spent a good hour last night carefully outlining some stage layouts, even going so far as to put a little watercolor here and there to make it look more professional.

  “So, this is the set from center front. This is Bluebeard’s bed – I wanted to make it a four-poster, but with a difference, you know? And here’s a space where that beginning of the third act will happen. I wanted it to all be primary colors. Since Nicky’s making everything Bluebeard wears a dark, inky blue, that leaves me with yellows – the fire – and lots of red all over the room. Mostly in this carpet, which functions a little like a stage within the stage, see?”

  I pointed out different parts of the drawing as I spoke.

  He looked on in silence and then said, “that’s it?”

  I was crushed.

  I quietly closed the notebook and stashed it back into my satchel. That’s it? That had taken me hours to brainstorm yesterday. Was it really that bad?

  “What’s …don’t you like it?”

  “No, that’s the problem, I like it,” he said and wandered over to the other corner of the room.

  “It’s a likeable room. It looks …too warm. I mean, this is a terrifying story, Nyx. Bluebeard’s going to try and kill her, and it’s slowly dawning on her. Don’t you think the room should be, I don’t know, a little darker. A little more evil?”

  My ears started to burn.

  “Well, what do you mean? It’s not a pantomime; do you want me to paint skulls on the wall or something? It is supposed to be an actual room still,” I said, surprised at how defensive I sounded.

  He was trying on more hats now.

  “Sure, that’s not what I meant though. It’s just…” He had found a mirror and was examining his reflection in the glass, tilting his head side to side to admire a glossy purple turban with a stone in the center.

  “It’s just so …Disney, you know? Kind of sanitized. Kind of boring.”

  I stared at him, a little shocked. Did he just call my set design “Disney?”

  “I’m sorry, what does that mean, Disney?” I said coldly. I couldn’t believe I had stayed up all night thinking embarrassing things about this guy. He was a total arse, clearly.

  “Oh God, I don’t know,” he said. “The kind of thing where everyone’s good, even the bad guys. It’s just predictable. Bluebeard’s loaded. He’s an aristocrat. And he’s evil. Do you really think he’d have a natty looking carpet like that in his master bedroom, in his sinister chambers?”

  I didn’t know what to say. In a way, I think he was right. Had I made something boring and predictable? I felt a little sick.

  “I guess …I guess maybe it’s not terribly original,” I said, but I felt hurt. Where was the desperately flirty guy from before? Why wasn’t he telling me awesome things about my cheekbones today? I felt a flicker of irritation with him. What was he doing in here anyway?

  He took off the turban and sauntered over to me, tall and ultra-confident, dressed from head to toe in black. He stood in front of me and looked like he was thinking.

  “Maybe you need an animal’s head on the wall,” he said at last.

  “A mounted head?”

  He considered it.

  “I think I’d like something that looks like a hunting lodge, although when you walk inside, you’re not entirely sure which animals are the prey…”

  I laughed. “You’d like that?”

  “Well yes, me. Bluebeard.”

  “I see. And what else would you like?” I said a little sarcastically.

  “The bed must resemble something like an altar. It must have the feel of the ritualistic about it.”

  He was an idiot, but what he was saying sounded interesting.

  “Bluebeard is a failed magician figure,” he continued, “so the bedroom needs to have that in it. Old candles. And I want a light shade that looks a bit like a wheel of torture. All made of metal. Know what I’m talking about?”

  “I think I know what I’m doing,” I heard myself saying.

  Instantly, those eyes were on me again. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. I felt it in the back of my throat. I couldn’t help but stare straight back at him. Look at any other person in this world and your eyes will bounce easily off theirs; it will be more comfortable to look away, to glance off and away from their gaze after a few seconds. With Adam, this seemed to be reversed. Once I caught his eye, it seemed impossible to look at anything else.

  He smiled. A naughty, mischievous smile that came on slowly. I thought he was about to say something. About to reply with something witty. But to my amazement, he leaned in close. So close I could make out the dark grainlines in the brown of his iris, so close he could …oh God, is he about to kiss me?

  My heart thumped wildly and something came over me. I leaned forward a little myself, parted my lips and tilted my head to kiss him. He cleared his throat, reached behind me for a hat and took a step back.

  “I was, uh, getting this hat,” he said awkwardly, and held up a sailor hat in his hands.

  Oh fuck. Kill me now.

  Flustered, I quickly grabbed my bag and started fussing with the straps.

  “I guess I better get going, it was nice bumping into you…” I said.

  I wanted to smack that stupid smile off his face. Had he done that on purpose? And what the hell was I thinking? He was an arrogant prick who had nothing constructive to say about my set design and I was going to kiss him?

  “Did you …did you think…?” he asked.

  “Think what? No, of course not” I said angrily.

  He laughed. “You weren’t thinking about…?”

  “No. I mean…”

  He laughed again.

  “What are you even doing here then?” I asked. “Don’t you have some acting or something to do?” Despite myself, I felt my mouth twitching uncontrollably into a smile.

  “Baby, there’s always acting to do,” he said, and placed the sailor hat on his head, then winked at me.

  I was mortified.

  “Joke’s aside, I actually came here to see Nicky and ask her some things, you haven’t seen her around have you?”

  “No, sorry,” I said quickly.

  “I need an outfit, you see. Big party I’m going to.”


  “I can give you her number if you want--”

  “Nah, I’ll just take this,” he said, removing the sailor hat and examining it closely.

  “You really shouldn’t. Nicky and I have authorization to use what’s in this storeroom, but I don’t think you can just waltz in here and take stuff…”

  I couldn’t believe he had called my work ‘Disney’. What the hell does that even mean?

  “Oh, I can’t just waltz in here you say? Can I tango then? Maybe salsa?” he said, and started dancing around like an idiot, grinning at me and twirling his sailor hat in his hands.

  I tried to suppress a giggle.

  “I’m serious Adam, you shouldn’t just take it.”

  He winked at me again and my legs turned to jelly.

  “OK, miss prim,” he said. “Tell you what, if you don’t tell on me, I’ll let you come with me to the party tonight,” he said, and did a little twirl.

  “But I--”

  “And I think you should wear that,” he said and gestured behind me.

  I turned to look and saw a pair of jet black bird wings on a hanger.

  Chapter Five

  My flat was small and cramped, but it was mine. Sure, aunt Lila was paying for it, and in a roundabout way, her deceased husband was paying for that, and so on, but when I sat on the beanbag and peered out the window, it was easy to think for a moment that this was my own private nest.

  “And are you eating well, sweetheart?” came aunt Lila’s voice through the phone. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

  This was the schedule she had set up for us. The direct debit arrived in my account on Saturday, and on Sunday mornings she’d call and see how I was doing. ‘Taking care of yourself’ was code, you see. It meant, are you doing drugs, Nyx? Are you staying up late into the night and being irresponsible? Are you whoring around and making a nuisance of yourself? As best as I could, I answered in code as well.