In the Bad Boy's Bed (12 page)

The last semester of my senior year in high school should have been one of the craziest, most exciting times in my life. Instead it was filled with sadness and regret. I looked at the end of school and graduation with mixed feelings. On one hand it was a sign of all I had accomplished, but it also meant the end of life as I knew it. Changes were pressing in on me, and it was scary.

My parents wanted to buy me a spot in one of the ivy schools, but I chose the university that was closer to home. Gena accepted a scholarship to a prestigious west-coast school. She loved the water and couldn't wait to hit the sunny beaches of California.

I was sad to see her go. We had been best friends since grade school. We had been through almost everything together – all the firsts in our pre- and post-adolescent life: first kiss, first love, first period, first date, first sexual experience, everything.

I thought my time with Nick was one secret I could never share, though I wanted to desperately. I never realized just what a true friend she was until the day I helpd her pack to leave for college.

Almost all her possessions were stacked in the U-Haul. She and I were in her room, packing the remaining boxes.

"I'm really going to miss you, Gena," I said, putting her CDs into a large box.

"Oh, I'll miss you, too. And, there's only one going away present I want from you."

At my nod, she continued. "Tell me what was going on between you and Nick," she said, a huge grin on her face.

"What!" My voice squeaked out, pitchy and guilty.

"Oh, come on. You know exactly what I'm talking about—the thing that was going on between you and Nick." At my purposefully questioning look, she clarified. "Nick Donnelly."

"Really, Gena. I don't know what you're—" I began, only to be interrupted.

"Do you think I'm dumb and blind? I saw the way you two made goo-goo eyes at each other when you thought no one was looking. And everybody heard Sean's story about you and Nick. Most of them just brushed it aside as him trying to get back at you for dumping him. What I don't understand is why you and Nick didn't talk to each other in the open. Why you were keeping things secret."

I couldn't answer. I sat still, my head down, my eyes watching my fingers trace the multicolored patterns in the Hermes scarf I held in my hand.

"So, you gonna tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing. Haven't you noticed – he's gone."

"Well, what was going on, then. Come on, tell me. There was a time when we told each other everything."

"We still do . . . ."

"No—lately you've been quiet, secretive, sad. The only time I've ever seen you this sad was when your dog died. I'm sure this has to do with Nick. Now tell me."

"It's nothing, really. I guess we . . . we liked each other, sort of, but we decided not to do anything about it."

"Geeze, girl, why not? He's such a hunk. He's nice, smart, cool. What's not to like?"

My head shot up in surprise. "I didn't know you knew him."

"Yeah, I met him last year at a party—my brother knows his cousin—and we've talked some. But not nearly long enough to satisfy me."

"You said he's smart? I always thought . . . how do you know he's smart?"

"He's super smart. Remember that semester I worked in the office because I couldn't do PE? I was filing and just happened to see his record."

"And why did you just happen to see his record?"

"Promise you won't laugh? I've always had this little crush on Nick. I mean, he's so, I don't know, cool, rebellious, kind of a bad boy. At least that's what he wants everyone to believe."

"Did you ever think about getting together with him?

"In my fantasies, yes. But in reality, no."

"Why not?"

"I'm not his type."

"What's his type?"

She laughed. "You, obviously."

"What makes you think that?"

"I saw the way he looked at you. And, by the way you looked at him, I'd say he's your type, too."

"Gena, I . . . I've got to tell you something. I wanted to tell you this a long time ago, but I was afraid of . . . afraid you would think badly of me."

"There's not much you could do that would make me think badly of you, Angie.

Tell me."

"Nick and I, we . . . you're right, we liked each other."

"Well, duh, I already knew that."

"A lot."

"A lot . . . how much is a lot?"

"Well, we…we had sex."

Gena's eyes grew round with surprise. "That's a lot of liking. I didn't think you knew him THAT well. How long was this going on? I hope you were careful."

"Yes, we were careful and—"

"How did it happen?"

"Sean and I were parked down by the river, and we had a fight."

"No surprise there. Let me guess . . . he'd been drinking?"

"Duh. Well, he hit me, and I got out of the car to get away from him. I hid—"

"Wait a minute . . . Sean hit you?"

"Yes."

"The bastard! You never told me that either."

"That's why I broke up with him."

"Good choice. OK, back to Nick. You hid and then . . . ?"

"I hid in the bushes, and Sean left me. I was making my way back home when Nick just appeared. We had an instant attraction."

"And . . . ?"

"And it turned out to be the most . . . the most passionate, exciting night of my life."

"Damn girl! If I'd known he was that good, I'd have tried a little harder to get him."

I grabbed balls of socks piled next to me and pummeled her with them.

"So, what's the problem, Angie? Why didn't you two get together? Was he only interested in a one-night thing?"

"Well, it wasn't just a one-time thing . . . it was a many, many, many-time thing. But it's completely my fault we weren't together openly. He wanted us to be together, but I told him it wouldn't work between us. He guessed that what I was trying so hard not to say what that I was embarrassed by what my friends and family would think of me for being with him. He said I would never be happy if I didn't start taking chances. And, why are you nodding your head?"

"He's right. You know I love you, but I've always wished you'd loosen up a little, have more fun in your life. You need to take more chances."

"Are you saying I'm rigid and boring?"

"No. I just mean you should put some spice in your life now and then. Don't always do what someone else thinks the right thing is. My grandma always says: Worry more about what you think of you and less about what others think of you. So what if people said anything bad about you and Nick being together. You'd have been better off concentrating on what Nick thought about you and what you thought about him and on building a relationship . . . if that's what you wanted."

"Well, it's really all a dead point now; he's gone. Other than you, he's the only person who gets me. I was so happy with him. I felt so free. And I let him go."

"Yeah, I noticed he wasn't around this semester. Do you know where he is?

"No, not a clue. I wish I did know. I could make up for cheating us out of something that could have been wonderful."

"I'm really sorry."

Impulsively, I leaned over and hugged my friend. "Gena, I'm going to miss you so much. You've always been able to help me see the truth about myself."

"I've always tried but you didn't always want to see. Remember that time when we

. . . ."

We reminisced and laughed late into the night. Early the next morning, I said a tearful goodbye to my best friend.

* * * * *

A month after Gena left, I moved into one of the dorms at the university. None of my high school friends had chosen this school—in fact, I chose this school specifically because no one I knew would be there—so I was faced with meeting new friends. After two days alone, I would have given half my new wardrobe to see a familiar face. "Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it." Had I headed that old saying I might have been better prepared for what happened the night of the dorms' get-acquainted dance, the weekend before classes began.

I went to the dance with my roommate, Joni Gabaldon, and her boyfriend, Dante.

Almost as soon as we got there, she and Dante moved onto the dance floor to make out.

I grabbed a cup of punch and walked back into the crowd to watch them dancing the slow song the band played. The couples moving slowly against each other made me wish I was out there, too. Suddenly I felt a pair of hands settle lightly at my waist. Before I could spin around to see who was there, I heard a voice whisper in my ear.

"Dance with me, Angel."

I knew that voice. Even before I turned around, I knew. Knowing that it was Nick still didn't prepare me for the sight of his soft green eyes, his full mouth, his hard body, his everything.

"Nick." His name was all I could say, as the smile stretched across my face.

He smiled at me, too, that crooked grin that never failed to ignite the flame inside me.

He put my cup down and pulled me onto the dance floor and into his arms.

"Nothing to say to an old friend?"

"I can't believe you're here."

"Yeah, I can imagine your surprise. You never thought of me as college-bound material, did you?"

"I don't ever recall you mentioning an interest in college."

"I don't ever recall you asking."

Of course, we were usually too busy to talk much when we were together. He didn't say it, but I could read it in his eyes. Since he wasn't blind, I figured he could see it in mine as well.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," I said.

"You're glad to see me?"

"I meant I'm glad you're going to college."

"So you're not glad to see me?"

"Yes, I'm . . . God, you still drive me crazy!" It was out before I realized the double meaning.

"You haven't changed," he said, and smiled.

"Neither have you, Nick Donnelly. You're just as insufferable as you always were."

"That's what you loved most about me."

I could think of one or two other things that tripped my trigger faster. "Sure, let's go with that."

The song ended, but we stayed on the dance floor, holding each other, waiting for the next song to begin.

"Why didn't you come back to school after Christmas?" I asked.

He stayed silent for so long I had decided he hadn't heard me. "I had enough credits to graduate by then, and I . . . I didn't have any reason to stay, so I started college early."

That part about his not having a reason to stay hit me hard in the chest. There it was, as I'd always suspected—he left because of me.

"You always talked about going to school in Boston. How'd you end up here?"

"I decided to stay closer to home." Truth was, when Nick left school, the remaining months in school were tough ones for me, academically and socially. Boston rescinded their offer when my final grades went out. My parents could have bought me a spot pretty much anywhere, but by then I guess they were as tired of fighting as I was.

Even though the music stopped between each song, he and I never left the dance floor. We moved slowly in each other's arms, talking and reminiscing. He smelled so good, felt so familiar.

"There's a question I've been dying to ask you," I said, smiling.

"Ask."

"It's about that day your mom and brother caught us in bed together."

He smiled, nodded. "Ooo. I remember that day well. I thought it was going to be my last day on earth."

"What happened when you got home from work?"

"She yelled at me for an hour straight. Cried on my shoulder for fifteen minutes.

Sent me to bed without dinner. Then woke me up, fed me dinner, and yelled at me some more about the stupid choices I was making."

"You mean me?"

"She thought I needed to focus on school and not let anything – or anyone – distract me. It didn't help that my aunt sent her my attendance records, showing the days I'd ditched school to sleep with my girlfriend . . . friend . . . or whatever it was we were to each other."

"Ah, let's just say girlfriend. I don't think I'm brave enough to call it what it was."

"Wow. I finally have an answer for the question, 'who was your high school girlfriend?'"

I found it hard to believe that I'd been his only girlfriend, until I remembered he'd been in trouble most of his high school years.

"I'm sorry about that stupid agreement I held you to. Why didn't you just tell me to go to hell and dump my ass?"

"Because I loved your ass. And some action was better than no action, you know what I mean?"

We both laughed, but I didn't find it particularly funny to know that he only put up with my shit for the sex. I mean, I know that's what we were both doing, but for him to say it . . . well it hurt.

The music stopped, the bright lights came on, and the band thanked everyone for coming out to hear them play. People shuffled out, and the party planners immediately began picking up used cups, pulling down decorations, and packing up supplies.

"I think we're being asked to leave," I said, still in Nick's arms, and unwilling to leave.

"Yeah. These university-sponsored dances are pretty lame, but it's something to do until the real parties start."

He let me go. "What dorm are you in?"

"DeSarga."

"What! Princess Angela's living in the worst dorm on campus? What, did mommy and daddy disown you after you slept with me?"

I let the smile drop from my face and my chin quiver a bit as I pretended to wipe tears. "As a matter of fact, they did."

My words wiped the grin from his face as easily as marker from a wipeboard. Poor guy looked like he'd been stabbed.

"Angela," he said, his voice soft, eyes full of concern. He slid his hand down my arm, took my hand. "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry."

"God, Nick, I'm just kidding. Way to make me feel like a heartless bitch, though."

"That's not funny, Angela."

"Neither was that insensitive pervert remark about 'some action's better than none .

. . heh, heh, heh, know what I mean?'"

We stared at each other for a few long seconds, both of us steaming from the perceived wrongs done to us. Then he grinned, shook his head, and laughed. I joined him.