Make Me Bad (Page 16)

I put the pasta on to boil and am browning the turkey when I realize I still haven’t texted Ben back. I have a few minutes to spare, so I retrieve my phone from my purse, open my texts, and reread his words.

He wants to continue.

Sure, I’ve technically forced him into this role as the devil on my shoulder, but if he didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t be suggesting another task. My heart leaps in my chest at the prospect that the second mission could be anything as wild as the first one. I took my panties off in front of him. I stuffed them into one of Jake’s books! I let him hide me away in a corner, his body and scent and touch all but stealing the life right out of me. I’ve been thinking a lot about that moment when our bodies were pressed together, when I let his hand graze the edge of my breast. I think about it most at night, when I’m alone in bed. Last night, I unbuttoned my pajama top and ran my hand across my stomach and then…lower.

My stomach dips from the memories then Colten walks back into the kitchen. I jerk forward for the wooden spoon and get busy mixing the pasta.

He looks at me like I’m weird. “What are you doing?”

I wave my phone. “Just looking up the recipe to make sure I’m doing it right.”

He frowns as he opens the fridge and reaches in for an apple. “Haven’t you made it a dozen times?”

“Yeah,” I say, staring at the boiling water and waiting for inspiration to strike. “But…well…sometimes I salt the water and sometimes I don’t. I forgot which way I like it.”

Lame. Bad. Very unconvincing, Madison.

He levels me with one more skeptical glare then turns back for the living room without another word. I hear him take a big bite of the apple and then I sag against the counter.

I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I tell myself.

I wasn’t fantasizing about Ben with my brother and dad in the next room. I was thinking about fantasizing about Ben. There’s a big difference!

Still, I decide there’s no point in texting him back now. I wait until Colten’s gone and the leftovers have been put away. I’m cleaning the dishes when my dad walks in with his adult softball league shirt on. I forgot he has a game tonight. It means I’ll have the whole house to myself for the next few hours. I let him kiss me on the head and wish him luck before he walks out the door. Then, with speed usually reserved for X-Men and dudes running from the cops, I dart across the kitchen for my phone. My hands are still covered in suds. I can’t even unlock the screen.

“Gahrrrr,” I grumble impatiently, wrenching the towel from where it hangs on the stove and drying my hands as quickly as possible. I toss it over my shoulder. It lands on the ground. I’m typing out a text as fast as my little fingers can tip-tap-type on my iPhone.

Madison: Okay, I know what I want to do. Are you free tonight?

My hand is shaking so much, my phone screen is blurry. I can’t even read my own words. Why did I text him? Oh my god, he has friends. He’s probably at a dinner party or like a fancy fashion show. I don’t know—how do rich people spend their time? I’m pacing now, chewing on a nail, angry at myself, angry at Ben for turning me into this version of myself. Everything is dark and abysmal. I hate my phone and whoever invented texting. Mr. Apple, Elon Musk—they all suck. I bite my lip and resist the urge to shove the offending device down the disposal, and then it vibrates and it’s him! He’s replied and my whole world is bright and beautiful again. Butterflies float around my head like a halo.

Ben: I’m still up at the office, but I’m leaving soon. What do you have in mind?

Oh my GOD.

This is my moment. I have to take life by the balls, and then because that sounds gross, I decide to take life by the hand, but forcefully.

Madison: Great. Come pick me up. I’ll tell you where we’re going then.

I have no idea what he means by “leaving soon”. It could be ten minutes, could be an hour, so I rush upstairs and yank my dress off as I go. I won’t repeat the same mistakes I made over the weekend. I’m not going to wear the same boring dress I wore all day at work. I pick out a pair of jeans and a short, flowy white peasant top. When I move, it exposes the barest hint of my midriff. It’s probably the sexiest thing I own, which is a little sad now that I think about it. I should at least have some kind of black leather dress that suctions to my skin hidden away in a glass box with a label that reads Break in case of emergency.

I slide on some brown leather boots I splurged on last year when Anthropologie was having a sale and then I step into my bathroom. My hair is in a braid, so I shake it out and assess the damage. The long brown waves still have a little volume left in them. It’s kind of a wild mess, but it’ll have to do. I don’t have time to become a hair wizard—for all I know, Ben’s only five minutes away.

I pull out my makeup, eternally grateful that I let Eli talk me into getting some new products at Sephora last summer. I had no idea what contouring or highlighting was before that day. I still know very little about it, but the enthusiastic employee taught me the bare minimum for what I need to do to make my green eyes pop and my skin a little more flawless.

Who am I kidding? I have to wipe off my eye shadow four times before it looks halfway decent, but when I step back and look at myself in the mirror, I’m kind of impressed. My eyes seem even bigger than usual. My lips are a soft pink. My cheekbones are accentuated. Most important of all, I still look like me, just a little…sexier.

My phone buzzes on my bed and I leap into action, answering it as I run down the stairs. I’m at the door, yanking on a jacket when I realize I forgot to say hello.

“Madison?” Ben says on the other end of the line. “You there?”

I laugh and pause, remembering to breathe for the first time in what feels like forever.

I hold the phone up to my ear. “Hey, sorry.”

I can see him through the window in the foyer. He’s sitting at the curb in a sleek black SUV.

“I’m outside.”

“Okay,” I say, forcing myself to lie. “I’ll be right out, I just need another few minutes.”

“Take your time.”

He hangs up and I stay right where I am, willing my heart to slow its wild pace just a little. This is going to be a big night. I’m about to get into Ben Rosenberg’s car, and just the idea of it feels wrong. My dad didn’t ask me what I was doing tonight, so I’m not deceiving him by going out. I’m allowed to leave the house. I just never do, so it feels strange. I heave a sigh, reach for the door handle, and step outside to begin an adventure I’ll likely never forget.

Ben gets out and rounds the front of the SUV to meet me at the passenger side door as I walk down the front path. I have a sudden urge to walk in the exact opposite direction. My confidence has left the building. He didn’t change after work, but he took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. If he was wearing a tie, he’s not anymore.

He’s as out of my league as he’s ever been. Handsome, confident, and poised, he moves like he’s never spent a single day wishing he were in someone else’s body.

How did we get here? I wonder as he pulls the door open and then watches me walk the last few yards toward him. When I get close, he tips his head.

“Madison.”

I bite down on my smile and tip my head right back at him before I step up into his car. Black leather seats warm my tush. Ah, rich people really do know how to live.

He closes the door behind me and I watch him circle back to the driver’s side. He hops in with the confident grace of a panther then turns to me, one hand casually draped over the steering wheel.

“Where to?”

11

Ben

“Funny. This is a first for me too.”

“You’ve never been inside a tattoo shop?” she asks.

I’m staring up at the wall covered in intricate designs when I shake my head.

“Hey, if you’re a walk-in, you’ll have to come back,” a grizzly voice says behind us. I turn and assess the guy behind the counter. He’s probably in his mid-thirties, black concert tee, jeans, buzzed hair, colorful half-sleeve on his right arm. “One of my artists is out sick and the rest are booked solid.”

Madison’s smile falls. “Crap. I didn’t even think about scheduling an appointment.”

She turns to me with brows tugged together, her bottom lip sticking out just a little. I don’t like her expression. I also don’t like the idea of our night getting cut short.

“Do you tattoo?” I ask the guy.

He crosses his arms over his chest and aims a disdainful glance at me. “This is my shop.”

Good—he won’t fuck up her skin.

“I’ll pay you five times your normal rate if you can shuffle some things around. The tattoo she wants won’t take long.”

I actually have no idea how long it’ll take. I’m just assuming at this point, but I think it’s fair to guess Madison doesn’t have anything too crazy in mind for her first tattoo. I glance over to her and she nods, mouth agape.

The guy considers my offer for a second, frowning. He’s annoyed, but not so annoyed that he won’t do it.

With a sigh, he turns for his office. “Yeah, fine. Give me a second.”