Home > Bad Boy Next Door : A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance(6)

Bad Boy Next Door : A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance(6)
Author: Hunter Rose

“Is taking theater classes some sort of requirement?” Talon asks.

I look up with him questioningly. “No. Why would you ask that?”

He nods toward the stage. “That guy looks like he’s up there under duress. He’s going to throw up before he gets through that speech.”

I laugh but curl my lips in to stop the sound. “He’s just a freshman. That situation doesn’t happen once you get up into the more advanced classes.” I shrug one shoulder. “At least, not as often.”

“You take theater?” he asks.

I nod, not trusting myself to take my eyes off the stage and look at him. “Yes. I’m also doing the play.”

“Which production?” he asks.

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” I tell him.

Talon scoffs. “Of course you are.”

“Do you have a particular problem with that?” I asked.

He shakes his head. “No problem at all. It’s just a little predictable, isn’t it?”

“The play itself?” I asked.

“The fact that your school is doing it. Doesn’t every high school do A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“There must be a reason for that,” I point out. “It’s a classic. People enjoy it.”

“I suppose. Or, it’s readily accessible and easily reproduced,” he says.

“Let me guess. Your old school had their own dedicated playwrights to create original works for your theater department.”

“Not that I know of. But the productions tended to be more… adventurous.”

“Sorry to disappoint you with our small-town high school play,” I snap. “Have you seen enough of the theater now?”

“Yes.”

We walk back out into the open commons. I’m about to bring Talon over to the gym when I hear my name bouncing through the hallway. We both turn toward it, and I see Samantha rushing toward us.

“What are you doing out of class?” she asks almost conspiratorially, as if I’m going to have a secret to tell her.

“Hi, Samantha,” I say. “Mr. Whittaker decided to make me the official tour guide of the school. You remember I told you about Bree’s nephew. I gesture toward Talon. “This is Talon. Talon, this is Samantha. She works at your aunt’s store.”

Talon looks Samantha up and down and smiles. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure you’re a lot of help to Aunt Bree.”

I roll my eyes at the blatant flirting, but Samantha looks like she’s about to explode. Her eyes sparkle, and color flushes her face. She nods.

“I try to be. It’s a lot of responsibility managing all those craft supplies.”

This may be one of the most awkward and uncomfortable interactions I’ve ever seen. But Samantha doesn’t seem to notice it at all. Somewhere in her mind, she’s living out her own romance novel.

“Don’t you have somewhere you should be right now?” I ask. “Like class?”

Her eyes widen a little like she has snapped back into reality.

“Oh. Right. Wren, I’ll see you after school. It was nice to meet you, Talon.”

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing much more of you,” Talon says.

It makes my stomach twist, but I’m not sure why. Samantha scurries away, and I turn to Talon.

“Is there something else you particularly want to see?” I ask.

“What were you doing up so early on Saturday?” he asks.

The question throws me off. I shake my head slightly. “What?”

“I don’t think it was that challenging a question. Why were you up so early on Saturday morning?”

“If you recall, an incredibly rude person had a delivery truck show up when the sun was barely up and woke up the entire street,” I say.

“And you needed to get into your car and drive away from the chaos that was absolutely nothing going on?” he asks.

“What business is it of yours what I was doing?” I ask.

“Just trying to be neighborly. Isn’t that what people do around here?”

“I was on my way to the animal shelter,” I tell him.

“Sudden irresistible craving for a new cat?”

“I volunteer there on the weekends.”

“Of course you do,” he rolls his eyes.

“You say that a lot, you know,” I point out.

“Say what?” he asks.

“‘Of course’. ‘Of course you do’. Or ‘of course it is’. You say it a lot.”

“Maybe because the world is just so predictable. It never ceases to amaze me how paint-by-numbers some people’s lives are,” he shrugs.

“Or maybe because you put yourself so high above everyone else, you can’t possibly imagine anything having significance to another person,” I say.

“You really don’t have to be so defensive. I’m only saying you doing volunteer work fits right in with the rest of what I know about you.”

“Which is nothing,” I say.

“I know the teacher acts like you hung the moon. And that some guy brought you home Friday but didn’t even stay for ten minutes.”

The back of my neck burns. “The teacher appreciates my work ethic and good grades. I actually give him respect, unlike you. And that guy who brought me home on Friday happens to be my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?” Talon asks, seemingly shocked by the revelation.

I don’t know if I like the look of surprise in his eyes or if it makes me angry. That seems to be a common thread in my feelings toward this guy.

“Yes. We’ve been together for almost five years.”

The justification tumbles out of me before I can even control the compulsion.

“Five years and he doesn’t stay after dropping you off on a Friday night?” Talon asks. “How… sweet.”

“Don’t you dare try to bring him into this.”

“And what is ‘this’, exactly?”

“Is everything alright? Wren? You okay?”

As if I somehow called him to me by talking about him, Isaiah comes through the commons toward us. His eyebrows knit together as he searches my face, and his hand slides into mine.

“Everything’s fine. This is Talon. He’s new here,” I say.

“I just moved in next door to Wren,” Talon says.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a hint of challenge in his voice. Whether he noticed it or not, Isaiah doesn’t flinch. He holds out his hand toward Talon.

“Good to meet you. Welcome to town.”

“Talon, this is my boyfriend, Isaiah.”

The smirk on Talon’s face as he takes Isaiah’s hand and shakes it makes the back of my neck burn again. His searing blue eyes move to me.

“Of course you are,” he smiles and winks.

That wink is etched in my memory.

 

 

6

 

 

Talon

 

 

By the time I finish my conversation with the director of the theater department and make my way to the theater the next afternoon, rehearsal is already in full swing. Students are scattered around the house, lounging in the seats and tucked in corners, going over their lines. Some aren’t actually going over lines but are pretending to, so they don’t catch the ire of the student directors hunched importantly over the table set up in front of the black-painted stage.

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