Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

Games/Flames

Breathing hard, I throw myself behind the door and out of Sam's view. No way in hell am I leaving the foyer with Sam right there. But I don't want to talk to him; I can't. Ryan gives me a look before directing his attention back to the boy on his doorstep. He looks distinctly annoyed.

"What can I do for you, man?" Ryan asks coolly

"I need to talk to Logan. I'm not sure what you've heard, but I owe her one hell of an apology."

The annoyance on Ryan's face amplifies and he glances hard at me, urging me with his eyes to step up and have the conversation. I shake my head furiously. Sam continues as if uninterrupted by our silent standoff.

"She told me I could show her how sorry I was if I really meant it. But that's hard to do when she's missing. As I'm sure you know, she's spent the past week missing. From school, from her friends, from our dorm." His voice takes a possessive emphasis on the last, and a flash of heat courses through my belly.

"I'm sure you understand I can't show her how goddamn sorry I am if I can't find her."

"Uh huh," Ryan says slowly, looking between Sam on the front step and me, hidden in the foyer. I know what he's about to do and I will him to close the door in Sam's face before he pushes me into the fray, but it appears he's done putting up with my personal pity party.

"Well," Ryan says finally. "This is just a little too weird for me, so I'm going to..." he opens the door wider and steps back, muttering "more coffee," and throwing me to the wolves. Wolf. Sam.

I'm revealed by the open door and Sam and I both curse at the same time. His eyes run over me in Ryan's t-shirt, which hangs over my thighs and mostly hides the shorts I'm wearing beneath it. I can see his eyes darken and his jaw clench.

"This was easier when you were hiding behind the door," he grits out.

"Why?"

"You're wearing his shirt." It's not a question.

I glare at him with a defiance I barely feel. In fact, the stupid jealousy sets off a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. I swallow before I speak. "I'm not yours."

"You could be. If you'd hear me out."

The butterflies multiply by a thousand, and I try desperately to hold my ground. "I told you the other night, that ship's sailed."

"Has it?"

We stare each other down, both of us surging with electricity from the standoff. I glance at Sam's hands fisted at his waist, his arms flexed and taut.

"Looking to hit something?" I suggest, gesturing at his posture.

"Trying not to hit Ryan for putting his shirt on you."

I ignore the blatant insinuation, and adopt a cocky pose in the doorway. "Would it be better for you if I took it off?"

Sam lets out a low growl.

"Is that a yes?" I bring my hands to the bottom of the shirt and draw it slowly up my thighs. I don't know what I'm doing, but it's satisfying to see Sam's face twisted in frustration and desire. I run the hem of the shirt up over my sleep shorts, holding his eyes and smirking. As I reveal the skin of my stomach, Sam makes a move like a lunge in my direction.

"Uh-uh," I reprimand, stepping out of reach and biting my lip, drawing the shirt up to my ribs. My eyes drift closed and I feel a swift, aching desire to have Sam's lip ring against my skin. The ghost of the sensation shoots a jolt of need between my legs. I lower my hand back toward my sleep shorts and let out a moan. I'm turned on now, suddenly desperate for release. I dip my fingers into my shorts.

"Stop," Sam says quietly.

I ignore him, using my free hand to lift the shirt higher, drawing it over the skin of my stomach and ribs.

"Grey. Stop." Sam's voice is low, demanding.

"Okay, I'll stop," I taunt, opening my eyes and steadying my gaze on him. I keep one hand in my shorts, the other moving sensually over my skin. Sam looks rabid. He's practically shaking. His fists clench and unclench at his sides.

"I'm stopping." I keep my eyes on his as I pull the shirt over my head, leaving me in a simple bra and shorts.

I step into the threshold, bringing our bodies close enough to touch. I lift my hair off my neck and shift my hips toward his, touching myself under the shorts. Sam's eyes follow my movements hungrily, almost involuntarily. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

"Grey." He's pleading. I'm getting off on the power. I find I like this—having control over Sam, taking advantage of his need. Though, if I'm honest with myself, I'm just short of being able to stop myself. And I need to stop myself. Twenty minutes ago I was throwing my phone at the sight of Sam's name. Now I'm putting on a strip tease. For what?

I straighten and step back from the threshold, grabbing Ryan's shirt off the ground and smiling a tight smile. "Hurts, doesn't it?" 

I slam the door.

My phone buzzes seconds later and Sam's words stop my breath. "I had to work too damn hard not to touch you just now, Grey. I'll never work that hard to not touch you ever again. Come to school Monday. I'll show you and your beautiful body just how damn sorry I am."

Fuck. I swallow hard and look up as Ryan enters the foyer, a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a slice of apple in the other.

"Yikes," he says, grinning at me. "You look like you're about to go up in flames."

I shrug his shirt back over my shoulders. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you look thoroughly fucked—literally and figuratively. Did I miss all the action?"

I flash him a look and reach for the peanut butter, scooping some out with my finger.

"I'm just saying. I thought we had chemistry, but this is—whoa."

"Slow your roll, sex kitten. We never had any chemistry."

Ryan puts a hand over his heart, feigning wounded. "Regardless, this is next level shit. And the guy seems genuinely sorry. I've never seen a dude groveling quite like that before."

I grunt a laugh. "Right, okay." I take another big scoop of peanut butter and stuff my mouth with it, trying to hide the fact that my heart is rattling against my ribs and the butterflies in my stomach are going mad.

Ryan shrugs. "It's your life. And I'm not minimizing what happened with Trent and Jared. That's a totally separate beast that needs to be dealt with."

"I know."

"But," Ryan continues, "You could do with a little happiness. Or heat. Or whatever. And Evans...I mean, why not hear him out?"

I think about it through the rest of the weekend. Why not hear him out? The reasons feel endless: he humiliated me, he lied to me, he means too damn much; I can't control myself around him. But I know—I knew as soon as I closed the peanut butter jar and made my way to Ryan's guest room—that I was going to return to Ryder. I'll give Sam a final chance and I'll have a conversation with Carr. It may end in my moving to Ohio, but I'll finally begin to smooth out the frayed edges of my life.