Page 7 of The Bad Boyfriend Curse
Everyone starts talking at once, most saying that Kennedy should keep my earbuds. I close my eyes, overwhelmed. I don’t even want the stupid things anymore. I’m so, so pissed at the curse and at Mom for forcing me to be here. I exhale, making a list in my head of how I can escape this place.
“Kennedy, don’t be a bitch,” the dark-haired guy, Noah, says loudly. “Give Meera her AirPods.” I open my eyes, and he’s not looking at me but at Kennedy. He puts his hand out, and Kennedy immediately drops the earbuds case into his hand. He slides them across the table to me, and I quickly put them into my pocket—the one farthest from Kennedy.
“Okay, I think that’s enough icebreakers,” Lainey says. “Kennedy, you and I will talk about that little stunt after today’s session. We’ll start today by pulling out and bagging weeds. I have enough garden tools for half of you, so I’m pairing you up. One partner can use the weed puller; the other can bag the weeds for the city compost. Then switch out. Your partner is the person sitting across from you. Come up and get your equipment.”
So I have to work with Noah? I sigh. So much for avoiding boys. At least he seems to hate me a little less than everyone else here. I should thank him for getting my earbuds back. But did that other guy say that one of Noah’s favorite things is vodka? I definitely don’t need another bad boy to activate the curse.
I shake my head, resetting. It will be fine. We’re going tobeweedingtogether—that’s it. And I’m safe from the curse because this guy is so far from my type that he might as well be in New Zealand.
When we all get up, Noah smirks at me, flipping his long hair out of his eyes. “I guess it’s you and me, Princess.”
Each group is given a weed puller, two pairs of thick garden gloves, and a big paper bag to put the weeds in. Lainey shows us how to use the weed puller, tells us which weeds to pull, and sends us off. With four groups, I don’t imagine this will take very long. But when my partner motions for me to follow him, I see that the park curves a bit, then goes back all the way to the LeClair Industries grounds. It’s huge. There are some trees, and an old playground in the distance, but most of the park is grass that’s badly in need of mowing. That, and weeds. So. Many. Weeds.
“Wow, this place is way bigger than it seems,” I say.
The guy raises one brow at me again, smirking, and the sun catches the silver rings in his brow, making them glimmer. He has such an emotive face. It would be a challenge to photograph. Not that I want to take pictures of him or anything. Ugh, my brain.
“Have youneverbeen to Gordon Park before?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Are you one of thosenever cross the bridgetypes?”
I frown. What does that even mean? “Um… I just moved here,” I say. “Temporarily.”
He chuckles again. Somehow this guy makes me feel younger and way more clueless than I am. Actually, scratchthat. Iampretty clueless, in Cherrybridge at least. I can make my way from Scarborough Town Centre to Union Station in Toronto with my eyes closed, but I’m lost here in so many ways. I swallow the lump in my throat.
Noah tosses two gloves at me, but I miss them and they fall to the ground. “I’ll pull the weeds out; you bag them. Try to keep up, Princess.”
I pick up the gloves and the paper bag. Why does he keep calling me Princess? He knows my name.
Noah starts weeding. Basically the weed puller is this long pole with little spikes at the end. After poking a weed with the spikes, he puts his foot on a little foot stand and tilts the pole, which makes the weed come out at the root. Then he plunges a little lever near the handle that releases the weed, and I pick it up and put it into the bag.
Despite the guy’s scrawniness and his badly fitting clothes, Noah is kind of built. I can see his forearm muscles flexing as he spears the weeds. Up close, I have to admit that he is kind of nice to look at, if you’re into that “bad boy” look. He seems older than me and has a huge spiderweb tattoo on his forearm. His longish dark hair is shiny, and he keeps flicking his head to get it out of his eyes. His skin is clear with a bit of black stubble, and his jeans are black and worn, especially at the hems, like he’s had them forever.
I remember what he said was important to him: his guitar and his band shirts. Is he wearing a band shirt now? I can’t make out the purple writing on it. The shirt is so big, it’s hanging off his square shoulders.
“You could take a picture and zoom in, if you want tostudy me that hard,” Noah says suddenly. Crap. I quickly turn my head to focus on the weeds.
“I wasn’t studying you,” I say as I put a weed into the bag with a little more force than I intended.
Again there’s laughter in his eyes. “Yeah, you were.”
“I was… I was trying to make out what your shirt says. Temple of God? Is that a religious thing?”
“Temple of the Dog. It’s an old grunge band.” I must look confused, because he rolls his eyes. “Why did I think a princess would know grunge?” He drops the weed from his pole at my feet.
I pick it up. “I know grunge. And why do you keep calling me princess? I’m not royalty.”
“You got dropped off by your wealthy daddy in a Porsche, you have the newest AirPods model, and those shoes don’t look worn in at all. You’redefinitelythe princess in this group.” His eyes flick down to my shoes and travel up before landing on my collarbone, making me blush. “I like your necklace, though. That eye issick.”
My hand goes to my evil-eye necklace. The large black beads totally don’t match my pink sweater, but Nani said I should keep wearing it. “It’s a talisman,” I say. “It’s to protect me from—”
“From people like me?” He smiles kind of sultrily, lips barely upturning at the corners. His smoldering dark eyes are mesmerizing. I realize that Noah isn’t just kind of nice to look at. He’s incredibly hot.
Ugh. What’s wrong with me! Getting hit with the curse unearthed a boy-crazy streak in me. Nani is right. Mywho I shoulddate meter is totally off if it’s telling me this tattooed bad boy is hot.
He takes a step closer to me. He smells like grass and laundry detergent, and my heart beats heavily in my ears. “I don’t have an issue with princesses, especially pretty ones,” he purrs, his eyes on mine with laser focus. “In fact, if you’re looking torebelagainst your royal family, I can be of service.” He pulls back and gives me a smile thatliterallymakes my knees weak.
