Page 52 of Pucking Bad Boys

I should have been on cloud nine, but the feeling that expanded in my chest when his lips left mine was just the opposite.

He didn’t kiss me because he wanted me. He kissed me to spite Gen. To make her jealous.

And speaking of jealousy, what does it say about me that I was kissed by the man I’ve been crushing on all year and yet there was a big part of me that broke at the sight of Gen and Becks kissing?

I wanted to walk up to them and rip Gen off Becks. Maybe throw her in the pool.

That’s why I stormed out like a silly middle schooler.

Thoughts of Macklin and Becks kept me up all night. I would do anything to kiss Macklin again, but I can’t help but wonder how it would feel to kiss Becks.

I’m a stupid basket case. Not only am I not over my hopeless crush on Macklin, I had to go and feel attracted to his brother too.

But in both cases, I’m shit out of luck. I might be stupid enough to crush on two popular men who could have any woman they want, but I’m not blind. The hottest brothers in the world are both into Gen.

Becks came to the party as her date and didn’t leave her side all night. And Macklin wants her back despite what he’s been saying to Gen during summer training.

He gave away his bluff by kissing me. That’s another thing that kept me up all night.

The best kiss I’ve ever had was a lie. Macklin didn’t kiss me because he wanted me. He did it to make his ex jealous.

My heart is crushed, but I have myself to blame for it.

I should have known that men like Macklin and Becker Shayba don’t go for women like me.

They go for the thin, willowy types with a body fit for a high fashion runway and millions of adoring followers on social media. Women like Genevieve Bergen.

I’ve been so busy wallowing in self-pity that I almost forgot that I agreed to have the first tutoring session with Macklin.

He should be here in about half an hour with breakfast.

Canceling on him now is cowardly, but I don’t think I can handle being in his presence after last night.

The truth is that there’s no way to back totally out of my promise to tutor Macklin this semester. It would be a dick move to leave him high and dry after I agreed to help him. Especially because he already fulfilled his end of the bargain. He bought me brand new copies of all the books listed in Professor Cantucci’s syllabus; they arrived yesterday.

Maybe I could get a refund and pay him back. But I would need to give him a reason for backing out, and I can’t find anything that would make sense.

And even if I did, I would still have to see him in class and at every party and social event on campus since we gravitate inthe same social circles. Maybe Macklin would understand if I told him why I’m struggling with the idea of spending time with him. But I can’t tell him how I feel about him when I know there’s no way he feels the same way about me. Refusing to tutor him without a valid reason would make things between us more awkward.

I’ll have to put my big girl panties on and find a way to get over my embarrassing feelings for him. But not today. That kiss is too fresh in my mind.

I can still feel his lips on mine, taste him. The way he explored my mouth with the same sexy confidence he puts into everything he does.

Just the memory of how he nipped my bottom lip with his teeth sends a new wave of tingles to all my nerve endings.

I’m so fucked.

I grab my phone, racking my brain for an excuse to buy myself out of at least today’s tutoring session. Those big girl panties will still be waiting for me next week.

But the universe has a sick sense of humour. I’m still trying to come up with a plausible excuse when my phone vibrates in my hands. It’s a text from Macklin. He’s outside, waiting for me. He’s early and I’m still in my PJs.

They say women are supposed to be great at multitasking. But whoever said that must have not met me.

Trying to get out of bed at lightning speed and typing an answer announcing that I’ll be downstairs in five minutes proves that multitasking isn’t one of my innate skills.

I land on the hardwood floor of my bedroom, dragging the bedsheet that’s tangled around my ankle off the bed.

For the first time since moving into this room, I wish there was carpet on the floor.