Page 60 of Miss Behaved
“What was that?”
“The off button,” he says, and even if he’s behind me, I can hear his grin. “No more thinking. Now have at it before your system resets.”
I smile, holding the bat in both hands. Then, before I can put thought into it, I walk over to the wall of glasses and swing hard.
The bat connecting echoes through the room. Shards of glass splatter across the table. My grip on the bat tightens as I watch the pieces settle like glitter, microscopic fragments shimmering all around.
I set the bat down and head over to a stack of dishes. I take a few of them in my hands and look over to Carson.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I say, holding them up overhead before throwing them down to the ground in a solid thrust. They shatter against the concrete and fan out across the room.
“Everything you thought it’d be?” Carson asks, looking down at the broken pieces.
“Yes.” I grab another one and toss it down with the rest, splicing it apart. “And then some,” I say with a big smile. “It’s surprisingly freeing.”
He stands on the far wall with his back leaned against it, watching me move through the room in a wave of destruction. Every time I catch his eyes, they darken, and it makes me want to run over to him and destroy myself with his body. To feel him take me in this mess and let go of anything holding me back.
After all the dishes are in fragments on the floor, I finally pick up the bat again and face the table, examining it as Carson comes up beside me and plants the sledgehammer between us.
“It’s gonna take a lot more than a wooden bat,” he says, taking the bat from my hands and tipping the handle of the sledgehammer into my palm.
Adrenaline courses through me as I look around at the damage I’ve done. Messy destruction by my own hand. I’ve always been the careful one, the perfect daughter, the planner. Walking the tightrope. Making the right decision. Never straying. Never going too far.
Maybe that’s why I always go for the bad boys. It’s the only way I let myself rebel against my own nature. It’s not like I didn’t have the model of a happy life from childhood. My parents are madly in love after all these years. Faithful. They gave all they could to me and my sister and showed us what healthy love is.
I still went and picked one wrong relationship after another anyway.
Why do you always pick the bad boys, Monica?
Don’t you know they’ll break your heart?
Break my heart, shake me up, set me free. Each relationship was a reminder of how good chaos felt, and Carson was the first man to give me a taste of it.
I lift the sledgehammer and feel its weight in my hands as Carson backs up. It takes a hard lift to get it into position behind me, and I tighten my grip so it doesn’t fly from my hands as I swing the weight of it.
I rotate my arms up and around, moving in a full axis, finally striking the table with a hard slam as it connects and bounces off unceremoniously.
“Fuck!” I yell, letting go of the sledgehammer and rubbing my hands together. The vibration from the impact stings my palms.
Carson belts out an animated laugh. “Did Monica Lopez really just cuss?” He comes up and takes my hands in his own. “My job must be done. You’re officially unwound.” He rubs his thumbs over my skin, and the sting gives way to the electricity of his touch.
“Very funny,” I say, trying to hold back my smile. “Just because I don’t have your potty mouth doesn’t mean I can’t toss a swear word around every so often.”
“Whatever you say, Mon.” Those ocean blue eyes shine with his smile. “You okay?” He looks at my hands, and I realize the palms are turning a little red.
“I’ll be fine,” I sigh. “I fought the table, and the table won.”
“It’s not over yet.” Carson picks up the sledgehammer, and I step back as he slowly swings it in his hand, adjusting to the weight. “Don’t worry, I’ll slay your dragon.”
“How gallant of you.” I laugh, but inside I’m a puddle of mush melting to the floor.
Carson Calloway is no prince charming. He doesn’t say the right things or do what you’d expect prince charming to do. But with that sledgehammer in his hands, swinging it back and circling it around with every muscle in his body flexing from the brute force, I’d let him fight for my honor any day.
The sledgehammer hits the center of the table, and a crack stretches across the wood.
“That’s only because I warmed it up for you,” I say.
Carson doesn’t look at me, but I hear him chuckle. “Of course,” he says, winding the sledgehammer back around and connecting once more.
