Page 101 of The Bad Girl

Chapter 35

Nadine

“Wow! Your place looks like it belongs in a magazine,” Tom says as I set two glasses of wine on the sofa table.

I take a seat on the couch, curling my legs up underneath me. “I just moved in, actually. After the accident, Maxwell wanted to make sure I wasn’t bothered.”

“I’m glad he’s taking such good care of you.”

I smile, taking a glass from the table and sipping gingerly at the bitter blend.

Tom stretches, revealing a hint of lean, taut abs. At twenty, he was just a boy compared to what he’s become now. A gorgeous specimen of a man.

“So, do you speak with Aly much?” he asks.

“Ummm, no. We kind of drifted apart after high school.”

“Oh.”

“You really haven’t kept in touch much, have you? Even with family.”

His body grows tense, and a sick feeling takes hold of my gut, similar to how I felt with my mother last week.

“Two months ago, Aly called me up and said she’s getting married—that I’m going to be an uncle.” He looks at me, somber. “She said she wants me to be in the wedding, despite everything.”

“Despite what?”

“I think I’m going to need a little more of this before I go there,” he says, raising his glass.

What on Earth is he getting at? Did he steal something? Get caught up in drugs?

His arms are heavily tattooed, but there are no track marks present, and honestly, he looks healthy. Maybe he’s been clean for a while.

I pour him more wine and watch him drink the whole glass down in a gulp, then he takes the bottle and pours himself more.

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” he finally says.

He’s a hot, sexy, bad boy sitting on your couch. He’s also successful and obviously cares for you. It’s now or never.

I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and scoot a little closer. The feel of his warm breath washing over my neck sends a tingle down my spine.

His hand wraps around my shoulder, and his fingers trace gentle circles on my skin.

I feel my nipples grow tight, and I close my eyes, trying to relish the sensation.

But it doesn’t feel good. It feels invasive.

A surge of emotion overwhelms me, and I leap from the couch, spilling my wine.

Tom looks up at me, stunned. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice ripe with concern.

“I-I-I just don’t know.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Yes! Wait, no!” I sigh in frustration, unable to articulate my feelings. “Tom, we need to talk.”

“I’m all ears.”