Page 7 of The Bad Girl

Chapter 3

Nadine

I walk down the hallway leading to my apartment knowing I’ve been defeated.

Maxwell Stryder is one-hundred-percent right, as much as I hate to admit it. I’m the human equivalent to macaroni and cheese. A comfort food, and for some reason, I’m attracted to muscle heads covered in tattoos that ride motorcycles and stare at every rack they come across like it’s a beer tap.

If there was ever a person that was right for a nerdy CPA with a pocket protector and ultra-thick lenses in their black-rimmed glasses—it’s me.

I peel off the thigh-high boots, slide the skirt and fishnets down my thighs and off my legs, and pull off the sorry excuse for a shirt, letting the girls breathe while I raid the fridge. With the performance they were forced to put on tonight, they deserve it.

After taking a gallon of chocolate ice cream from the fridge, I throw on a pair of pajamas and settle into the couch, remote in hand.

No, I will not watch Golden Girls, not when there are exciting shows like…Temptation Island on. Yeah, that’s more my demographic.

But I want to watch Golden Girls—it’s what my future CPA husband would approve of.

I pop the lid off the ice cream and dive my oversized spoon into the tub that I had been saving for my next period and turn on the Golden Girls.

The show is comforting and familiar, like an old friend, and I’m soon lost in Blanche’s antics.

After a few spoonfuls of ice cream, I set the tub down on the end table, noticing the small stack of mail awaiting my attention.

Bill, bill, political bullshit, donation request—no thank you, cream-colored envelope. Hmmm.

It’s from Allison Decker, my childhood best friend, and I have a sneaking suspicion it’s more than just a how-ya-doing letter.

I tear open the envelope, and sure enough, I find a wedding invitation.

JOIN US FOR THE

Wedding of…

ALLISON DECKER

and

ERIC WILLARD

Allison’s getting married. Of course, she’s getting married. We only acted as each other’s bridesmaids some five-hundred plus times growing up. But now, as the event comes to fruition, I find I’m left out of the wedding party.

I can’t blame her. After high school, we just kind of grew apart. We went to different colleges, made new friends, and went off to start new careers, practically as strangers. Eventually, we both came back to the city, but we haven’t even bothered getting together despite living not even an hour away from each other.

Then, there was the Tom situation, Tom being her older brother…and perhaps my biggest regret.

When we were younger, having our pretend weddings, Allison’s mom would force Tom to stand in as my groom. When I was six, and he was eight, we kissed at the altar, or rather, I kissed him, and he screamed and had an epic meltdown thinking he had contracted cooties.

At fourteen, when he was sixteen, I developed a raging crush on him, and he became my everything.

Then, when I was eighteen and he was twenty, I made a decision that has haunted me ever since.

I snuck into his room during a sleepover, one of the last nights I had with Allison before we both headed off to college. The moon was shining in through the window, illuminating his well-muscled body as he slept. I knew I was being stupid, but young lust doesn’t let you think straight. When finally I had gathered enough courage, I woke him, and to this day, I remember our exact conversation.

“Nadine? Is that you? What are you doing in here at this hour?”

I pulled off the oversized shirt I used as a nightgown, staring him brazenly in the eyes. “I’m leaving in two days, and a lot can happen when I’m away at college. I don’t want my first time to be with someone I regret.”

He looked perplexed, like he still couldn’t fathom what I wanted from him.