Chapter 4 The Bad Boy

My father and Olivia looked entirely too disappointed when I told them Archie and I were grabbing dinner before going out with some of his friends.

For a second, I thought my father might actually argue with me about it. The man practically lives for forced family dinners and fake smiles around the massive marble table downstairs. But after a long pause and an unreadable look in his eyes, he finally nodded once.

“Have fun with your cousin,” he said carefully.

Like we were some normal father and son.

Like he hadn’t detonated our family years ago.

I muttered something that sounded close enough to agreement before getting the hell out of there.

The second Archie and I climbed into his Jeep, the tension that always clung to Blackwood Manor loosened from my chest.

“Jesus,” Archie muttered as he backed out of the driveway. “I thought Olivia was going to chain us to the dining room chairs.”

“She probably considered it.”

He laughed while I leaned my head back against the seat, already feeling lighter the farther we got from the Manor.

The Smoke Shack was exactly how I remembered it.

Thank fuck.

The place sat near the edge of downtown Blackwood Ridge, glowing under old neon signs that hadn’t changed in years. Inside smelled like grilled onions, grease, and heaven. Easily the best burgers in town and probably one of the only places around here that didn’t feel fake as shit.

I ordered my usual double smoke burger with extra bacon and a whiskey barbecue sauce that should honestly be illegal. Archie grabbed some monster-sized burger stacked so high it practically needed structural engineering to stay upright.

“And two Oreo shakes,” Archie added to the waitress.

“You’re a child,” I muttered.

“You love me.”

Debatable.

Still, dinner was good. Comfortable. Easy.

One of the only perks of only being in Blackwood Ridge during summers is that most people don’t really know me. Sure, everyone knows the Blackwood name, but I spend most of my time hiding at the Manor or locked in my room working. I don’t get swarmed with attention the way Archie does.

Archie thrives on it.

Meanwhile, I avoid people like it’s a profession.

Being Richard Blackwood’s son comes with expectations. Attention. Ass-kissing. Especially here where my father practically runs half the town through Blackwood Financial. He’s the COO. My uncle Robert dominates most of the luxury real estate market in the area.

Basically, Blackwood Ridge belongs to my family whether anyone likes it or not.

I hate that.

By the time we finally reached Brody’s fraternity house, I already knew the night would be exactly as terrible as I imagined.

And I was right.

Every summer it’s the same bullshit.

Warm beer.

Sweaty rooms.

Half-naked drunk girls stumbling around in heels they can barely walk in.

Guys doing increasingly stupid shit trying to impress each other.

Honestly, it’s sad.

Archie slaps my shoulder as we walk inside. “Try not to look like you’re attending a funeral.”

“No promises.”

Music pounds through the house hard enough to rattle the walls. The entire place smells like beer, cheap perfume, and bad decisions.

Brody greets us almost immediately near the kitchen.

“CJ!” he shouts, pulling me into one of those aggressive football player hugs. “Thought you were hiding in New York forever.”

“Almost did.”

Brody laughs loudly before getting distracted by someone yelling his name across the room.

Brody and Archie have been inseparable since they were kids, so by default I’ve spent years getting dragged into their chaos. Honestly, I don’t mind Brody. He’s one of the few football guys I can tolerate.

Archie pushes me toward the living room while he disappears to grab drinks.

I end up leaning in a dark corner near the wall nursing whiskey out of a goddamn red Solo cup.

Which should honestly be considered a crime.

Good whiskey deserves better.

That’s when I notice her.

A blonde standing near Brody and his girlfriend. Cara.

I’ve never met her personally, but I know who she is. Small town. Everyone knows everyone eventually.

But the blonde beside her?

She catches my attention instantly.

Unlike every other girl in the house wearing dresses that barely qualify as clothing, she’s in ripped jeans and an oversized shirt. Casual. Comfortable. Real.

Then she turns slightly.

Black-framed glasses.

Every few seconds she pushes them back up her nose absentmindedly, and for some fucking reason it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Guys are already circling around her like sharks smelling blood. Even Archie ends up nearby talking with the group.

I take another sip of whiskey, watching carefully.

Interested despite myself.

Then she fully turns around.

And my entire fucking brain short-circuits.

Holy shit.

Natalie.

The golden daughter.

I stare at her from across the room completely stunned.

Because the girl standing there doesn’t look anything like the polished image Olivia parades around in framed photos at the Manor. She looks…human. Soft around the edges. Nervous. Beautiful in a way that doesn’t even feel real.

No.

Not beautiful.

Fucking magical.

My heart starts hammering so hard it catches me off guard. Heat crawls across my skin while something dangerous twists low in my stomach. The feeling is immediate and completely irrational.

I haven’t even heard her voice yet.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I lean farther into the shadows automatically, pressing myself against the wall so I can watch her unnoticed.

She laughs at something Cara says, and I swear the sound alone nearly takes me out.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Her blonde hair falls in messy waves over her shoulders. Her oversized shirt slips slightly, exposing the delicate line of one collarbone. Her green eyes behind those glasses are bright despite the obvious discomfort written across her face from all the attention.

Because she hates this.

I can tell instantly.

Every guy around her is staring too hard. Standing too close. Asking too many questions.

And she’s trying to be polite through it anyway.

Then Cara drags her toward the dance floor.

Natalie stumbles slightly.

Too much alcohol.

I notice it immediately.

The music swallows them whole as they disappear into the crowd. Natalie starts dancing with Cara, and for a second I completely forget how to breathe.

She lets go completely.

No hesitation.

No self-consciousness.

She moves like nobody’s watching her, swaying her hips with the music like she’s alone in her bedroom instead of surrounded by hundreds of people.

My mouth goes dry.

My hands actually fucking tremble imagining what her skin would feel like beneath my fingertips.

Where are these thoughts even coming from?

I live in New York. Beautiful women are literally everywhere. Models. Actresses. Rich girls throwing themselves at anyone with money and a last name.

None of them have ever affected me like this.

Not even close.

I’m seriously debating leaving the safety of this wall and talking to her when I see Wade moving through the crowd toward her.

And instantly every instinct in my body turns violent.

Wade’s eyes lock onto Natalie like prey.

He slides his hands onto her hips from behind, and suddenly I’m seeing fucking red.

Natalie grinds back against him lazily, clearly drunk and caught up in the music, and I’m one second away from committing felony assault.

How dare he touch her?

The thought is completely insane.

I don’t even know her.

But watching his hands on her makes something savage wake up inside me anyway.

It takes only a few minutes before Wade starts kissing along her neck while pulling her away from the dance floor. My stomach drops immediately.

Natalie’s stumbling now.

Barely steady.

Definitely too drunk.

At first I think he’s taking her upstairs, but instead he leads her out the front door.

Alarm bells explode in my head instantly.

By the time I shove through the crowd and get outside, they’re gone.

“Fuck.”

I look down one side of the house.

Nothing.

Then the other.

There.

Wade has Natalie pinned against the side wall of the house, one hand shoved underneath her shirt while his mouth works against hers aggressively.

But she’s not responding.

Not really.

Her arms hang limp beside her body. Her head tilts lazily against the wall.

She’s completely out of it.

“Wade!” I shout.

He breaks away from her lips and looks over irritated.

“Get lost, CJ.”

“She’s fucking passed out,” I snap. “I’m not going anywhere. Let her go.”

Wade laughs directly in my face.

Wrong move.

I stalk forward until we’re chest to chest.

The second Wade releases her, Natalie crumples toward the grass.

Rage detonates inside me.

Wade swings first.

I dodge easily.

Then my fist connects with his jaw hard enough to send him crashing flat onto his back. The impact shakes through my arm painfully while Wade groans on the ground.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

People nearby start screaming.

Within seconds half the football team comes flooding outside.

“What the fuck happened?” Archie demands.

I ignore everyone else completely as I crouch down beside Natalie, carefully lifting her into my arms.

She’s warm. Soft. Barely conscious.

“Wade was trying to rape her,” I say coldly. “She’s completely gone. It’s Natalie. Olivia’s daughter.”

The second I say her name, Archie’s expression darkens.

“Fucking asshole,” he spits toward Wade, who’s still trying to stand while clutching his jaw.

“Archie,” I say sharply. “Keys. I’m taking her home.”

“I should get Cara.”

“She disappeared upstairs with Brody,” I mutter. “Do you really want to walk into that?”

Archie grimaces immediately. “Absolutely not.”

He tosses me his keys.

“Let her know when they come down.”

I carry Natalie to the Jeep carefully and settle her into the passenger seat before buckling her in.

What the hell is she even doing here a day early?

As I close the door, her eyes suddenly flutter open slightly.

Drunk green eyes blink up at me unfocused.

Then her hand reaches clumsily toward my face.

“Heterochromia,” she whispers softly while hiccuping. “You’re beautiful.”

Before I can even process the words—

She grabs my shirt and kisses me.

The drive back to Blackwood Manor is quiet.

Natalie falls asleep almost immediately after we leave the party.

I keep glancing over at her during the drive just to make sure she’s still okay.

By the time we pull through the gates of the Manor, the entire house is dark except for a few dim lights glowing downstairs.

The last thing I want right now is questions.

I kill the engine and sit there for a second staring at her sleeping form.

Then I carefully unbuckle her seatbelt.

I slide out of the Jeep and move around to her side before lifting her carefully into my arms. She melts against me instantly, warm and completely trusting despite barely being conscious.

Using the side entrance, I quietly carry her inside and up the stairs toward the second floor. The Manor is silent except for the creak of old wood beneath my feet.

Halfway down the hallway, I stop.

My room or hers?

If I leave her alone tonight and she throws up in her sleep—

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

The image alone makes panic twist violently in my stomach.

I don’t even hesitate after that.

My room.

I push the door open quietly and carry her inside before lowering her carefully onto the bed. She sighs softly against the pillows while I brush a few strands of blonde hair away from her face.

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter even though she’s asleep.

I leave long enough to grab water, Advil, and a small trash can just in case she gets sick later.

But the second I walk back into my room, I freeze.

Natalie is somehow half naked.

“Fuck—”

Her clothes on the floor. She’s curled up beneath the blankets in nothing, completely passed out.

When the hell did she even take her clothes off?

I drag a hand down my face slowly.

Setting the water and pills on the nightstand, I force my eyes literally anywhere except her legs while I gather up her clothes from the floor. I fold everything neatly and place it on the chair in the corner before setting her phone beside the water.

The entire time I can feel tension pulling tighter through my body.

This is torture.

Actual fucking torture.

I strip out of my shirt and toss it onto the desk chair before climbing carefully onto the opposite side of the bed. I leave all my other clothes on intentionally.

The last thing I need is Natalie waking up confused and thinking something happened between us.

Because nothing did.

I stare up at the dark ceiling trying to ignore the fact she smells like heaven.

Then she moves.

Natalie shifts beneath the blankets before suddenly rolling across the mattress toward me. Before I can react, she climbs directly on top of me.

My entire body locks up instantly.

Her soft hands cradle my face while her lips brush against mine in a slow drunken kiss.

Fuck.

Every muscle in my body goes rigid.

She’s warm everywhere she touches me, soft skin sliding against mine while she kisses me again like she means it.

I don’t move.

I can’t.

Because she’s drunk.

Too drunk.

She won’t even remember this in the morning.

“As much as I would love this,” I murmur against her lips, my voice rougher than normal, “you are way too drunk.”

She makes a frustrated little sound when I gently guide her backward.

The noise nearly fucking kills me.

The second my hands touch her bare waist, every thought in my head short-circuits, again. Her skin is unbelievably soft, smooth beneath my palms, and my body reacts instantly in ways I absolutely do not need right now.

I carefully move her back onto her side of the bed while trying not to completely lose my mind.

Natalie only sighs sleepily before immediately curling back into the pillows.

Probably already forgetting I exist.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting here fighting for my fucking life.

I grab the sheet and wrap her up tightly like some kind of blanket burrito so she can’t accidentally climb on top of me again.

At least that’s the plan.

Because if she kisses me a second time, I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to resist her again.