Bad For You - Sherilee Gray Page 0,5

there to say? The guy I was crazy about didn’t want me. Didn’t find me desirable. Hadn’t even been able to get it up when I’d had my mouth on him.

But what did I expect? He was an insanely sexy, badass biker who’d no doubt had scores of hot women lick him all over, and I was an inexperienced librarian who’d gotten all nervous and wracked with guilt—God, had freaked out—when he’d tried to go beyond second base.

Being with Jarod had given me warped, twisted feelings about sex and relationships. He’d made me feel terrible about myself.

Jesse had made me feel the opposite.

Then he’d hurt me, too.

I curled my fingers into a tight fist. No. I refused to let the hurt creep back in. I was done, so done with letting people treat me like my feelings didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.

It had taken every bit of courage and strength I’d possessed to break away from my suffocating, controlling parents. Still, their harsh and ugly words rang through my head whenever I did anything they would have slightly disapproved of.

I fought that almost every day.

Caring for Jesse, wanting someone who didn’t want me, made me feel—weak. Made me feel like that sad, scared girl who didn’t know how to escape the pain.

I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.

My phone chirped again, and Maddie stirred beside me. I quickly put the phone on silent.

Unknown: Bambi?

God. I used to love it when he called me that. Now? Not so much. The meaning behind it, the way he obviously saw me came across loud and clear. And it wasn’t flattering. Wide-eyed, naive, inexperienced. Cute.

I freaking hated that word.

I’d wanted him to look at me and have his jaw hit the floor at how sexy and confident I was. I’d wanted to tear his clothes off and ravage his glorious body, and he’d basically patted me on the head and sent me on my way.

I’d been a bit of fun to him, maybe a challenge that got old quick. Not surprising when he had sexy, adventurous, and experienced women under his nose, willing and waiting to give him whatever he wanted on a daily basis.

Unknown: Know you’re awake, Lila. You always read late. What you reading?

Why wouldn’t he stop? Why wouldn’t he just leave me alone? Was he getting off on torturing me like this? Ha! At least that would be something.

My finger hovered over the screen. Politeness that had been drummed into me all my life insisted I reply.

He hurt you.

He’d also never promised you anything.

No, he hadn’t. It had been my overactive imagination that had come up with some ridiculous, grand love story, some invisible “connection” between us, when in reality it had been a handful of make-out sessions and some late-night calls and texts.

Unknown: Wuthering Heights?

I blinked down at his text.

He’d asked once and I’d told him. I never thought he’d remember.

Big deal. He has a memory. So do goldfish. It means nothing.

No, it didn’t.

I couldn’t do this with him. I couldn’t do this to myself.

I turned off the sound and put my phone back on my bedside table facedown.

Jesse and I were done. For good.

Jesse

I took a bite of my burger and screwed up my face. How could you fuck up a cheeseburger? Guess I should’ve paid attention to the near-empty parking lot. Lila would’ve hated this place. She liked to cook, liked good food.

I mentally shook the shit out of myself. Jesus, I needed her out of my head.

I still couldn’t believe I’d texted her a week ago. One minute I was lying there thinking about her, the next I was tapping out a damned message. It didn’t matter that walking away from her was for the best. It still seriously sucked. And I’d caved.

She hadn’t replied.

What the fuck did you expect?

I took another bite of my burger, scowled, and tossed it down on the plate.

I just wanted to find my brother and be done with this. But Trip wasn’t making it easy, and he’d dragged Sofia, his old lady, along with him. She’d managed one distress call to me, then nothing.

If he’d hurt her? Shit, I curled my fingers into a tight fist.

My asshole brother was as violent as our father.

You’re not much better.

Yeah, I was good at inflicting pain, at dishing out club justice when it was needed. Which was why I’d been made an enforcer, just like my twisted old man had been, but that’s where the similarities ended.

Unlike him, I would never lay