Make Me Bad - R.S. Grey Page 0,18

other again. In time, I’ll be able to convince myself this whole afternoon was some horrible nightmare.

“When do we start?”

I blink twice as his question sinks in, and then hope blooms on my face. He’s going to do it?! His features don’t change. He’s as hard and unyielding as I’ve ever seen him. If he thinks it’s awkward that I’ve just discussed my virginity with him, he doesn’t let it show.

I clear my throat and try to sound nonchalant as I reply, “Next Saturday. You come volunteer in the morning and—”

“No.” He shakes his head just once. “Too much time for you to chicken out. Tonight, my friend’s having a party. Jake Larson—you know him?”

My eyes widen. “He’s friends with my brother.”

“Is that a problem?” he asks, boldly.

My heart pounds wildly.

“No, you’re right. There’s no problem.”

7

Ben

I’m still not wholly convinced this isn’t one big joke. What are the odds I’d end up stumbling upon Madison in the library and she’d tug me between two bookshelves then beg me to help make her into a bad girl? It can’t be real, any of it. It’s nearly pornographic. Her, in that dress, the pale blue color setting off her bright eyes and flushed skin and generous lips…and hell, I was still recovering from the shock of seeing her again when she launched into her master plan, or rather, her ultimatum: if I didn’t help her, she wasn’t going to let me volunteer here. It’s hot air. I could go around her. She has a boss. I could find a way to volunteer pretty easily, I’m sure of it. Still, I like her gumption, not to mention the fact that there’s no way I’m going to say no to her. Why the fuck would I? It’s not like she’s asking me to move mountains. In fact, she’s requesting the exact opposite.

Make her bad.

Jesus.

I’m losing my head.

I’ve been out of high school for over a decade and here I stand, feeling like I’m eighteen again. This whole thing feels wrong. She’s the innocent little librarian and I’m apparently the last man on earth her father wants her to be talking to. I guess everyone has a little rebel inside them.

“What time is his party?” she asks, glancing down at her hands.

I want to smile, but I don’t. Something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate being the butt of a joke right now. I can tell she’s nervous around me. She meets my eyes every now and then, but it’s fleeting. She’s fidgety, shifting back and forth on her feet. Maybe she doesn’t want to get caught slacking on the job, or maybe she doesn’t want to get caught between these shelves with me. Either way, she’s blushing and her heart is racing. I know it.

“People should get there around 8:00,” I explain.

Her brows shoot up. “I’m usually in bed with a good book by like 8:15.”

The corner of my mouth hitches up. “Backing out already?”

Her head tips up and her gaze locks on mine. My taunt has finally forced her to show a little pride.

“No,” she emphasizes with a steely tone.

I nod. “Right. Then I’ll pick you up on my way.”

Her eyes widen in alarm. “That’s probably not a good idea, considering…” She shakes her head. “I’ll just have my brother take me. I’m sure he’s going.”

Fine. Makes sense. I’ll still see her there.

After we agree, our conversation shifts to volunteering. She walks me through the children’s area, explaining the basics. It’s not exactly rocket science, which is good because I barely listen to a word she says. I’m still hung up on her revelation. Virgin. Madison Hart is a virgin. How is that possible? Was she homeschooled? No. Kept under lock and key? Not likely. Hidden away from every man in the entire world? If her dad had anything to do with it, yes.

There’s no way around it—she’s a knockout. I even try to look at her objectively, stripping away the details I’ve come to know: the girl-next-door charm, the enigmatic appeal. Are there men who don’t like large green eyes? Guys who aren’t into dark brown hair and fair skin? Maybe, but that means they’re idiots or blind. Those are the only two options. I guess some might prefer obvious beauty, the done-up sex dolls, but Madison is obviously beautiful, just not conventionally beautiful. There’s a difference.

“Ben, are you listening?” she asks as leads me through a doorway.

“Yeah.”

No, I am not listening. I’m staring at her profile and thinking about how I’m going