Make Me Bad - R.S. Grey Page 0,34

wouldn’t be suggesting another task. My heart leaps in my chest at the prospect that the second mission could be anything as wild as the first one. I took my panties off in front of him. I stuffed them into one of Jake’s books! I let him hide me away in a corner, his body and scent and touch all but stealing the life right out of me. I’ve been thinking a lot about that moment when our bodies were pressed together, when I let his hand graze the edge of my breast. I think about it most at night, when I’m alone in bed. Last night, I unbuttoned my pajama top and ran my hand across my stomach and then…lower.

My stomach dips from the memories then Colten walks back into the kitchen. I jerk forward for the wooden spoon and get busy mixing the pasta.

He looks at me like I’m weird. “What are you doing?”

I wave my phone. “Just looking up the recipe to make sure I’m doing it right.”

He frowns as he opens the fridge and reaches in for an apple. “Haven’t you made it a dozen times?”

“Yeah,” I say, staring at the boiling water and waiting for inspiration to strike. “But…well…sometimes I salt the water and sometimes I don’t. I forgot which way I like it.”

Lame. Bad. Very unconvincing, Madison.

He levels me with one more skeptical glare then turns back for the living room without another word. I hear him take a big bite of the apple and then I sag against the counter.

I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I tell myself.

I wasn’t fantasizing about Ben with my brother and dad in the next room. I was thinking about fantasizing about Ben. There’s a big difference!

Still, I decide there’s no point in texting him back now. I wait until Colten’s gone and the leftovers have been put away. I’m cleaning the dishes when my dad walks in with his adult softball league shirt on. I forgot he has a game tonight. It means I’ll have the whole house to myself for the next few hours. I let him kiss me on the head and wish him luck before he walks out the door. Then, with speed usually reserved for X-Men and dudes running from the cops, I dart across the kitchen for my phone. My hands are still covered in suds. I can’t even unlock the screen.

“Gahrrrr,” I grumble impatiently, wrenching the towel from where it hangs on the stove and drying my hands as quickly as possible. I toss it over my shoulder. It lands on the ground. I’m typing out a text as fast as my little fingers can tip-tap-type on my iPhone.

Madison: Okay, I know what I want to do. Are you free tonight?

My hand is shaking so much, my phone screen is blurry. I can’t even read my own words. Why did I text him? Oh my god, he has friends. He’s probably at a dinner party or like a fancy fashion show. I don’t know—how do rich people spend their time? I’m pacing now, chewing on a nail, angry at myself, angry at Ben for turning me into this version of myself. Everything is dark and abysmal. I hate my phone and whoever invented texting. Mr. Apple, Elon Musk—they all suck. I bite my lip and resist the urge to shove the offending device down the disposal, and then it vibrates and it’s him! He’s replied and my whole world is bright and beautiful again. Butterflies float around my head like a halo.

Ben: I’m still up at the office, but I’m leaving soon. What do you have in mind?

Oh my GOD.

This is my moment. I have to take life by the balls, and then because that sounds gross, I decide to take life by the hand, but forcefully.

Madison: Great. Come pick me up. I’ll tell you where we’re going then.

I have no idea what he means by “leaving soon”. It could be ten minutes, could be an hour, so I rush upstairs and yank my dress off as I go. I won’t repeat the same mistakes I made over the weekend. I’m not going to wear the same boring dress I wore all day at work. I pick out a pair of jeans and a short, flowy white peasant top. When I move, it exposes the barest hint of my midriff. It’s probably the sexiest thing I own, which is a little sad now that I think about it. I should at least