Make Me Bad(14)

“Madison,” he says.

My name is a spell on his lips and I’m sick of being the good girl, sick of always staying in my lane and taking the easy way out of things. One second, I’m standing in front of Ben Rosenberg, too scared to be honest for fear of what he’ll think of me. Then the next, I’m throwing caution to the wind and shouting, “Make me bad!”

I heave a sigh as if I’ve just lifted a million-pound boulder off my chest, and wow I’m still at work and I definitely just caused a ruckus. Jesus, what have I done? Make me bad?! What does that even mean!?

A mom with a small child stomps over between the shelves and looks at me in horror.

“…is the name of the book I was telling you about,” I mumble. “New York Times bestseller, great storyline.” I smile really widely at her to throw her off my scent, but she still leans down for her daughter’s hand and drags her away.

Ben, meanwhile, is looking at me like he’s never looked at me before, like he’s interested in what’s going on inside my head. I hope he finds out because I’d like to know too.

Then, the edge of his mouth tips up and this…this is the last image I want to see before I die of embarrassment: Ben Rosenberg smirking at me—Ben Rosenberg with his perfect jaw-to-cheekbone-to-brow ratio, with his rich person arrogance and his cocky posture. Be still my loins.

“What do you mean, ‘make you bad’?”

He’s barely stifling his smile. I know it.

I roll my eyes and return to my duties of shelving books. “When you say it, it sounds stupid. It’s just part of my birthday resolution. I want to make this year different, more exciting. I have things I want to achieve, but I think I’m too chicken to actually do them on my own. That’s where you come in.”

“Why me?”

“Because, Ben…” Now I’m the one smirking, the one stepping closer and tilting my chin up to stare into those amber eyes. “You’re bad news, remember? The perfect partner in crime. You’ll be like Virgil guiding me through hell.”

He props an elbow on the shelf beside him, addressing me with equal levels of curiosity and amusement. “So what are we talking about here? Eating grapes at the grocery store before we pay for them? Jaywalking?”

I tilt my head back and forth, mocking him. “Oh, yes, ha ha.” Then suddenly, I’m as serious as a heart attack. “No, real stuff. I want to get my first tattoo. I want to go to a party—one where people are making bad decisions and I might too.”

His eyes narrow on me, and I swallow and look away.

There’s another thing—something pivotal—that I’m leaving out. I’ve only ever admitted it to Eli, and he’s never judged me for it. No, I curse myself. It’s not something to be ashamed about. It’s not like I’m some kind of old spinster just because at the ripe old age of twenty-five…

“Also, youshouldknowI’veneverhadsex.”

I say the words so fast it’s like they come out in one lump sum, just a pile of syllables that don’t add up to much, but leave it to a guy to hear the letters s-e-x said in succession and figure out exactly what I meant.

Ben coughs, but it sounds more like a strained choke. “That’s part of it? You want to change that too?” he asks, hoping for clarification.

I nod, and then because he looks like I’ve just demanded that he strip me down right here and do me against one of the bookshelves, and because he looks absolutely horrified at the prospect, I find it important to clarify. “I’m not asking you to change that. Oh my gosh, NO. That’s…” I shake my head, letting that sentence die on my lips. “But you probably have a hot friend or something. I don’t know—we’ll get to that later. I just thought you should know everything before you make your decision.”

He should be turning on his heel and bolting out of the nearest emergency exit. I’ve just laid it all out there for him, all the awkward bits of me that, in normal circumstances, I’d rather die than reveal. In a way, it makes sense. It’s much harder to share dirty secrets with family and friends, people in your close circle, people you’ll have to be around for the next fifty years. Ben Rosenberg is so far out of my league, out of the realm of possibilities, that somehow, my secrets are safe with him.

I glance up and try to discern what he’s thinking. Are we about to shake on this and call it a deal or am I going to have to find some other person to push me out of my comfort zone? I fidget and wrinkle my nose, brush a few stray pieces of hair away from my face, thinking, very hard, about turning and walking away from him without another word. I’ll go my way. He’ll go his. We’ll never see each 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?”