Asshole's Bride (Bad Boy Romance) Page 4

  She shifted on the couch so that she was leaning with her legs to the side. The position accentuated her perfect curves, the deep dip from her hips to her waist. He watched the way her chest swelled with each breath, the smile she got when one of the teens on TV made a stupid joke about technology.

  Elle was interesting. Not only did she put him at ease, but she knew technology and she had goals. He worried, for a moment, that he would hold her back. Our marriage isn't even going to be real, he reasoned. She can still do everything she wants to do, and I will never hold her back.

  The thought crossed his mind about other relationships. Would it be acceptable for either of them to have other lovers? If their grandmas never found out, he wasn't sure if it mattered, but would she care? Would he?

  Look at me, thinking about the future. So unlike me. He focused back on the TV, just in time for the doorbell to ring. “Pizza's here! Can you turn off the show and grab the beer from the fridge?”

  “Sure,” she said, and left him to answer the door. Troy paid the delivery guy, tipping him an extra ten dollars. They settled back onto the couch, and Elle was the first to dig in.

  “So,” he started, taking a bite of the pizza. He chose a national chain instead of something more local, since he didn't know what was good in Sedona. “Tell me about yourself. Like, your past.”

  She thought, then shrugged. “I don't really know what to say. I was a loner in high school, and I'm a loner now. I just want to kind of skip to the part where I'm happy and have a family.”

  He frowned. Was she really so unhappy with her life as it was? That couldn't be good. “Tell me about past boyfriends. Where did they fuck up, so I don't make the same mistakes?”

  She gulped, and boy it was loud. Then she didn't say anything for a few very long moments, taking a deep breath and holding it. “Well, I've never had a boyfriend. Loner, remember.”

  “Wait. Are you a virgin?” Incredible! He knew then that he had to try and get her in bed. He'd never had a virgin before.

  “Don't be a dick about it. Yes, I'm a virgin.” She took a sip of the beer. “This stuff is expensive? It tastes like shit.”

  “All beer kind of tastes bad. It's an acquired taste, and it's about getting drunk, not about how good it is.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I like it.”

  She took another sip, grimacing. God, she was adorable. Something about her made him want to cradle her face in his hands, kiss her nose, touch her lips…

  As she ate, she drank more of the beer, hating it less and less with each sip. She was more than tipsy after the first one. The second one had her drunk. Then she started in on her third.

  “Slow down there, lady,” he said, taking the half drunk beer from her. “This is your first time, you don't have to overdo it.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “I jusht wanted to have shome fun. I'm shick of being pished off.” She was slurring her words, but he knew half of it was for show. She wasn't that drunk yet.

  So damn cute.

  “Hey, you wanna shee my yearbook? Then you'll know why no one wanted to fuck me. I was grosh looking.”

  “Sure. Where is it?” She pointed to the book shelf, and he found it on the third shelf from the top. Her senior year high school yearbook, with not a single signature or farewell inside of it. Just looking at the thing made his heart hurt for her.

  How many kids at his school had he ignored like she had been ignored?

  “It'sh on like page twenty five,” she said, leaning back. “Get ready.”

  He turned to that page, but she wasn't there. She was on the next page, though, smiling with braces. Her hair was double braided, and her face did look strangely thin.

  “Shee? Grosh. That'sh why noooo one liked me.” She looked more hurt than her voice sounded.

  “Really? Because I see the first glimpses of someone who would become drop dead gorgeous over time.” He looked at her, and saw the look of disbelief on her face. She rolled her eyes and told him to shut up. “No, seriously. You look beautiful.”

  She ripped the book from his hands and threw it on the ground. “Don't lie to me.”

  Grabbing her hands, he scooted closer to her and searched her eyes. She looked away. “Look at me,” he commanded, and she complied. “You are beautiful, Elle. You really are. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

  “Liar,” she said. Then she leaned in and touched her soft lips to his. She tasted like beer and garlic, but he didn't care. His head was swimming with her touch, her presence.

  She placed her hand on his chest, leaning him back, and rubbed her soft body against him. Her breasts were pressed against his pecks, her hand below her and caressing his cock.

  When reality finally seeped back into his brain, he took a deep breath and broke the kiss. “Elle, I don't want your first time to be when you're drunk.”

  She broke down crying, sobbing really, and he didn't know what to do. “You think I'm ugly just like all the rest of them did! I knew you were lying!”

  He growled, then picked her up in his big arms. She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. Carrying her up the stairs, with Roman following, he put her in her bed.

  “I wasn't lying. I'm protecting you. I won't sleep with you, not tonight, but I will sleep next to you. With my arms around you, until you fall asleep. I'll be here.”

  She clung to him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. She fell asleep quickly, but he took a long time. Her scent, the sound of her heart beating, the way her body pressed against him kept him awake longer than he would have liked.

  Chapter 5

  Elle

  Why can't I move? Those were the first words in Elle's mind that morning, when she woke up and found that her body was being held down by something. At first she was worried that it was a night terror, but then she opened her eyes and saw a beautiful, stubborn face.

  Troy was still asleep when she started pushing away from him, grunting from the exertion. He was apparently a deep sleeper, because it took a few shoves before he finally woke up. Roman was curled up at their feet on her bed, but he woke up as Troy did.

  “Let go of me! Oh, god, did we have sex? Did you take my virginity? I was drunk!”

  “No! Elle, I just held you to help you sleep. You were having a bad night.” She kept pushing away from him, then stood up on her bed and jumped off, getting as far from him as she could. She checked her body for any signs that he was lying, but there were none. Her clothes were rumpled, but still in place. Nothing hurt but her head.

  “Yeah right,” she said. “Maybe we didn't fuck but I bet you took advantage of me.” She knew it wasn't rational, but she wanted to hurt him and get him to go away. She wanted to be as mean as possible. Her head throbbed. “Oh, God, my head hurts.”

  Giving her a sharp sigh, Troy got out of her bed and walked to the door. “Drink some fucking water and take some aspirin. I'll be back later.”

  Roman followed him out of the room and into his own bedroom. She was considering apologizing to him as he passed by, with Roman on a leash, but he was out the door before she could get up the nerve.

  Great job, Elle. Maybe you don't have any friends because you're a bitch, instead of because you're ugly. A few memories of the last night surfaced then, and she felt truly ashamed. He was just trying to keep her from having a self-deprecating melt down.

  She would have to apologize to him later, profusely. He really had been a gentleman, and took care of her even though she didn't deserve it. I can be a real asshole sometimes. Maybe he and I are meant to be.

  That thought struck her as funny. Believing in fate, when it was being so cruel to her? Could she get more ridiculous? It was just a coincidence that they had been thrust together by their grandmothers, forced to marry. It was a coincidence that they would only have to suffer through for a year.

  She went downstairs to the kitchen, which was where her phone was charging. After taking some pills and drinking a cup of water, she checked it for any calls. Five m
issed calls from her grandma. Great.

  Before she could hit call, Rosalinda called her again. She picked up. “Hi, Grandma.”

  “Elle! How are things going with Troy?” Her grandmother sounded chirpy and happier than usual. Which was saying a lot, because she was always excited or awe-struck about something. Easily amused, that's what her grandfather used to say about her. That woman could be amused by a shiny string if you told her it was a gift, he would say.

  She bit her tongue. “Fine. Did you need something?”

  “Yes, dear, I actually do. Do you prefer pink or red?” She could hear Ina talking in the background, then her being shushed by Rosalinda.

  “Red, generally. Why do you ask?” She took a seat at the kitchen table and looked out the window. It was going to be a hot day. The bird that lived in the saguaro cactus out front was chittering loudly.

  “Ina and I are picking out tablecloths. They have a lot of pretty ones, but I don't want white. They get dirty so easily. The red ones are more expensive, but we only need a few since it will be a small wedding.” She clucked her tongue, then gasped. “Oh, since I have you on the phone, I need you and Troy to both come by Hot Cakes tomorrow. We're tasting cakes and the bride and groom should probably get a say in it!”

  “I have work at 4 so it will have to be a bit earlier in the day,” Elle reminded her grandmother. She really did not want to have anything to do with a wedding, certainly not her own, but there was no getting out of it. Not without a massive guilt trip, at least.

  “That's fine, dear. Noon will do. I'll call Glenda and let her know, she's personally making your cake.” Glenda was the owner of Hot Cakes, as well as a member of Rosalinda's quilting club. She was amazing at her job, and that was finally something for Elle to be excited about.

  “Will she be able to finish it? When is the wedding going to be?”

  “Next Friday. We already have the church reserved! It's a quiet season for weddings apparently.”

  She rubbed her forehead, breathing out slowly. “Grandma, I have my practicum at the library on Friday. Every Friday. You know this, and I also know your memory is just fine.”

  “Well, you'll just have to miss it. One missed day won't be the end of the world.” Rosalinda scoffed, then told Ina what she just said. Ina said nothing, but Elle imagined her response.

  What if it was the end of the world, though? One mistake and she could lose her job. Not that the practicum paid anything. She only got class credit for it, but it was necessary class credit before she could start on her masters.

  “I'll talk to them about it tomorrow, after we taste the cakes, I guess.” Elle hoped that a week's notice was all she needed.

  “Good. Okay, dear, Ina and I are going to get back to preparing. There's so much to do when it comes to weddings! You be good to Troy, and be nice to him. He's a good boy.”

  Ina piped up, “And don't have sex until you're married! It's improper!”

  Rosalinda chuckled. “Yes, try to keep your pants on. It's only a week.”

  Offended, Elle sighed. “I'll try my hardest, Grandma.” It wasn't worth it to argue with her. It wasn't worth it to tell her that there was no chance in hell that she would ever have sex with Troy. No matter how beautiful he was, he was off limits.

  They hung up. Elle sat at the table for a long time, watching the birds in the saguaro come and go. After a while, she crumpled and laid her head on the table, crying. She just didn't know what she was going to do.

  Everything seemed like it was falling apart. Her life was out of control, and no one was helping her put it back together. They were just working together to make it worse.

  What was she supposed to do when everyone she knew was working against her like that?

  Troy

  What the hell is her problem?

  That ran through Troy's head over and over again as he was riding to his appointment with a psychiatrist. I tried to be nice to her, I bought her pizza and let her drink too much of my expensive beer. I was a perfect gentleman when she tried to jump my bones, too. I don't deserve this shit. If this is what I get for being a good guy, then I'd much rather be bad. At least bad gets some damn respect.

  Her sad face and quivering bottom lip flashed in his mind, and his chest seemed to fill with something warm. She was beautiful, he had to admit. He just wished she didn't have such a bad attitude.

  Part of Troy's agitation was coming from having to see a new psychiatrist. It didn't help he was paying extra because it was a rushed appointment, but Dr. Diamond was supposed to be one of the best in Arizona.

  I gotta start remembering that money isn't really a problem anymore, he thought to himself. Easier said than done. After he was out of the army, it was a shock to find out that the will his parents left specified he make his own way until he was 30. He went from being a pampered, spoiled child to being a broken adult with nothing to fall back on but his grandma's kindness and willingness to break the rules.

  Grandma Ina wasn't the best person in the world, and she did make him do some stupid things to ask for help, but she was always willing to dip into her account to help him so long as he promised to pay her back when he was 30.

  Stepping into the modern building that acted as Dr. Diamond's office, Troy checked in and took a seat. I wonder how Elle would react if she knew I had to see a shrink? Would she think I was crazy? Well, he reasoned, I guess I am a little nuts.

  “Troy Whitemarsh?” The woman who called him was tall and thin, in her fifties. She wore a black dress that suited her age, and black shoes with flashes of red on the bottom of them. Her gray hair was done up in a tight bun. She kind of gave off the 'hot teacher' look.

  He stood and followed her back a few rooms. Her office was exactly what he expected a shrink's office to look like. Her desk was long and faced into the middle of the room. On it was an expensive, fashionable computer as well as a few papers. She kept the desk cleaner than his last psychiatrist.

  There were multiple chairs and a couch that he could have chosen to sit in, but he chose the simple chair that was pressed against the wall and was closest to her desk. She swiveled in her fancy seat to face him with a smile. “So, Troy, I did just get all of your papers transferred over here. But why don't you go ahead and walk me through the problems you're having.”

  He nodded, sitting up straight. “Sure. Um, my parents died when I was young, and they were wealthy so I was a spoiled brat. Got into a lot of fights after they were gone, but I've worked through their death by this point. My grandma raised me, and she's the one who encouraged me to go into the army. I didn't need to, like I wasn't required… but I needed to, in order to grow up.” He paused, thinking about what he would say next.

  “In the army, I was almost killed. It was a woman, bombs strapped to her chest. I came out of it fine, somehow. I don't even know how. But I came out fine. My best friend didn't. Even before I started to drag him out, he was dead.”

  “I see,” she said, nodding her head. “So this is where your fear of women comes in?”

  “Yeah. When I came back, I had no problems with men. I don't know if it's just because of the suicide bomber, or if it might also be because there were no women in my unit so I didn't get to see them as 'good guys' for two years. I'm sure there's more to it than just the one cause.”

  “Perhaps you're right. It's good that you can talk through these problems so well, since your file says you had a hard time communicating when you came home.”

  “I communicated mostly with my fists for a while.”

  She chuckled. “Alright. Do you think you've seen an improvement?”

  “Not really,” he said, trying to remember. “I mean, obviously at the beginning. Before I started having money problems. But I've gone a long time without any medication and a while since my last shrink visit. So far, my hands haven't started to shake with you, though.”

  She smiled at the term and nodded, scribbling a few notes.

  “I did meet someone. Well, I was kind of thr
ust into her life by my grandma, but it's a woman and I don't think I'm scared of her. Not in the same way as other women.”

  “Oh? Go on, tell me more about her.” Dr. Diamond stood and poured herself some coffee from a small table in the corner of the room, gesturing to ask him if he wanted some.

  Troy shook his head. “Well, I guess my grandma and her grandma decided forever ago that they wanted us to get married. It's kind of a modern day arranged marriage, and it's tied to money for both of us. She'll lose her house if she doesn't marry me. I'll lose my trust when I turn 30. It should have been a really stressful situation, but everything about her has been… Impressive, I guess.” He smiled, remembering her face and the way her hair smelled as he laid with her.

  “She's really smart. Driven, in a way I'll never be. But she's also goofy and weird, and acts before thinking. So she's like a puzzle.” He didn't think he should bring up that when they first met, she caught him jerking off. Somehow, though, that was also a fond memory for him. “She's brave, too. The way she's handled our grandmas and this situation has really been impressive. I look up to her, I guess.” All of those fond feelings were making his eyes well up a bit.

  He batted away the tears. He wasn't a crier. Get it together, man.

  Dr. Diamond watched him as he composed himself, giving him the time to do so. “So, no fear from her at all?”

  He thought, then shook his head. “There's some. I think that lack of fear is starting to scare me. Like I'm waiting for the other foot to drop, or if I let my guard down she'll make me regret it.”

  She made more notes, then thought. “Okay, so this girl.”

  “Elle.”

  “Elle. Does she get along with you?”

  An unexpected laugh escaped him. “Sorry! It's just, she's fighting the situation more than I am. It drives me nuts, actually. She never just seems to settle into a holding pattern. I don't think she likes me at all, and it doesn't help that I was forced to live with her.”

  Dr. Diamond's eyebrows raised. “Oh? That's interesting.” She scribbled some more. Troy tried to get a look, but psychiatrists have worse handwriting than normal doctors. Then she turned to her computer and started typing.