f*******n Bully Erotic Romance: Rough Taboo Bad Boy

Chapter 1-2

“Oh. I forgot I’d written it there.”

“A simple thank you will suffice.”

“Thanks,” I reply. “Although, this was totally unnecessary. I could have gotten it myself.”

“I didn’t mind.” He slowly looks me over. His eyes scan my feet, up my legs, my thighs, which makes me press the notebook against my chest, even though the towel covers me enough. He smirks slightly as his eyes trail up my breasts, my neck, then to my face as my cheeks start burning. He meets my eyes, licks his bottom lip slowly, then walks away. He glances back once, like he’s checking if I’m affected by his seductive scrutiny. Squaring my shoulders, I arrange a calm expression and he scoffs before turning towards the stairs once more. As soon as he disappears, I take off and run to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Oh my god. What an impression! Why couldn’t he appear when I had my hair and makeup done? I move to the mirror, groaning at my reflection. I look like s**t, my hair hanging like a wet mop on my head. My skin is completely dry-looking with no moisturizer on. The only spot of color on my face are my cheeks that are still flaming red. At least they perk up my expression a little. But I’m still on satisfied.

Time to fix this problem.

Digging in my closet, I choose a cute red dress that compliments my creamy white skin tone and I blow out my hair a little. Not wanting to seem like I’m trying too hard, I dab on light foundation and add volume to my eyelashes with a mascara. My cheeks don’t need blush, but I add a little just to complete the look. After adding a spray of cologne I’d gotten as a gift last Christmas, I feel like myself, ready to face my family downstairs.

And Sawyer.

Why did he take my book upstairs to me? Do I even want to know?

Guys like Sawyer only want one thing. A good time. The question is, would he want that from me? I’m too reserved and not worldly enough. I doubt I’m his type. And if he’s Asher’s age, he’s about four years older than I am. I doubt he’d want to bang a college junior when there are several older women at his disposal.

Yeah. That’s right. I’m reading into his actions too much. The book was on the couch, probably in his way, and he decided to save me the trouble of getting it. Makes sense. It makes perfect sense.

But then, how do I explain the way he looked at me?

Oh, screw it. I’m done thinking about this. But heading downstairs, I acknowledge one thing; I’m no longer dreading the holiday. I’m sure Asher will continue being a d**k, but there’s something about Sawyer’s presence that makes me believe it won’t be as bad as I dreaded. Call me optimistic or crazy. Or both.

I paste on a smile as I enter the dining room and find Asher yapping like crazy about his investment banking job. He’s performing superbly well, it seems, but that’s always been Asher. As big of an asshole as he was to me, I can’t deny how smart he’s always been. He grins. “I’m thinking a promotion is waiting for me when I get back.”

“Sounds like you’re doing great things, son. I’m proud of you.” Aaron beams.

My mom nods. “You’re doing such wonderful things and setting such a good example for Zoey.” I clear my throat and she looks up and sees me and smiles. “There you are. I wondered if you decided to study instead.”

“That can wait,” I casually reply, but I’m not as confident as I appear. organic chemistry is still kicking my butt.

I’m aware of Sawyer’s eyes on me as I take my seat from across him, but I don’t look. Instead, I force my focus onto the food in front of me, helping myself to steak and potatoes and some greens on the side. Asher shakes his head as he eyes my plate, but he says nothing.

“Oh, you look lovely, honey. Did you do something with your hair?” Mom asks, and I immediately wish for the floor to take me in. Way to call attention to the extra effort I made, Mom. Hopefully Sawyer doesn’t think it’s for him.

Asher’s eyeing me closely, like he’s wondering the same thing. But he can rest easy. I doubt Sawyer even cares how I look. I chance a glance at him, and his face is almost buried in his plate, his mouth like a vacuum, sucking up the food. One would think he hadn’t eaten a meal in days.

He looks up and catches me staring and his brows bunch together as he frowns. His expression reads, what?

I shift my gaze and delicately dab my mouth with the napkin. Don’t judge, Zoey. You don’t know him. Don’t judge.

But I steal another glance. Sawyer cuts his eyes at me and returns to the food. There’s none of the steam from our encounter in the hall, which makes me wonder if I imagined it. Yeah, that’s it. My overactive imagination has been playing tricks on me.

“So, Sawyer. How did you and my son become friends?” Aaron asks, and Sawyer pauses eating to look over at him. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or thinking of his response. It could be both. He seems like a guy with secrets, lots of them, and it’s not because of the many tattoos that graze his upper arms, which were hidden earlier by his jacket. It’s those eyes. There’s something dark lurking behind them, something intriguing and terrifying at once.

He straightens in the seat with a shrug. “Kinda random, I guess. Asher frequents the bar where I work and we kind of gelled. That’s it.”

But my instincts tell me that’s not it, and they have never been wrong. Looking at Asher, I notice the tension on his face. Yup. Definitely something there. Should I get to the bottom of it? It would be another fine way to distract myself this weekend, something that doesn’t involve olive-green eyes that makes my stomach turn somersaults.

Nah. I need to study. That’s the only distraction I need.

“Well, I’m glad Asher found someone who... for lack of a better phrase, balances him a little. I like that you’re different from the stuck-up assholes he usually hangs with.”

I look at Aaron in disbelief. He’s clearly not aware his son is one of those stuck-up assholes. He’s either blind or in denial.

Sawyer’s brows lift as he frowns, and I suspect he’s offended by Aaron’s comment. But he says nothing. His expression clears as he digs into his food once more.

I’m pushing around the lettuce on my plate when I hear his deep voice, “Can you pass the sauce?”

There’s a short silence and I lift my gaze to find everyone staring at me. “Oh, sorry.”

I hand the bowl to him and our fingers touch as he takes it. There’s an instant awareness that makes my stomach flutter. My face feels like it’s on fire as I jerk my hand back to my lap. I’m sure the entire table notices the blush on my face. Damn it. Sawyer gives me a cocky smile, confirming my reaction is clear as day. I drop my gaze to the plate, fiddling with my food once more, but I can feel his eyes boring into me.

Don’t look up, Zoey. Whatever you do, don’t look up.

But Sawyer’s eyes are like magnet. I can’t help it. When I raise my eyes from my food again, he’s looking at me with the same cocky smirk. But this time, there’s something else in his eyes. Something deep, and hot, and it triggers a slight ache between my thighs. I try to shift my gaze, but I can’t. He’s keeping me in place with that sexy look; the one that tells me has something up his sleeve. An intention that includes me. I shiver under his stare until it’s interrupted by Asher’s noisy scraping on his plate. I glance at my stepbrother’s deep scowl before I go back to picking at my mashed potatoes. I’m sure I’m misreading the l**t in Sawyer’s eyes.

Right?

If he’s truly Asher’s friend, I can only imagine how little he knows about me. And if he does know anything, I’m sure it’s not the most flattering. But it shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care about his opinion of me, or if he’s interested in me. Because I’m not. I don’t date bad boys, and Sawyer seems like the worst of the lot. His bedpost is probably out of space with all the notches he’s collected over the years. I don’t intend to get added to his list.

“So, are you ready for finals, Zoey?” Asher suddenly asks, which surprises me. He’s never asked me about school. Ever. I wonder if Sawyer has any influence on his attempt to be civil to me. But that’s a laugh, isn’t it? Sawyer seems the kind of guy who would trigger the opposite response.

I give Asher a casual shrug. “I’ve been studying like hell. Besides having a biology paper to complete and organic chemistry to seal under my belt, I feel pretty ready,” I say, lying through my teeth. “Thanks for asking, though.”

“You’re having issues with organic chemistry?” Sawyer chips in, and I frown at him.

“Not really. It’s just some minor subtopics I need to grasp, but I’m doing fine.”

“Well, if you need help, just holler at me. I used to kick a*s in chemistry before—”

“Zoey’s fine, Sawyer. She just said so.” Asher gives Sawyer a direct stare. “Besides, you’re here to destress, remember? Not play tutor.”

“Listen, if Zoey needs the help and Sawyer’s willing, I don’t see the problem,” Aaron says.

“She doesn’t. Right, Zoey?” Asher says, sending me a message in his stare. I nod in reply, but I’m dying to know why he’s hell bent on blocking Sawyer’s help. Does he not trust Sawyer? If not, why the hell is he in our house?

Who is this stranger sitting at our table?

“Great. Discussion closed.” Asher looks around the table with a pleased smile, like he’s just accomplished something great. But Sawyer looks tense. He’s clearly not pleased with Asher’s bid to steer him away from me, but I don’t think he’s surprised. Again, I wonder; who is this guy, and what is he doing in our home? Is Asher trying to protect me from him?

Nah. Asher only looks out for number one; himself. He doesn’t care about me like that. He doesn’t care about me at all.

I help clean up after dinner, then go back to studying on the couch. The men move to the garage where Aaron keeps his collection of luxury motorcycles and Mom gets busy marinating meat for dinner tomorrow. Taking advantage of the silence, I curl up on the couch with my notebook so I can really focus on memorizing these ionic formulas.

The couch suddenly dips, pulling my attention from the book. I look up to find Sawyer staring over at me. “It seems like you could use that help, after all.”

And I’m still not sure why you are here, spending time with my family over Thanksgiving. Out loud, I reply. “No, I’m good. Just doing some last-minute cramming.”

I start to get up and he reaches for my wrist. His fingers barely touch before he lets go, but it’s enough to send an awareness through my body. “If you are as good as you say, then put that s**t away and relax. It’s a holiday for a reason.”