Living With The Bad Boy [COMPLETE][VERSION ONE]

Chapter 7

To be fair, I would've probably been awake anyway. The cherubs are just making it worse. I just can't seem to quiet my mind, which makes sense, even excluding creepy bald babies with wings staring at me. It's my first night in a new place, and I'm an insomniac even in my own bed.

This is your bed now, I remind myself. Vernon is not your home anymore. You can never go back.

I could've sworn that one of those cherubs just moved. It's looking at me, heart-shaped bow pointed at my face, sneering at me. I roll my eyes. Obviously. Eros. There's a carving of frickin' Eros on my bedpost. I look back at its death stare.
"Shit, I need to get out of here."

The hallway is deserted as I slide down it, wincing with every squeak of the floorboard, every sound my rabbit slippers make as they slide across the wood floors. My phone flashlight is the only thing illuminating the hallway, and I half expect some ghost to jump out at me as I reach the kitchen. I move my flashlight to my left hand, leaning against the heavy oak door, praying that it's unlocked when... I almost fall through the door frame. The door is open... weird. Is Connie awake? At 2 am? Slowly, I step into the dark kitchen, shining my flashlight around the room. No sign of Connie. I guess she just forgot to close the door on her way out?

Trying to settle my unease, I take another step into the kitchen, towards the industrial freezer that both Connie and Lizbeth have assured me will be stuffed with more ice cream than they could ever dream of eating. "Please take it off our hands!" Connie had practically begged me. I'd laughed, but now I was grateful for the information. Having ice cream at 2 in the morning would make this place feel less foreign. I think of Fourth of July weekends with my parents, sitting in the back of their pickup truck at midnight outside our house to watch the fireworks. We were never allowed to go to the Glendale celebration, as it cost an exorbitant amount of money, but we always watched from afar, and my dad always made sure to stock a cooler with enough ice cream that I never felt upset about not going to the parade. My hand closes on the freezer door when I hear a metal 'clang' from behind me. Shrieking, I swivel around, dropping my phone in the process. Fuck. This was why the kitchen door was unlocked. Someone must have broken in.

Everything is silent for a second and I can't hear a thing other than the pounding of my heart. But the hairs on the back of my neck prickle like they know something's happening.

I want to pick up my phone to look around, but I'm practically paralyzed with fear. All of the horror movies I've watched suddenly come back to me, and I almost legitimately whimper thinking about what kind of serial killer could be here, lurking in the darkness around me. My heart pounds as adrenaline courses through my body, and I'm stranded here, too paralyzed to even pick up my phone so that I can actually see whatever ax murderer is coming for me.

"What the hell?" the door to the kitchen opens and, abruptly, I see a blinding golden flashlight shining at me. A rock drops into my chest, sending shivers down my spine, my fingers tingling and paralyzed. The sound I make is hollow and quiet, shock but without the energy of a scream.

The flashlight points on me again, and I hear Jase's voice. "Red? What the hell are you doing down here at 2 in the morning?"

"I could ask you the same question." Still trembling, I grab my phone, shining it at Jase. He's wearing nothing but black shorts and soft gray slippers, his entire upper body exposed. I can't help but blush, though, in the dim light, I hope he doesn't notice. I've never... Seen a guy up close like this before. At night. Half-naked.

"I was hungry," Jase says, sheepishly holding up a box of ice cream bars.

"Weed cravings?" I ask coldly, looking at him up and down. He doesn't... look high, though, honestly, what would I know on the subject?

"No? I couldn't sleep," Jase says, looking at me, the confusion palpable in his creased brow. "It's two in the morning and I'm at my house. Why on earth would I be high right now?"

I shrug. "How the hell am I supposed to know? You're Jase Turner. I thought you were always high or something."

If my words bother him, he doesn't let on. "Well, I'm not. What are you doing down here, anyway? Getting a knife to murder us all in our sleep with?"

"Funny," I say, in a chilly voice that lets on exactly how not funny I think this is. "I... needed some water. And to get out of my room. I think the cherubs are plotting to kill me."

He smiles uncharacteristically, and I get a small glimpse of his dimples. "Plotting to kill you? That's quite a strong accusation."

"You didn't see them. They're terrifying. We've been having staring contests all night."

"And yet you don't sound tired. What kind of psycho are you?"

"It's because I'm on crystal meth, obviously," I deadpan, not missing a beat.

He snorts. "Make sure to give me some. This weed I'm apparently on isn't strong enough."

He winks at me, and I feel like there are elephants doing cartwheels in my stomach. Which is a bad sign. I focus on how annoying he's being, not his smile or his dimples or the defined muscles of his stomach, visible even in the low light.

"I'm gonna... go back to bed," I say softly, walking past him and forcing myself not to look back on him.

No matter how strangely nice he's being, nothing good will come out of falling for Jase Turner.