Bad Boy Hero Page 3

  Keanen’s going to tell Bette now, who’s going to spread it all around school, and there goes any hope I ever had of a social life before it even got off the ground. I am so screwed.

  The whole night, I keep checking over my shoulder, as if he’s going to sprint off to spread the news to his friends already. But he doesn’t do anything, aside from chat with the guy he’s sitting with, and occasional steal glances my way. When it comes time for them to settle up the bill, he approaches me again and my heart leaps into my throat.

  Here it comes.

  Their drinks weren’t much—nothing in this pub costs all that much, which is another reason I figured I was safe from any of the Tanglewood kids ever running into me. But Keanen passes over a $50 bill, at least double what he owes.

  “Keep the change,” he tells me, his fingers brushing mine as he hands me the bill. Maybe it’s just my nerves already standing on end, but I swear, a physical electric charge runs down my arm, the current passing from him into me, making my heart beat even faster. “I’ll see you on campus, Missy.”

  There’s something about the way he says it. The hint of more. It makes me want to leap across the bar and drop to my knees in front of him. Beg him to keep my secrets.

  But I hold my tongue, and my position, standing there with his crisp $50 in my hand like I’ve gone numb. “See you,” I finally manage to call, after he’s already turned to leave, nodding to his drinking companion. I stare after them the whole way outside, unable to tear my gaze from Keanen’s back, wondering—hoping?—he might turn around for one last glance in my direction. But the door swings shut behind them, and he vanishes into the night without a backward glance.

  Henry notices me watching, and nods at the fifty in my hand. “Always a great tipper, that kid. It’s funny, you see a lot of those rich kids letting wealth go to their heads, but not him. His father, now, Chancellor Kross is another story.”

  My stomach tightens. Chancellor? But of course. I knew Bette’s last name sounded familiar when she first introduced herself. It’s because I first saw it on my acceptance letter to Tanglewood.

  Oh, God. Not only does Keanen’s sister rule the social roost in my grade, but also his father runs the entire school. I have to make sure he keeps my secret. Whatever it takes.

  4

  I keep my eyes peeled on campus for Keanen over the next couple of days, but I don’t see him anywhere. The upper-class students eat in a different cafeteria from us lowly freshmen—rumor has it they have a sushi bar in theirs. Although, I have to admit, for being the crappy frosh caf, I’ve loved all the meals I’ve eaten here.

  Not that I don’t enjoy my mom’s cooking at home, but it’s always comfort food. Mac and cheese, grilled cheese, tomato soup with… well, cheese. We have a theme going.

  Now I’m discovering for the first time that salads can actually be delicious, if you add more than just a few tomato slices and some store-bought dressing on top. And the steaks, oh my God. I never thought I liked meat. I realize now that’s only because my mom and grandparents always overcooked it.

  I’m tired most days, especially when I have early morning classes the day after closing down the bar, but I can’t complain. All in all, things are looking better than I ever believed they could have. It’s hard to believe that just a couple of months ago, I was back in Boston, assuming I’d never get a chance to study at university, figuring my whole life was going to be stuck in one place. Now…

  “Don’t look now,” Leah murmurs from her seat across from me in the library where we’ve holed up with Sara and Yvette for a group study session this afternoon. “But Tanglewood’s most eligible just walked in.”

  I startle and glance around, only to find Keanen striding past with a cluster of boys. They’re all handsome, in a generically preppy way, but even among guys of his same caliber, Keanen stands out. It’s not just his chiseled features or those intense eyes, or even the thin slice of his mouth and sharp cut of his jaw. Something about him just seems more mature than the other guys, even the seniors. Like they’re all new to this, but he was born to be here.

  As if sensing my stare, he glances our way. But unlike at the bar, when it seemed he couldn’t take his eyes off me—for better or worse—here, his gaze just skips right past me. Almost like he didn’t even notice me.

  My heart climbs up my throat and then sinks back down again, all in that one split second.

  I tell myself I should be relieved. It’s a good thing he doesn’t notice me. It means he’s not going to go blabbing my secret all over campus. I’m guessing he hasn’t yet, based on the fact that Bette hasn’t stopped me in the hallways of the dorm to torment me, or that rumors haven’t started swirling about my off-campus employment. Maybe he isn’t ever going to.

  Maybe Henry was right. Maybe Keanen’s one of the good ones. Not like the other rich kids.

  “Hello, earth to space cadet.” Sara waves a hand in front of my face, startling me back to our conversation, my cheeks flushed.

  “I said don’t look, geez.” Leah snickers, and nudges me under the table.

  “Hey, I can’t blame her. It’s a great view.” Yvette rests her chin on the palm of one hand and sighs, watching the guys cross the library. “How mad do you think Bette would be if I asked her brother out?”

  “Do you think he’s into that?” Sara arches an eyebrow.

  She shrugs, looking unapologetic. “Only one way to find out if he likes forward girls, right?”

  “Oh, stop.” Leah catches Yvette’s sleeve to tug her back down before she even makes it halfway out of her chair. “Besides, I heard he’s dating someone. Some girl he went out with for half of junior year, who he just got back together with.”

  I try to hide my flinch behind a broad smile. What does it matter if he’s dating someone? Even better. It means he definitely won’t care to pay any more attention to me, if he ever does come by the bar again. Which, of course, I hope he never does. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier if I just never ran into Keanen Kross in close quarters ever again.

  “So, who are the other eligible bachelors on campus?” I ask, trying to steer this conversation away from murky waters.

  Leah leans forward, always eager to talk about cute guys, and I match her, grinning. At least, if nothing else, these budding friends of mine are always ready with a quick distraction.

  That night I wind up stuck at the bar even later than usual. I agreed to work the closing shift because it’s Friday night and I know the tips will be better than usual. Henry’s here too, but he’s flooded with orders, both of us working as fast as we can in unison to keep with the demand.

  Everyone needs to take the edge off after their own shifts, it seems.

  By 1:30 in the morning, I’m exhausted, my feet throbbing and I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open. I’m still pouring out Jack and cokes by the half-dozen. Eventually, as the clock ticks closer to the end of my shift, Henry nudges my side.

  “If you want to take off,” he says, “I can finish up here.”

  I want to protest. But the full week of balancing schoolwork, socializing, homework, and late nights working here, is finally starting to catch up to me. All I want to do is collapse face-first into bed, somehow skip over the two mile walk back to campus—maybe teleport if possible.

  Since it doesn’t look like I’m going to magically be gifted teleportation abilities any time soon, I count out my tips under the bar and pass my open tabs over to Henry with a grateful nod.

  “See you tomorrow night?” he says, reminding me that I agreed to do this all over again tomorrow night, too.

  “Can’t wait,” I reply with a salute that I hope looks a lot less sarcastic than I feel. Then I duck under the bar and weave through the crowd of increasingly drunk men. There are a handful of women who come in here, usually with partners who have clearly been frequenting this place since long before they got together. But usually I’m one of only a couple female faces in the packed pub.

  Normally
I don’t even notice. I’m safely tucked away behind the bar with Henry, and besides, a lot of these guys I see here every night. If they’re a little flirty or jokey at times, I’ve gotten used to their senses of humor, and I know they don’t mean anything by it.

  But tonight, as I slip out the side door and into the alley that butts up next to the pub, I’m more aware than usual of eyes on the back of my neck. I take a few steps up the alley, toward the dumpsters that hide us from view of the main street. Usually I love how isolated the pub is, how it’s kind of hard to find. Not only does it remind me a bit of the speakeasy era, of people sneaking out to drink in dingy little hideaways like this, defying the laws of the era, but it also performs the handy trick of disguising this bar from anyone I wouldn’t want finding it. Like other Tanglewood students.

  Tonight, however, I realize for the first time the other problem with not being able to see anyone on the street from the pub’s exit door. Nobody on the street can see me, either.

  And right now, the alley’s empty save for me, and one other person stumbling out of the bar door behind me, then slamming it loudly behind them.

  “Bartenderrrr,” slurs a deep man’s voice. An unfamiliar one.

  I glance behind me, and tense. The man following me is a lot older, gray hair on his head. And he’s staring at me with a leer I don’t like one bit.

  “That’s you, right? The new bartenderrrr. Henry found a pretty one this time.”

  I take a step backward, my eyes locked on his. I don’t want to turn around and have my back to him. But I don’t want to give away that I’m nervous right now, either. Small steps, I tell myself. He’s drunk, you can outrun him if you need to. “That’s me.” I try to keep my voice bright and steady. “Hope you have a good night.”

  “Oh, it could be better.” He’s still moving toward me, faster than I anticipated.

  I reach into my purse, fumbling as I continue to back away, but I can’t find my the stupid whistle my mother insisted on buying me—for safety, “just in case,” she said. Shit.

  “Come on, you looking for an afterparty?” He’s nearly on top of me.

  Then my back bangs into something solid. The dumpster. There’s nowhere else to go. Before I can think about it or move away, the man shifts to bar my exit, cornering me between the brick wall and the dumpster.

  “Hey, back off,” I say, but my voice comes out quieter than I’d like.

  “Don’t be like that.” He steps closer. God, he reeks of alcohol. And he must be at least my mom’s age, maybe older. My stomach clenches. “I’m just trying to have some fun. Aren’t you?” He reaches up for my cheek, and I swat his hand away.

  Shit. To judge by the flash of anger in his eyes, he didn’t appreciate that.

  “Hey, I tipped you well earlier, you ungrateful little—”

  Whatever he’s about to call me, I don’t find out because the next thing I know, another hand has wrapped around his wrist. The man has just enough time to utter a surprised, “What the?” before he’s flung away from me.

  I flinch and fling an arm over my face to protect myself. For a moment, all I hear are scuffles and grunts. Then the loud smack of someone’s fist connecting with a face.

  With effort, I spread my fingers to peer between them at the scene unfolding before me.

  It’s Keanen. What he’s doing here at this hour, I have no idea—I didn’t even notice him in the bar earlier, although that could have been because it was so packed all night. He’s still wearing his school uniform, but one of the sleeves is torn, as the other man rips it down.

  “The fuck?” the other guy’s still sputtering.

  “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Women.” Keanen accentuates each word with another punch—an uppercut to the other man’s stomach, then a fist to his nose. There’s a spurt of blood, and then the other man retaliates, managing to land a blow to Keanen’s eye that makes his head snap back.

  I gasp, but he recovers fast, leaning down to throw his shoulder into him, slamming him against the brick wall.

  There’s another sound, the crack of bone against solid brick, and the other man stumbles to his knees, cursing and holding his head.

  “Get out of here.” Keanen kicks at his side. The other man grunts in response. “If I ever see you in this bar again, I’m having you arrested, understand me?”

  The man mumbles something—I doubt it’s anything approaching an apology—but he does seem to listen. He scrambles to his feet and then hurries in the opposite direction, away from the bar, toward the distant street.

  I hold my breath, watching him go. I don’t even realize I’m not breathing until stars appear at the edges of my vision. Only when he disappears from sight do I suck in a fresh breath of air and turn back to Keanen.

  Keanen, who has a visible red splotch around his eye.

  “Oh, God.” I step toward him, my hand hovering in the air between us. “That’s going to bruise. Hang on. Wait right here.” Before he can protest, I run to the door, but it’s locked. Strange. So I run around the corner and duck back into the bar through the back door, and weave my way through the crowd again.

  Henry notices me coming back in and cocks his head in a silent question. I shake my head. I’ll explain it to him later. Tomorrow, when my head is clear. For now, I have an injury to treat. “Ice,” I bark, and to his credit, Henry must sense not to ask questions. He ducks under the bar, and pops back up a moment later with a fistful of ice in a glass. I scoop up a napkin, nod my thanks, and beeline back into the alleyway.

  Outside, Keanen’s leaning against the wall, his head resting against it, eyes shut. He almost looks like he’s meditating, or sleeping standing up. For a split second, his expression looks… peaceful, almost.

  Then his eyes snap open, hearing my footsteps, and his familiar mask falls back into place. That cocky, knowing look, like he’s in charge of every situation he’s ever stepped foot into.

  Because he probably is, I remind myself. Still, I approach with the glass of ice, and wrap a few in a napkin. “Here. Let me.” I hold it up.

  Dutifully, he ducks his head and lets me press the ice to his eye. The moment it touches his skin, he sucks in a quiet breath. But other than that, he doesn’t protest. I hold it there for a moment until he takes it from me.

  “This will help keep the swelling down. And it’ll make the bruise less noticeable tomorrow, too.”

  “Familiar with treating bruises, are you, Ms. Lake?” he asks.

  The subtle tease in his voice makes my pulse kick up—so much so that it takes me a second to realize what he just said. My last name. “Well, I am pretty clumsy generally, so, yeah. Never had to ice anyone else, though, and especially not because of a fistfight.”

  “First time for everything.” He leans back against the wall again, still holding the ice to his eye. With the other, he studies me. “So you don’t make a practice of getting cornered in dark alleys, then?”

  I bristle. “I could have handled it.” I could’ve run. Or yelled. Someone inside the bar would have heard me if I’d screamed. Right?

  “Sure you could.” His good eye narrows.

  I cross my arms. “Look, thank you, but next time, just don’t get involved. I’d rather fight my own battles.”

  He cocks his head. “You know, you’re pretty terrible at saying thank you.”

  My cheeks flush. Damn it. I thought I did already, but… I shake my head. Something about him throws me off my game. Makes me say things I never would normally. “Look, I…” He catches my gaze. Whenever he looks at me like that, it’s hard to keep my head on straight. “Why are you helping me?”

  “What do you mean, exactly?” He lifts one eyebrow, his tone teasing, and yet…

  “With…” I gesture vaguely at the street, in the direction my would-be attacker ran toward. “That. But also, why are you keeping my secret? At school.”

  Something flashes in his gaze. His smile widens, just a tad. I’m not sure what it means exactly, but it makes me want to k
eep talking, just to fill the space. Because otherwise, the tension between us feels like it’s starting to thicken. Growing unbearable.

  “I mean, I sort of thought you’d leap at the chance to tell everyone I’m some poor working class kid who has to serve drinks to guys like that.” I gesture up the street again. I tilt my head, when he doesn’t reply. “Am I wrong, or would that sort of gossip be valuable as hell at this school?”

  “You’re not wrong,” he says finally, still with that unreadable look in his eye. “Secrets are a valuable commodity in any society. Tanglewood especially.” He pushes off the wall. Moves toward me.

  “So.” I find myself doing the same. Stepping toward him, even though I know I should be moving in the other direction. My instincts scream at me to run, but… “Why are you helping me?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong.” He stops just an inch from me. We’re so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body in the cool fall evening air. “I’m not helping you. I’m not a good person, Missy.”

  I raise my chin. Keep my eyes fixed on his. He’s lowered the ice pack now, and the bruise looks angrier, redder. But it only serves to make his dark eyes seem even sharper, more focused. I’ve never felt so wide-open—as if with one glance he’s tearing down all my defenses. Zeroing in on the core of me.

  I feel stripped bare. Naked before him.

  My throat tightens, but I can’t make myself swallow. “Then why?” I ask, but the words come out a whisper. A breath.

  Doesn’t matter. He’s close enough to hear them. They draw a sharp smile on his dangerous lips. “Because,” he says, bending closer, and I catch his scent. There’s no alcohol on is breath. Just a sharp, heady mix of something spicy and a little oaken, almost. It makes my breath catch, my lips part.