Stuck with the Bad Boy | ✔️

6. Body, Personality, and Brains

Luca's P.O.V.

The look on Emily's face when she realized she'd told me pretty much everything Phoenix did not want me to know was priceless. I kind of felt bad actually.

"Oh god, if you're asking me this stuff...that means she wouldn't tell you. Damnit, you're not supposed to know any of that!" She looked pissed now. Is pissing girls off just about the only thing I'm good for?

"But now that I do know, I feel like I should help."

"She won't want your help. She won't want anyone's help really. She's stubborn like that." Emily said it without a drop of doubt, "Besides, how could you even help her?"

An idea struck me then; Phoenix has nowhere to go and no money to buy somewhere to go. Perfect enough, I have a place to go and money to spare. I got lucky with my family, they're in law and managed to make a pretty good fortune from the company. With that being said, we're rich.

"She'll stay with me." I blurt.

Emily just busts out laughing, "And how do you plan on achieving such a feat, hot shot? She isn't going to listen to you. She doesn't even want my help, let alone pity from the person behind the reason she's in this situation in the first place."

"You're her best friend, you can convince her. Tell her you agreed with the idea, or even that you cake up with if. Say something like you paid me to give her somewhere to stay. She won't turn down your help, even if it is through me. Especially if she thinks you've paid me for it. There's no way she'd waste your efforts like that." As I spoke, the ideas just kept coming. It was genius if I do say so myself.

Emily thought for a moment before nodding, "Actually, that might just work."

I smirked, "I'm perfect in every way, I know; body, personality, and brains."

Her face goes dead, "You're a dumbass, but okay. I'll convince her. But if it works-"

I cut her off, "When. When it works."

"Yeah, yeah. When it works, what do I do after that?" She asks.

I thought for a moment, "You got a pad of paper and a pen?"

She nodded and pulled them from her apron, "Here."

I took them from her and jotted down my number and address, "You can text me and let me know what she says and then have her drive to my house whenever she's ready."

She took a deep breath, "This is a horrible idea. Don't you hate her? She definitely hates you."

"No, I don't hate her. I don't like her, but I don't hate her. I really don't even know her. I'm not a complete asshole though. This whole thing is my fault and I need to make up for t somehow. If you've got another idea, I'm open to suggestions." I waited, but she said nothing, "Good, so just text me when you've convinced her." I started to turn away.

Then in a smaller voice, "For not hating her, you have a funny way of showing it."

"What?" My attention goes back to her.

She clears her throat, somehow seeming nervous to speak, "I said, You have a funny way of showing that you don't hate her. Calling her a whore definitely proves that," Her glare is fearful but challenging, as though something about me is genuinely dangerous to her.

"I didn't mean that stuff I said about her. I was just getting pissed off at my friends." I sighed, clearly, it's not easy for girls to just forgive and forget, is it? I said a few things and the effects of my words have long been forgotten by the people they were said to.

"That doesn't excuse what you did." She states.

I nodded, "I know, but I'm hoping doing this to help might."

With that, I walked away with my coffee Emily had handed me and to my bike. Luckily I'd almost finished the coffee, which by now was long cooled, so I downed it and continued on my drive to nowhere.

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Nyx's P.O.V.

Anger is bubbling in my gut. How could Emily think this was a good idea? At the time, I'd stayed somewhat calm, but now that I'm actually thinking about what I'd agreed to, I can feel the elephants in my stomach, stomping around and making me feel like I'm going to throw up.

I groaned, gripping my steering wheel harder.

Emily's shift at Little Bs had ended thirty minutes ago, which was when we walked out of the building together and parted ways. She had handed me a note from her work notepad that had sloppy, quick handwriting on it written in cursive. I'd asked her what it was and she'd told me it was the address of my temporary living as well as the number of my not so gracious host.

Fuck me, why is this happening?

My entire life is a huge book, everything that happens seems to line up perfectly to a later plot and it just makes me want to stab my eyes out. Why couldn't the kind soul wanting to take me in have been anyone but him? Seriously, how was this so perfectly lined up that it was the very reason I'm in this mess to come save me?

I had to take a sharp turn because I'd spaced off and almost missed the neighborhood the address was from. As I turned, I heard a box in the back slide all the way across the seat and I'm almost positive the entirety of the contents spilled across my backseat. I sighed, that'll be fun to pick up.

My eyes glanced around at the houses I was passing. They were all huge to the point where my mouth was dropping at each one. I kept waiting for the large-scale houses to die down and give way to the normal suburban ones, but they never did.

Slowly, the house numbers got closer and closer to my destination number. When the house came into view, I was in awe. I can't imagine living in a house this nice. It's like a fucking hotel.

I scowled, a rich ass family for a stuck up bad boy, how typical is that?