HOW TO CATCH A BAD BOY

She tugged on some cotton shorts, a tank with a built-in bra and a T-shirt, worn through in spots from being washed so many times. When she flipped on the bathroom lights, she took a second to remember, again, what she’d felt like before the night began. Happy. Terrified. Excited. Now she just felt exhausted. A makeup remover wipe took care of her face, bringing it back to its normal state. A brush did the trick for her hair when it was tugged high on top of her head and off her neck. Her hand was just about to flip the light switch off when the door buzzer rang.

Elena froze. “Nooo,” she moaned because for some weird, fucked up reason, she just knew. Oh, did she know who it was. She knew it couldn’t be Emily because she’d given her sister a key. It rang again, and she swore under her breath. It was the kind of language that would’ve cost her a fortune in her family swear jar.

With a brick of nerves lodged in her throat, Elena hit the speaker button. “Who is it?” she asked, hoping that her guess was wrong.

“Let me up, Love.” Chandler’s voice said.

“Oh shit, fuck, dammit,” Elena mumbled. She cleared her throat and pressed the button again. “I’m sorry, who is this? I just got this place so if you’re looking for the previous tenant they’re not here anymore.”

Elena pinched her eyes shut at how utterly ridiculous she sounded. It was embarrassing in fact, but Chandler called her out right before she fled. Like a coward.

“Elena,” he replied patiently, the smile evident in his voice. “Let me up, please. I need to talk to you about something.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Trust me, it’s a great idea.”

Elena rolled her eyes but hit the buzzer. The faster he came up, the faster he could leave, she thought. The faster he left, the faster she could ignore whatever she was feeling towards him this night. His heavy footsteps approached the door, and she pulled it open, one hand perched on her hip. “Say what you need to say and go Chandler.” She said,

Chandler slowed to a stop, his fathomless eyes tracking from the top of her messy bun, across her sleep clothes, and stopped at her naked toes. A grin covered his face when he met her gaze. “This is the real you, isn’t it?”

Elena shifted uncomfortably. “What do you need, Chandler?”

He didn’t answer right away, which allowed her some studying time of her own. The buttons on his Henley had been undone, and there was another line of ink under the notch of his throat. Honestly, what was he trying to compensate for with that many tattoos?

“May I please come in?” He held up his hands. “It’ll take me five minutes.”

“You have three.” Elena told him.

“Ouch.”

When she pulled the door open and moved to the side to let him in, he did the same thing he’d done in the kitchen and grinned down at her when he passed. “You know, it’s like you get meaner everytime we meet.”

Elena shut the door with a frustrated huff, briefly leaning her forehead against the cold surface before she turned to face him. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out on you. I’m just a little exhausted, that’s all.”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

He was studying the living room as if he hadn’t just been in it thirty minutes ago. Her face burned when he picked up the small plush kitten sitting on the arm of the couch. Watching him study the stuffed animal, she felt invaded by his presence. With a smile, he set the cat back down. The lighting was dim now because she liked it that way when she was home alone, so only two table lamps illuminated the room. Because of that, when Chandler finally faced her, hands tucked into his pants pockets again, it cast shadows under his cheekbones.

His head tilted. “That was a great party,” he said, “I had fun,”

Images of him and Charlotte flashed in her memory and Elena rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you did,” she replied, making no effort to hide the way she felt.

“Was that supposed to be sarcasm?”

“It is whatever you think it is, Chandler,”

Chandler chuckled, then he leaned in to study the framed pictures on the bookcase next to him, candid shots of her and her sister and parents.

“Well, if it was sarcasm there’s no need for it. I sure did have fun at your party, princess,”

“Can you stop calling me names like that?” she asked wearily.

Chandler took a few steps toward her , and she had to fight every instinct to back away. “Even in those pajamas,” he murmured. “You’ve got that look to you. I can’t help it.”

“Spoken like a true man. I can’t help it,” she mimicked his deep voice.

He tipped his head back and laughed deeply. That laugh made Elena unaccountably nervous, and she couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe because she didn’t want to make Chandler Kendrick laugh. She didn’t want to have him in her apartment late at night, looking slightly rumpled and more casual.

“What do you want, Chandler?” she asked.

His eyes warmed slightly and he scratched the side of his scruff-covered face but he didn’t answer her question. He picked up a framed picture of her and Emily. It was taken at a football game when they were just barely stepping into their teenage years, a phase when absolutely no one could tell them apart if they didn’t want them to. It was taken before Elijah came into their lives, before there was a single thing her sister had that she wanted. Even if she didn’t have Elijah in the way Elena had wanted him, he was still hers.

And she was ending the night exactly the same way, without any firsthand knowledge of what it was like to be the sole recipient of the attention of the man she liked. Except this time it wasn’t about Elijah. It was about the man standing before her. Her lips pinched tight because she hated the self-pity. It was pointless and ineffective. Nothing, absolutely nothing was gained from feeling sorry for yourself when it came to circumstances outside of your control. That was a valuable lesson she’d learned in life. What was the point of feeling sad because the guy she liked didn’t look at her that way? There wasn’t one.