“I’m his girlfriend?” It was meant to be a question to myself, but Taylor couldn’t let it go unanswered.

“You’re the first,” she said, looking at me like I was a puzzle. “You lucky bitch.”

CHAPTER TEN

That was all I could think about the next night as I needed all my focus on getting homecoming ready—being Jude’s first girlfriend. At first it had been a title I’d been over the moon to wear, but after I’d carefully agonized over it all night as any self-respecting teenage girl would, I wasn’t so sure how I felt about being Jude’s first now.

Girlfriend, that is.

A guy like him, with a reputation like his, had likely spanned dozens of women. So none of them were his girlfriends, big deal, they’d been intimate with him in ways I had yet to even touch. Although I was fairly certain I wanted to touch that, knowing I wouldn’t be the first, or the tenth, or—hold in the shiver—the hundredth, kind of put a damper on the whole feeling special to be his first girlfriend meter.

I wasn’t naive enough to hope a boyfriend of mine wouldn’t have a history. Hell, I had a history that wouldn’t exactly qualify me as shiny and new, but Jude’s tag ‘em and bag ‘em reputation was well known across three counties and one state line.

Now I was all for second chances. I was the second chance champion, it had nothing to do with that. My concern lay in passing every single woman that gave him a suggestive smile or a once over and wondering if that was one of Jude’s once upon a time conquests. He was allowed to have made mistakes and have regrets, but could I live with those and the consequences of them?

Letting the last hot roller tumble out of my hair, I realized there was only one way to find out. The only way for me to know if I could handle everything that came with Jude, his past, his seeming inability to talk about anything personal, his take it as it comes future, was to take it one day at a time. The only way to know if Jude Ryder was going to ultimately break my heart was to open it to him.

That epiphany should have been more terrifying than it was. Hell or heartbreak, I was in it all the way. All in, as I liked to say, because that was the only way to ensure a relationship had a fighting chance.

Checking my phone, I sighed my relief. I still had fifteen minutes to finish my makeup, get into my dress, and collect my wits as they’d need to be to get through a night of being pressed up against Jude.

And that’s when the doorbell rang.

I let myself have a second of panic before scrambling into my robe and running down the stairs. Dad and Mom were out on a rare date night, thanks to me. I’d purchased a gift certificate to their favorite French cafe on the lake and a couple of movie passes to the Cineplex twenty minutes away. I’d even made reservations to ensure they’d be out when Jude showed up.

It was deceitful, and I didn’t want Jude to think I was ashamed of him, but my parents were complicated people with memories that didn’t allow for second chances. Plus, they were parents to a teenage daughter. My dad had once told me, crimson red deep in “the talk,” that with sons, all he had to worry about was one penis, but with a daughter, he had to worry about everyone else’s. That little gem had stuck with me, probably because when I was twelve years old, I couldn’t hear the word penis without breaking into a laughing fit.

I knew if Jude and I continued on at this rate, I couldn’t keep them a secret from one another, but for tonight, it was the easiest solution to the situation that was Jude.

Pulling the door open, I tried not to gawk, but it was the only thing that seemed appropriate with Jude Ryder standing under the light of my front porch, dressed in a tux, a corsage box in hand. His trusty beanie in place. If anyone could rock the formal meets grunge trend—if one ever cropped up—it would have been him.

“I’m early,” he started, “so I know I should blame it on losing complete track of time, but really I just couldn’t wait to get here.”

Stop staring, Lucy. Stop staring, Lucy, was my mantra, but it wasn’t working.

“Okay, so don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m enjoying the view,” he began, averting his eyes to the ceiling, “I’m really enjoying the view, but I promised myself I was going to be one of those schmucky gentlemen all night and you’re not making my promise easy to keep.”

My head was foggy and I was still incapable of speech, but at least I could muster up an expression of confusion.

“Ah, hell, Luce,” Jude cursed, wincing when he glanced the shortest look over at me. “You forgot to tie your damn bathrobe.”

Gazing down confirmed it. Nothing but a strapless bra, a matching pair of panties, and a hell of a lot of skin were on full display. Honest mistake? Maybe. Freudian slip? Positively.

“Sorry,” I said, spinning around to properly cover myself up.

I heard his footsteps as he came up behind me. Brushing my hair away from my neck, his mouth fell just below my jaw. “I’m not,” he whispered, sucking the tender skin.

One touch, one kiss, and I was a mess. Right then, I wanted nothing else but to turn in his arms, tear off both our clothes, and leave nothing to the imagination that night. It was intoxicating, and overwhelming, and some part, deep within, knew it was marginally unhealthy.

“Go get your dress on so I can go show you off,” he said, pressing one final kiss into my neck before stepping back.

“Why don’t we skip the dance?” I turned to face him, playing with the tie of my robe.

“Dammit, Lucy,” he groaned, using my full name for the first time in a long time. “It’s taking every last ounce of willpower I have to keep from throwing you down on the table and doing everything to you I’ve played out in my mind a thousand times,” he said, waving his hands from me to the table to the sky. “But you’re better than that. You deserve better than that. You don’t deserve to be one of those girls screwed on your parents’ kitchen table. You deserve so much more than that,” he said, challenging me with his eyes. “So leave that robe in place and don’t tempt me again.”

I felt embarrassed and rejected, but special and flattered at the same time. It was a very confusing mix of emotions. “Sorry,” I said again, shooting him an awkward grin as I started to climb the stairs.

“Hey,” he grabbed my hand, “don’t apologize. I want you in every way a man could want a woman. I just don’t want to screw this thing up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m in unchartered territory here, Luce. I need a little help.” His fingers curved through mine.

“Me, too,” I replied.

“Yeah, I suppose you are.” He squeezed my hand before letting it go. “I’ll help you out then, too. Now go get that sexy ass dress on so I can dance with you all night.”

“Fine, bossy,” I said, making my way up the stairs. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be down in five.”

“Oh, and Luce,” he called out, snapping his fingers. I looked back at him from the top of the stairs. “When it comes to underwear selection,”—his eyes were gleaming—“you get an A.”

As if I needed another confirmation, men were impossible creatures. Grinning tightly at him, I cinched my robe tighter. “And when it comes to underwear removal, you get a sucks ass.”

“Ooo, Luce,” he said, grabbing the banister, “now that was a good one. Hanging around me has vastly improved your comedic delivery. Learning through osmosis, I suppose.”

I plunked a hand on my hip. “How can someone who knows what osmosis is be flunking all their classes?” Jude was not dummy, but his grades reflected otherwise.

“Unequivocal talent, baby,” he answered, grinning like the devil, “unequivocal talent.”

I’d just slid my last earring in when I heard the familiar sound of tires crunching over gravel.

“Luce,” Jude’s voice carried up the stairs, “you expecting company?”

Grabbing my vintage cardigan from the bed, I rushed out of my bedroom, now hearing the familiar sound of the garage door retracting.

“It’s my parents,” I said, hurrying down the stairs.

Jude’s forehead lined. “And they don’t know I’m the one taking you to homecoming?”

Pausing at the end of the stairs, I shook my head.

“And because I’m so good at guessing, I’d say they don’t even know we go to the same school, do they?” he asked, trying to play it off like it was nothing, but to me, it felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

I shook my head again, not able to look at him.

“All right, what’s my exit strategy?” he asked, looking around the room. “Front door, back door, or window?” He wasn’t smiling, he was serious. Something broke inside my heart.

“No exit strategy,” I said, taking his hand and walking across the living room. “I’d like to introduce my date to my parents.”

“This ought to be good.”

“Yeah,” I said with sarcasm, “it’ll be a blast.”

“Any advice?” he said, shouldering up beside me in the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah,” I said, watching the garage door twist open. “Buckle up.”

“Who the hell’s car is in the—” Mom came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. So abruptly dad bounced off of her.

“Dad, Mom,” I cleared my throat, putting on a face that said everything was normal, “you’re home early.”

“Your dad wasn’t feeling well,” she said in a clipped tone, leveling me with a glare.

I cleared my throat. “You remember Jude.”

Stepping into the kitchen, she gave Jude that look. The same one she’d given him the first day she’d met him. The one that said go back to whatever hole you came out of. “One has a tough time forgetting the face of a felon led off your property in handcuffs.”

That flash of temper was begging to be taken off its chain.

“What are you doing here?”

Jude stepped forward. “Taking Luce to homecoming, ma’am.”

“No,” she said, “you most certainly are not. Where are your friends, by the way?” she went on, looking over his shoulder like she expected to find them lounging in the living room. “Are they in the backseat, waiting to burn the rest of my daughter’s hair off? Or are they waiting in the school parking lot, ready to douse her in a gallon of gasoline again?”

Jude winced, looking down.

“Mom,” I warned, “those guys were not Jude’s friends. And cut out the parenting act, it’s too little too late.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way, Lucille!” Mom shouted, pointing at me. “You are grounded until the day you move out of this house for lying to your father and me.” She could really wield her index finger as a weapon. “And yes, those were”—she glared at him—“are his friends. You chose not to look at the police reports I’ve seen. Those boys and Jude committed their first crime together years ago. Drug dealing, wasn’t it?” she said, not as a question to be confirmed or denied. “Jude and the rest of those drains on society at that boys’ home need to all be locked up and have the key thrown away. They don’t deserve to take good, hard working girls with futures to homecoming dances.”