Rebelling With the Bad Boy (Most Likely To #3)

Chapter 1

This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my birthday.

I dangled my feet over the bridge and knocked the heels of my sneakers against the side, staring off at the horizon.

Lookout Ledge was the tallest point in Brentwood, where one could see the tops of the trees and the small houses below, and I was a giant gazing down at it all.

And the houses were way down below. Far enough that if I fell, it’d probably be game over.

I’d turn into Gemma Settler, the pancake, or end up skewered by a pine tree.

Whatever way I went, it’d be messy. I didn’t move, though, didn’t scramble back over to the safety of the roadway. I looked down, no fear.

I didn’t know what time it was, but the sun had started setting a while ago, the sky only a handful of warm colors now. The late August heat was starting to die out, but the back of my neck still felt sticky. Even the comfort of the sunset had left me, too embarrassed to look any longer.

In my hand, I gripped a piece of paper tightly enough for it to wrinkle.

Department of Motor Vehicles – Application for Non-Commercial Learner’s Permit

The words were laughing at me.

Like any other sixteen-year-old on their birthday, the only thing I wanted to do was go to the DMV and apply for a driver’s permit.

Sure, I didn’t really have anywhere to go, no friends to meet up with, but there was still a visceral need for that piece of paper.

A freedom attached to something I suddenly needed so badly.

And I was sure my parents understood. After all, on my brother’s sixteenth birthday, taking him to the DMV was the first thing they’d done after he got home from school.

Dad took him for the test, Mom celebrated with them when they got home, and we all went driving together.

It’d been perfect, and I was ready for that to happen all over again with me.

Except when my parents got off work, it wasn’t a trip to the DMV they’d planned—we drove over to the Oliphant’s, where my parents decided to throw a surprise party for me.

“Mom,” I’d said when we pulled into the driveway. Even from the other side of the roofline, I could see the bounce house set up, tall enough to loom over Mrs. Oliphant’s roofline. A bounce house. For a sixteen-year-old. “I thought we were going to the DMV.”

“The DMV?” If her voice hadn’t been shocked, her twisted expression made up for it. “Why would we go there?”

“For my learner’s permit.”

And then Mom had laughed—laughed like I’d told the funniest joke in the whole world.

My dad, sitting in the driver’s seat, had joined in, turning me into a comedian when I hadn’t even given a punchline.

“Gemma.” Mom had turned around to face me head-on, tears of humor in her eyes.

“That’s a little silly, isn’t it? Of course, you don’t need your permit.

I mean, you don’t go anywhere. Not without us. It’s a waste of time.”

“Besides,” Dad added in. “A license opens up a whole can of worms, especially for young ladies like you. Waiting until you’re a little older takes away any risks and temptations.”

Mom hit his arm. “The riskiest thing she’d do with a license is probably go to the fabric store.”

They both laughed in tandem, happily climbing out of the car as if they hadn’t left me and my shattered expectations in the backseat.

There had been a crowd waiting for us when we got to the backyard, the chorus of “surprise” ringing in my ears.

I didn’t have many friends to begin with, but none of their faces popped up in the sea of unfamiliar ones.

I had to smile while people congratulated me.

I had to pose for pictures with people I barely knew.

My parents had only invited their friends and their kids, students at Brentwood High I never even talked to.

When I cut into the cake, it was their favorite—strawberry-flavored when I preferred chocolate.

Even down to the balloons, with rosy and pastel pink like they were having a gender reveal. My favorite color was teal.

Those little falling dominoes caused everything in me to jolt, the way one does when waking up from a deep sleep.

For the first time, I saw the truth. These past sixteen years, I hadn’t been living the life I wanted.

I’d been living the perfectly curated one my parents built. And I never thought twice about it.

Until now, and it felt like I’d woken up from the world’s most vivid dream.

Sitting on the bridge ledge, I studied the application a bit more, hating the sight of my meticulous handwriting. I’d even dotted my i’s with little hearts.

It was like looking at something from a time capsule. The distance between myself this morning before I crawled out of bed and now was immense. It was like I aged ten years in ten hours.

I tightened my fingers on the paper, twisting my lips into a frown even as my eyes filled. Gemma Marie Settler, I read in the top box, noting the stupid little heart-dotted i. A tear fell and landed directly on my last name, smudging it beyond recognition. Another fell, and then another.

Without warning, something tight wrapped around my chest and constricted to the point that I gasped.

My back slammed against something hard, knocking the rest of the wind out of me.

Frantically, I glanced down and found two tanned arms binding me, securing me to the chest of whoever now stood behind me.

A scream bubbled up in my throat just as the person restraining me spoke. “Come off the ledge.”

I tried to pitch forward to break free—despite that being a terrible idea, given the neck-breaking fall looming before me—but the arms held fast. “Let me go!” I screeched, or attempted to, because with the tears that clogged my throat, my voice came out hoarse.

Still gripping the paper, I reached up and slapped the arm, breathing hard. “Let go, or I’ll scream!”

Not that anyone would’ve probably heard me, anyway. This portion of Lookout Ledge was hardly traveled upon, since it had blind curves. I could see the traffic way below me, of course, zooming peacefully without a care of the girl about to be abducted above them.

Images filled my mind of me stuffed into a trunk, carted across state lines, never to be seen again. On my birthday.

My breathing started to reach hyperventilation levels, and I scraped my nails into the person’s arm, digging as hard as I could to get them to let go.

If anything, it made them cling tighter, pressing me closer. “Don’t do it,” the unfamiliar deep voice said. The unfamiliar, deep, male voice. “I don’t know what’s going on, but nothing is going to get better if you jump. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay. Okay? So come off the ledge.”

My hand on the hot forearm loosened its death grip.

I glanced down at the treetops, the wisps of the top branches swaying in the soft wind, the reality of the situation replacing the knee-jerk reaction my brain had conjured up.

“You think I’m going to jump off?” I asked incredulously, my voice coming out croaky. So, this wasn’t an abduction?

“Why else would someone sit on the ledge of a bridge?”

Indignation filled me, overshadowing the alarm for a brief second. “I’m not going to jump.”

“Prove it.”

This time, I did fight against the stranger’s strength to turn, craning my neck to look them in the eye.

A boy around my age stood staring at me, his gray-blue gaze locking onto mine.

He had a scowl etched into his brow, like it was a permanent fixture on his face.

Thick, black glasses rested on his nose and a blue baseball cap sat snug on his blond head of hair.

Despite the heat, he wore a cotton candy-colored sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

He looked both familiar and unfamiliar, as if he looked like someone I knew rather than the person themselves.

“Prove it,” he said again, voice as level as it’d been before. “Come off.”

I blinked away at my hazy vision, and I spotted a scar on his cheek, one that was white and faded with time. “Maybe you need to prove you’re not a psychopath trying to shove me into the trunk of his car.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “Do you see a car around?”

From the limited view I had, no, I didn’t. He must’ve been walking up the path when he spotted me, which totally threw another axe in my theory. Which meant I had his skin underneath my fingernails for no reason.

I cleared my throat. “You shouldn’t grab at people you don’t know.”

“I had this image in my head that when I came up to say something, I’d startle you enough that you fell.”

“Maybe you should’ve minded your own business.”

He seemed less wary about my intentions, despite the tear tracks that had to be on my cheeks. I could feel where the wind dried them on my face, and could see his gaze soften as he spotted them, trailing along my skin like a fingertip. “Couldn’t have that on my conscience.”

I drew my lower lip between my teeth, his words knocking against my defenses. “You’re nosy, then?”

“Not usually.” He let go of me entirely then, but stayed close. Close enough that he probably could’ve grabbed at me if he thought I changed my mind about not hurtling off. Weirdly enough, without the pressure of his arms, my body felt heavier. “But in this instance, yeah. I decided to be nosy.”

I pressed my free hand to my chest, feeling my heart slowly returning to its normal state.

If I had seen his face before he grabbed me, I probably wouldn’t have been nearly as freaked out.

He looked pretty harmless, honestly. And something about his presence made me feel a little more put together, less like things were spiraling out of control.

The merry-go-round of thoughts slowed to a halt.

“I was just clearing my head,” I told him.

“It’s my birthday today. Sweet sixteen.”

I saw him glance at the form in my hands, no doubt reading the title. “Were you going to get your permit?”