BOYS ARE STUPID
BELLA
I turned my back on the one guy who could affect me like no other and pretended to be too busy to entertain him any longer. Washing and rinsing out glasses, I could still hear Matthew mumbling behind me, but I refused to stop what I was doing and face him. He could talk to himself for all I cared.
You see, Matthew O’Grady had been ruining my life since I was fourteen years old. Probably longer, if I was being honest with myself. The guy was my first crush, my first love, and my first kiss, all rolled into one. Although, to be fair, I wasn’t sure he knew about that last part. The other two, he’d been acutely aware of, much to my utter embarrassment and my older brother’s torment.
I’d first seen Matthew at the ice rink when I was forced to go to Leo’s practice. I always complained that I was old enough to be left at home alone, but my mom never agreed. She also claimed that it was good for me to support my brother, just like he’d do for me if I ever decided to play any sports. It was the teacher in her, I assumed. She was always trying to push kindness and inclusivity, even for an annoying older brother who could sometimes be the meanest person on the planet.
So, I sat at practice in the freezing cold stands, pretending to be bored, but for some reason, I found myself fascinated instead. Even though my hockey knowledge was fairly limited, I’d still known there was something different about the way Matthew O’Grady played.
He skated on the ice like he had been born on it. There were no shaky ankles or wobbly knees. The guy glided effortlessly, stopping and starting on his skates like it was as easy for him as walking. And he handled his stick like it was an extension of his body, unlike the other guys, who fumbled around with it like they were uncomfortable having it in their grasp.
I remembered the first time I had been formally introduced to him. Practice had just ended, and his dark hair was covered in sweat, beads of it rolling down his red cheeks. He’d looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine—he was that good-looking up close.
“Mom, this is my best friend, Matthew,” Leo said.
I stood there like a fool with a smile on my face, but Leo ignored me completely.
Matthew nudged him with his elbow before asking, “And who’s this?”
“My annoying little sister, Isabella.”
“Bella,” I corrected. I hated being called by my full name. I liked the nickname better.
“Which one is it—Isabella or Bella?” Matthew asked, his eyes staring into mine.
I’d never seen eyes that color blue before. They were downright mesmerizing.
Leo and I answered at the same time, each of us saying a different version of my name. Matthew just laughed and gave me a smile.
And that was all it took.
One smile, and I was crushing on the guy. Hard.
Matthew had come over sometimes, but after his mom died in a car accident, he started spending most of his off time at our house. He said that being at the family farm was too hard. It hurt too much to be around all that sadness and pain. And he liked the way it felt, being at our home, which was still intact and filled with love instead of sorrow.
It made me happy that he saw my family that way. And I liked having him there. Every time he gave me even a sliver of attention, I took it to mean something far more than it did. I filed every interaction in my memory bank. Wrote it down in my journal so I could remember it forever and never forget the way I’d felt. Each conversation was documented and decorated with sloppy hand-drawn hearts and my first name with his last. Teenage crushes were powerful. All-encompassing.
And misleading as hell.
When he got drafted to the NHL, I swore my heart broke a little, even though I was tremendously proud and happy for him. I’d wanted him to have this, but I also knew that it meant he’d be leaving for good. Teenage Bella couldn’t imagine not seeing the boy she loved every day anymore.
But then he did the most unexpected thing and gave me my first kiss the night before he left.
He’d looked right at me and said, “If a guy doesn’t kiss you like this the first time, Bells, don’t let him do it again.”
Then, his tongue was in my mouth, his hand was on the back of my head, and his lips were ever so gently pressed against my own. It was soft. It was patient. It was the best first kiss of my life.
I had no idea what his words meant, but I knew exactly how that kiss made me feel.
Treasured.
Valued.
Important.
But it was all a lie because he left the next morning and never talked to me again. And I spent years pining after the one guy I couldn’t stop thinking about, who had clearly never been thinking of me at all.
The worst part was that even though Matthew wasn’t physically here anymore, his ghost remained. Sugar Mountain raved whenever he scored the game-winning goal—or any goal really. They revered him. Claimed him. Held him up in such high regard that you would think he’d saved an entire country from ruin or something.
But Matthew O’Grady was no hero. He was a typical male athlete who slept around with every woman he laid eyes on and didn’t care who saw.
And trust me, I saw it.
Leo used to print out all of Matthew’s exploits and leave them for me on my bed. I’d begged him to stop, but he’d told me that he was doing it for my own good and that I needed to remember the kind of guy that Matthew was.
With friends like that, who needed enemies?
“I thought he was your best friend?” I snapped with tears in my eyes.
“He is, Isabella. But you’re my sister. And sister trumps friend, okay? I just want you to get over this crush.” He said the words softly, but they still caused me pain.
“I am over it. I don’t need any more of your help. Please. Please stop.”
The tears started falling then, and my brother looked at me like I was the one who had wounded him somehow instead of the other way around.
“I can’t. I need you to see the kind of guy he is.”
“And what kind of guy is that exactly?” I asked through my tears.
“The kind who doesn’t fall in love. The kind who sleeps around. I’m not saying this to be cruel, Bella; it’s just the truth. Matthew isn’t relationship material. Never has been. Probably never will be.”
“It’s not like I’m marrying the guy,” I said even though I’d daydreamed about it at least a hundred times.
Leo barked out a laugh. “Exactly my point. Matthew isn’t the marrying type. And you, sweet sister, most definitely are.”
I opened up my mouth to argue, but it was no use. Even though I was way too young to even think about getting married, I knew he was right. Eventually, I wanted a husband and kids.
After our conversation, I thought Leo would stop, but he never did.
Each day after school, I’d come home to a new article waiting for me on my bed. A new headline. A new picture of Matthew and some gorgeous woman who didn’t look anything like me.
So, when I’d first heard that Matthew was officially retiring from playing in the NHL, my heart had literally skipped a beat—before I chastised it and reminded it that we were over our unrequited childhood crush. He could move back home to Sugar Mountain, and I’d be unaffected by his presence. All those past years of wanting him, wishing that he’d at least give me the decency to let me know he was thinking about me, had evaporated into thin air at some point during his seven-year absence. He’d never left my thoughts completely, but at some point, it’d started hurting a lot less.
I didn’t need Matthew O’Grady in my life.
And I learned I was perfectly okay without him in it.
But the universe must have started laughing in her mockery of me because the second that man had landed back in town, he wouldn’t leave me alone.
And, good God, the grown-up version of Matthew was even more gorgeous than the teenage version had been. His body had filled out, muscles in places that looked ridiculously good on him. Not to mention the scruff on his face when he didn’t shave for a couple of days. Matthew had morphed into a man who deserved to be in magazines.
He showed up at every shift I worked at the saloon. No matter how many times I ignored him, gave him the cold shoulder, or plain out asked him to leave, he always refused. He sat his fine ass in a barstool and stayed there all damn night.
And now, here he was, at his brother Thomas’s wedding—in a damn suit, no less—begging me to go home with him. He was buzzed, of course, which was nothing new to me. Matthew was always drinking. Take that fact out of the equation though, and I still would have told him no.
The guy the town adored might have been back in Sugar Mountain, but he was different somehow. I’d gotten pretty good at reading people over the years, and he was no exception. Matthew might have spent his time acting like the life of the party everywhere he went, all happy and fun-loving, but it was all a front, hiding something deeper. This man was sad. It was written all over his body. And I found myself wondering how no one else seemed to see it. Or did they simply ignore it because it was easier that way?
“Just one night, Bells,” he whined, but I still refused to make eye contact.
Those blue eyes of his really did something to me, poking at the soft spot I so obviously still held for him.
I knew myself well enough to know that giving in to Matthew physically would probably ruin me on some level forever. Especially if it wasn’t anything more than a one-night stand, like he kept suggesting. There was no way that I could emotionally handle that. Any box where I’d compartmentalized my feelings for him would come busting apart at the seams, forever shattered.
And honestly, I couldn’t allow him to have the one thing I hadn’t given to any other guy yet. I’d never be able to get over him if he was my first.
Yes, I’m a virgin. A twenty-two-year-old bartending virgin.
Cue the eye rolling. I completely get it.
I realized how impossible this must seem to an outsider, but trust me, I hadn’t intended for things to turn out this way. It’d all started so innocently. I planned on saving myself for someone special, figuring that person would come along at some point during high school. And while I made out with plenty of guys during that time, none of them ever turned into anything serious. So, before I knew it, I was graduating with never having had a real boyfriend and my hymen still firmly intact.
Which had been fine at first.
Until it wasn’t.
I went through phases of wanting to throw my virginity at the next guy who even batted his eyes at me or keeping it locked in a box like it was some kind of magical gift that I could bestow on someone worthy.
When a couple of local guys overheard me talking to my best friend, Anna, about still holding my V-card, they started placing bets on who would be the one to deflower me in an apparent group chat. Yes, they actually used that term. And double yes, there was actual money involved.
It was humiliating.
And I deserved better than being a damn bet.
That was when I’d decided that no one would get my virginity—or at least when they did, they wouldn’t know it. And in the meantime, I blamed Matthew for it all. Him and that stupid kissing rule, which I’d repeated to myself so many times over the years that it was probably tattooed on my brain somewhere.
He’d destroyed me with that kiss.
And now, he was trying to destroy my life by constantly being in it.
Things had been much better when he was too famous and busy to come home. At least, that way, he wasn’t showing up at my shifts and trying to tempt me with his delicious face and athletic body.
“Bells.”
Matthew was the only person who called me that. I didn’t even know how it’d started or when, but I secretly loved that it was something only he did. Sucking in a long breath, I steadied myself and turned around.
“What do you want?” I flattened my expression and hoped I looked bored.
“I think you know the answer to that by now.”
“I can’t give you that.”
“Why not?”
He adjusted the tie around his neck, loosening it, and I swore the disheveled look was even sexier.
Being snippy with him was exhausting. It felt like playing mental gymnastics whenever he was around. But it was the only self-defense mechanism in my arsenal. The only one that seemed to be working… so far .
“Because you’re drunk.” I shrugged. “You’re always drunk. And you only say these things when you’ve been drinking.”
That was probably the weakest comeback I’d given him yet, and I knew he wasn’t going to take it. His brows furrowed, those blue eyes darkening as they took me in and held me hostage.
“You need me to tell you I want you when I’m one hundred percent sober? Done, Bells. I can do that. The alcohol just gives me the courage to say it out loud.” He grinned, and instead of finding it charming, I found it annoying.
“That’s not true,” I bit out with a little more ire than I’d intended. “I’m not sure why you’re drinking the way you are, Matthew, but it has nothing to do with needing any liquid courage for any damn thing, and we both know it.”
I wanted him to know that I saw the battle raging inside of him. And I wasn’t going to pretend that I didn’t. Watching him drown his demons every night was a little painful to observe. I could lie to myself about not wanting him anymore, but I couldn’t deny the fact that I was still concerned for his well-being. Caring about Matthew was the one switch I refused to turn off.
He opened his mouth to say something in response, but clamped it shut instead. I turned around and started washing out more glasses, happy that I’d won our verbal battle… at least for the moment. But then he spoke and shot an arrow straight at my stupid, betraying heart.
“I’ve dreamed about being with you, Bells. Can’t stop thinking about it since I’ve been back.”
My body stiffened instantly. A part of me wanted to believe what he’d just said, but I wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t allow it.
“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” I tossed over my shoulder.
“Don’t have to say that to any girl,” he responded, and my resolve weakened because I knew it was the truth. “I’m dying to wake up next to you, Bells. To open my eyes and see your naked body lying on top of mine.”
I swallowed hard as my heart raced, making my knees a little weak. “Can’t do that. I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl.”
There. That should shut him up.
“Bells …”
His voice wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and before I could process what was even happening, his fingertips were grazing my waist. I spun around to see his body leaning halfway over the bar in order to reach me. I stayed in that position, refusing to inch closer to him, but his fingertips were now firmly resting on my hip bone.
I liked the way it felt. His fingers were huge, easily wrapping around me with a force that shouldn’t be so effortless.
“One night would never be enough for me,” he said, and I almost believed him.
Pressing my lips together in a firm line, I shook my head and removed myself from his grasp. “You don’t know anything about me anymore. I’m not the fifteen-year-old girl you left behind.”
His eyes roved the length of my body slowly. So slow that it was almost uncomfortable. I felt the weight of that stare, each part of me heating in response.
“Trust me, I’m very aware that you are no longer fifteen, Bells,” he said as he licked his lips.
HE.
LICKED.
HIS.
LIPS.
Why is the universe tormenting me this way?
“You’re drunk,” I reminded him.
“So you keep saying,” he countered.
“You won’t mean all this in the morning,” I said.
He probably wouldn’t even remember saying it to me at all.
He smirked before tapping the side of his head with his index finger. “Taking mental notes, Bells. Tell you how much I want you when I’m sober. Show you exactly what you do to me every time I look at you.”
My chest heaved. My heart raced. I inhaled a breath, hoping it might steady me, but it refused.
“Okay, lover boy, it’s time for you to go.” I stepped closer to where he stood, reached across the bar that separated us, and gave his shoulder a little shove, but of course, he didn’t even budge. “Maybe go dance with your niece one last time before the night ends.”
At the mention of Clarabel, his face lit up. “You’re right. I should probably go do that,” he agreed, and I watched as he looked around the room, in search of the one girl who was always happy to see him.
As soon as he spotted her, he raced off, swept her into his arms, and spun her around the dance floor. If I thought for one second that seeing Matthew with his niece would stifle the desire flickering to life inside of me, I was dead wrong. Because watching him with that little girl made my ovaries do indescribable things.
I really needed to keep him at a distance.