Busting Up The Bad Boys' Bet - Published!

Chapter 1

7/22/2019: Updated to the published version.

Brad had been trying to get me to have sex with him for weeks. I was the new girl in school, and therefore my intelligence was suspect. They had no idea who they were messing with.

It was the fourth Saturday since I came to their school. I texted Brad: "Hey, are you busy?"

Brad: "I can get unbusy for you baby."

Me: "Yeah. I want to screw. Now."

Brad: "Come to my house. I'm alone."

He sent the address. I brought up the directions and texted back: "15 minutes." I was actually much closer, just about five blocks away, but I wanted to leave time for his friends to get there if they weren't already. I wound my way through the Upper East Side of Manhattan, New York City, where we both live, not taking the direct route.

A teenage girl rambling around and following directions on a phone fit right in with the tourists. I arrived just in time. The large brownstone mansion sat near Central Park but on a side street, so the noise from 5th Avenue was just a low buzz.

He must have been looking for me out a window because he texted: "Door's unlocked. Come upstairs. Third door on the right. I'm waiting :)"

I glanced around the downstairs but didn't see the other boys. I suspected they were upstairs, somewhere close to Brad's room so they could hear. I ran up the stairs on the balls of my feet, soundless on the carpet. All the doors were closed. I opened the second door instead of the third, just a sliver, careful not to make a sound. Taylor and Scott stood with their hands and ears pressed to a wall. Smiling to myself, I eased the door closed.

I went to Brad's door and stepped into what I assumed was his bedroom. I didn't look at the room, just at Brad, or the feast of man laid out for me like a banquet that was Brad. He lay on his side on the bed, at a forty-five-degree angle, posed like a model with one hand behind his head, one knee up and the other crooked out flat, wearing only khaki cargo shorts that ended at his knees.

His sculpted chest and abs were on display as if lit by a professional photographer instead of the simple lamp on the bedside table. I think he was starting an ab crunch. The navy bedspread contrasted his lightly tanned skin and his pants, dark behind light. His brown hair swept across his forehead just out of his eyes, which looked at me with a knowing, highly satisfied, glow. His signature 'charming' smile was on his face. A full-page image of Brad in a magazine with the message, "All this could be yours..." flashed in my imagination.

"Ally." He drew out the L's in my name in a soft, breathy tone. "I'm so glad you texted me."

I took a step back, shutting the door behind me with a soft click, and smiled. "Bradley, you look positively yummy."

"Come and eat me up then, baby. I'm all yours."

I gave him a pouty frown. "There's just one little problem we have to clear up first."

He sat up more, deepening the shadows on his abs, and gave me a look of caring concern. "What problem, babe?"

"I know all about your little sex bets." I pouted again as if sad.

He shot up and came over to me as he spoke. "Ally, baby." He sighed. "I figured you knew about that." He tilted his head side to side in small movements. "You do have lunch with some of the bet girls a couple of times a week when you aren't eating with me."

He put his hands on my upper arms and focused on my eyes. "But you're different, Ally. Those bets were about naïve virgins, girls who would fall for a few sweet words and the prospect of being girlfriend to one of us."