Boys That Tease: A Bully Romance (Lords Of Wildwood Book 1)

  Boys That Tease

  A Bully Romance

  Betti Rosewood

  Copyright © 2019 by Betti Rosewood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover photography by Andrew M. Gleason

  Cover model Daniel

  Cover design by Louisa Maggio of LM Creations

  Editing by Stephie Walls

  Contents

  Soundtrack

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Want more?

  Sneak peek of Boys That Read

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Betti Rosewood

  About the Author

  To every bully I’ve ever met,

  Suck it.

  xo Betti

  Soundtrack

  “Cracks” – Couros

  “To All of You” – Syd Matters

  “Play Me Like a Violin” – Stephen

  “I Hate This” – Tenille Arts

  “Forever Young” – Alphaville

  “Gooey” – Glass Animals

  “Worst In Me” – Unlike Pluto

  Full playlist on Spotify here.

  Prologue

  Crispin

  “That’s it. I swear to God, Cristofer, that is it! We are never getting back together.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “GOOD!”

  The door slammed. The frustrated scream came after. Then, the eardrum-bursting sound of screeching and plates hitting the wall. But what else was new? This was just a typical Wednesday afternoon in the Dalton household. And just like always, the only thing I could do was sit here and fucking listen to them go at it.

  My little sister’s soft cries reminded me I had someone else to take care of, and I shifted my attention back to the open book on my lap. “You want me to keep reading?”

  She shook her head, the first big, fat tear slipping down her porcelain cheek. “It’s okay. Should I go to my room, Crispy?”

  I grinned wide, tickling her until she started to laugh again, the tears were gone as fast as they had come. “You wanna leave me already, kid? What am I supposed to do without you?”

  “You have to go to the set now, anyway.” She pouted, but the grin still tugged on the corners of her lips. She loved being included in whatever I did. It made her feel like a grown-up, just like I was supposed to be, not that I felt like one today.

  “I have a couple more minutes,” I reassured India. “How about we get breakfast ready?”

  “I don’t wanna go down there.” She played with the hem of her T-shirt, reluctant to go downstairs after the shouting match our parents had just had.

  “It’ll be fine.” I grinned. “You’ll have me with you, and I’ll protect you from all the bad guys.”

  “There are bad guys in our kitchen?”

  “If there are, I’m gonna whoop their asses.”

  She giggled, and I helped her to her feet. Her hand found its way to mine, and she clung to me for dear life. I found solace in knowing I wasn’t alone, and she was often scared when our parents fought. Distracting her from Mom’s next epic meltdown kept me busy enough to stop stressing about the impending divorce.

  Mom and Dad had spoken about getting one before, but they’d never gone through with it. But this time, it seemed inevitable, and I hated the voice inside my head that kept saying, thank fuck for that. India had only had five years of their fighting. I, on the other hand, had been dealing with their drama for eighteen years.

  When they were good together, they were really fucking good.

  But when they were bad, they made all our lives a living hell.

  My parents were explosive. They'd spent most of their relationship either having crazy arguments or making up after another fight. The on-and-off thing only ended when Mom got pregnant with me. I wished I could've said the fighting ended then, too, but I didn't have a single memory from my childhood that didn't involve tension between them. They'd decided to have India to fix things, but it had done the opposite. At least they try not to have their screaming matches in front of her. Small mercies, how I love thee.

  Taking my little sister to the kitchen, I was relieved to find it empty. Dad must have stormed out, and as for Mom... I'd help her later. For now, I needed to focus on my sibling.

  "Do you want caramel pecan?" I asked India, and she nodded. I pulled out a container from the freezer, grabbing a spoon and sitting her down at the kitchen island. "So, what's going on with that little boy in your class?"

  "Which boy?" Her eyes were so wide and innocent.

  "You know, the one who's been giving you trouble. Teasing you."

  "Oh." She chewed on her bottom lip, not quite meeting my eye.

  "Is he still bothering you?" She shook her head. "So, he stopped being a pain in the butt?"

  "Kinda."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, he..." She licked her spoon clean. "Last week at recess, he kissed me."

  "What?" I stared at her with my mouth open. "And... you wanted that?"

  Her little grin was so devilish it made me laugh as she answered, "Maybe. I haven't decided yet. But now I'm the one calling the shots."

  "I'm glad you realized that." I shook my head in disbelief. God, my kid sister's life was more interesting than mine.

  We heard approaching footsteps accompanied by sniffling sounds, and a moment later, Mom appeared in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and blotchy-faced and refusing to look at us as she rummaged in the cupboards. India and I exchanged glances, but we both knew better than to speak.

  "God, Crispin, can you just..."

  I came closer, reaching onto the top shelf and handing Mom the box of chocolate chunk cookies she'd been trying to reach. I was rewarded with a grin, and even though it was a bit wobbly, I welcomed it. "Mom, are you okay?" I asked her softly, and she nodded with too much enthusiasm. "It's just, I need to be on set in twenty..."

  "I know," she replied in a clipped voice, as if I'd already annoyed her. "Your father is waiting for you in the Tesla. You should leave now if you want to get there on time."

  "Okay, cool." I kissed the top of India's head and snuck a spoonful of her ice cream. "You gonna be okay, kiddo?"

  "Yeah, I can take care of myself." She beamed with pride.

  "I don't doubt it."

  I said my goodbyes with India waving me off and Mom barely noticing I was leaving. A heavy weight settled in the pit of my stomach as I made my way out of the house and to the nearly silent Tesla in the driveway. I got in on the passenger's side, muttering a hello to Dad, which he returned.

  I never knew how to act after they fought. The man in me wanted to protect Mom, to automatically blame Dad for everything that had happened just because she was a woman, but a small voice in my head kept telling me I knew who was really at fault. In the eig
hteen years I'd been witnessing them fight, I'd seen my fair share of screaming matches. I'd also seen Mom attack Dad, long nails clawing at his face and leaving blood in their wake. The thing was, they were like water and oil—never mixing, never coming together. I'd never seen them act the way they did around one another with anybody else—small mercies, again.

  Dad and I drove to the set of the TV show in silence while the newest Nilou Westbrook pop hit blasted from the radio.

  “Can you believe what happened to her?” Dad asked, motioning toward the radio. “Such a huge star and she just went off grid.”

  I grunted in response, not knowing what else to say. It was tense in the car, and neither of us brought up the argument he'd had with Mom. The twenty-minute drive to the studio passed excruciatingly slowly, and by the time we finally arrived, I was itching to get out of the oppressive tension in the car.

  I was heading into the building when Dad stopped me with a firm hand on my shoulder. "Hey, kid," he spoke up, his voice heavy, weary from everything that had happened. "I'm sorry for today. I'm sorry for every day that happened. It's not right for you kids to see that."

  "Don't worry about me," I muttered, mentally adding, worry about India. She's only five, she doesn't deserve to be a part of this drama.

  "Well, I do," Dad insisted. "I hate what this is doing to you. And your Mom and I... we agreed to stay together, if for nothing else, for the sake of you kids."

  Worst decision of your fucking life, the snarky voice in my head whistled.

  "But I think it's done more damage than good," Dad confessed, his voice dripped with guilt. "I... I'm going to do my best to keep going. To not let her down. Although, I don't think she'll let me in the house tonight."

  Another not-so-unusual occurrence. Often after their bigger arguments, Dad would stay in his former bachelor pad in the city.

  "I have to get to set," I muttered, feeling uncomfortable by the conversation. "I need to run through my lines with Tinsley before we start filming."

  "Of course, of course." He clapped my back, an emotional smile taking over his face. "Don't think I haven't noticed all the things you do for your family, Crispin. The way you console your mother, how you keep India occupied."

  "It's nothing."

  "It's something. It means a lot. You're eighteen, and you're more of a man than I'll ever be."

  I didn't argue with him, just nodded, looking anywhere but into his eyes. He seemed to sense my discomfort. I could tell he was hurt by my reluctance to talk, but I didn't want to deal. I just wanted to get away.

  A pretty, young face filled my thoughts, and the corners of my lips tugged upward when I thought about her. Tinsley Sullivan, the star of the TV show Dad directed, and the one I co-starred on. Pouty lips, golden hair, and a laugh I couldn't resist—Tinsley was all that and more, and my crush for her had been going strong for four months, ever since I auditioned for the role of her character's first on-screen boyfriend.

  "I'm gonna head inside," I told Dad, and he nodded, looking guilt stricken. I left him standing there, walking onto the set. The closer I got, the more spring I had in my step. If anything could fix this, it would be Tinsley's grin when she saw me. So fucking pretty when she smiled.

  I nodded my hellos to the crew members, whom I'd gotten to know pretty well. Of course, my role on the show wasn't permanent like Tinsley's, but given my character's popularity, they'd extended my appearances from three episodes to eleven.

  My eyes locked with the blonde's on set, and a grin made its way on her face when she saw me approach.

  "If it isn't Crispin Dalton," she greeted. "Ready for me to kick your ass in this scene?"

  "Ready to hand you the ass-whooping of a lifetime, in fact." I pulled her in for a hug, but she was gone much too soon, leaving nothing but a faint sweet, soapy smell in her wake. God, I want to fucking inhale her. I can't get enough of that smell. "Practiced your lines?"

  "Yeah." She grimaced. "Not as fun without you."

  "I know." I laughed when she stuck out her tongue. "You can't resist me, Tinsley Sullivan. Just admit it." Was I imagining the color in her cheeks?

  "Nah, I'm good, Crispy. Now let's run through the lines before hair and makeup."

  "Sure."

  We grabbed our scripts, and I joined her on the set of her TV house, which was like a second home. The Life and Times of Devin Mooney was on its ninth season. Every part of that set felt familiar, even with just four months of filming. Sometimes I wondered how Tinsley didn't grow sick of it after so many years.

  We were running through our lines when Dad strolled onto the scene. I watched his troubled expression falter as he greeted our colleagues. He was a different man here. Gone was the nervous wreck from home, replaced by a confident, alpha male who knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe it's Mom who fucks with him so much he turns into another person. I banished the evil thought to the back of my mind and returned to my lines with Tinsley.

  A moment later, we were interrupted by Tinsley's mother Diana. I got along with her well. In fact, at the beginning of filming, I may have even confided in her about the situation with my parents. She was so easy to talk to. About a billion times easier than Mom or Dad.

  "Hey, Crispin," she greeted me. "Taking good care of my girl?"

  "Always."

  "Good. You have a new girl joining you today."

  "Oh?" Tinsley looked up. "That Estella girl?"

  "Yes," her mother nodded. "She has a couple lines in a scene, and depending on the audience's response, she might be back for more. Oh look, there she is now."

  Tins and I followed her gaze to find a busty brunette laughing in the chair as a makeup artist perfected her look.

  "Oh," Tinsley said, sounding disappointed. "She's...prettier than I remember."

  Diana smiled at me and winked.

  I muttered, "She's alright, I guess."

  The way Tinsley smiled when she heard my words didn't escape me. Was she jealous?

  "Hello, Diana." Dad approached from the other side of the set. "Ready for...today?"

  "Of course," Tinsley's Mom replied. "Good to see you, Cristofer. How are things at home?"

  My shoulders stiffened, but Dad made it seem as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Great, thank you for asking. Do you mind discussing a plot point in the show with me? I could use your input."

  "Of course," Diana nodded.

  "Oh, kids." Dad turned to look at us again. "The audience responded well to the episode from last week. They love you two together."

  "That's great," Tinsley chirped.

  "Yeah, amazing." We smiled at one another.

  "I'm glad you think so," Dad went on. "Because we're throwing in a kiss at the end of today's episode. Give 'em what they want, eh?" Laughing, he retreated with Diana in tow, leaving me tongue-tied and Tinsley blushing so fiercely she resembled a lobster.

  "Nervous about the kiss?" I asked.

  She refused to meet my eyes, fiddling with the script in her hands. "I'm sure it will be fine."

  "Wanna practice that, too?"

  "Crispin!"

  "What?"

  "As if I need to practice kissing."

  I cocked an eyebrow at her, saying, "Okay, but honestly, how much practice have you had?"

  She blushed even harder, muttering, "Enough, thanks. Though not as much as you, I'm sure."

  "What are we talking about?" We both shifted our attention to the brunette, Estella, who approached us with a smirk on her face. "Señor ayudame. I'm like so nervous about my lines."

  "Don't you just have one?" I said, and she gave me a murderous glare that made me bite back a laugh.

  "Not for long," she muttered, a calculating gaze making her look older than her sixteen years. "Not if I have my way. And I always have my way."

  "Oh-kay," I muttered, giving Tins a look that said, is this chick for real? "So, Tins, wanna get back to the script?"

  "Are you guys rehearsing?" Estella interrupted again. "I'd love to join in."
>
  "For your one sentence?" I reminded her, and she glared even harder. "How many words does it have?"

  "Doesn't matter. It has to be perfect," she insisted. "Come on, run through it with me."

  "Tinsley, makeup!" We looked up to find the makeup artist waving my girl over, and I remembered my father's word from earlier. I'd be kissing her in just a few hours...

  "You guys okay without me?" Tins asked, and I nodded regretfully while Estella ignored her question.

  “Hey, Tins, you want to get sundaes after the show?” I suggested.

  “Of course.” She was beaming. “It’s kind of a tradition now, isn’t it?” She waved, leaving us to stand there alone.

  "You like her, huh?"

  "What?" I raised my gaze to the brunette's, furrowing my brows. "What makes you say that?"

  "Oh, come on." She rolled her eyes. "It's so freaking obvious. You're like a lost little puppy around the star of the show."

  "Whatever." I turned my attention back to the script, ignoring the treacherous burn in my cheeks. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "As if. I can tell a smitten boy when I see one, cariño."

  "Aren't you like, twelve?"

  She rolled her eyes again, but grinned at me nonetheless. "Try sixteen, jackass."

  "Preacher's daughter with a filthy mouth. I like it."

  "Oh, there's plenty to like about me." She winked, and I returned my attention to the script, uncomfortable with her openness. But she didn't stop, coming closer to whisper conspiratorially in my ear. "Listen, if you want to get with Tins, you're going to have to play things a bit differently."

  "As in how?"