Bad Boy Boxset

by JD Hawkins

  None of us—even his parents—expected him to last at the museum. Yet somehow it worked. He gave tours to the school kids who came, part security-guard, part information-dispenser for the prehistoric section of the museum. It turns out, when you remove Aiden’s crass sense of humor, the combination of his boisterous persona and infinite enthusiasm was a big hit with the kids.

  I text him after I find a parking spot, telling him to meet me outside on the steps as soon as he can. Finding myself taken in by the elaborate details carved into the structure of the building, I take some pictures while I wait.

  I zone out as I’m squatting on the platform, looking through the viewfinder to compose a detail shot of the elegant arch above the entrance, judging the best exposure for capturing the shadows across the intricate shapes. Photography becomes almost zen-like for me at times like this, the ebb and flow of tourists, schoolchildren, and museum-goers fading into the background. A focused concentration; a hyper-sensitive awareness of every infinitesimal change in light and perspective.

  I guess hunters feel like this just before taking their shot, or fighters getting psyched up for a big fight. That build-up of anticipation, of delicate but powerful preparation before a decisive moment…

  “Rarrgh!” Aiden shouts, his grinning face suddenly filling the viewfinder, surprising me enough to make me stumble back onto my ass.

  “Shit! Aiden! You asshole!” I say, scrambling to my feet. Suddenly glad I wore rugged jeans and had my camera strapped around my neck. “I could have broken something!”

  He’s too busy laughing, doubled-over, to acknowledge my anger though. I check my camera and then punch him in the shoulder, his infectious laugh making it impossible not to smile at myself, too.

  “Ok, ok!” Aiden says, palms up to offer truce. “I couldn’t resist. Consider it evens for me using my break to help you out. Why you wanna take work photos here anyway? You think Neanderthals and mastodons used to drink the stuff? Maybe that’s why they went extinct…”

  “Ha ha. And no. I wanted do something primal…something that says strength and power. I mean, the marketing angle is all about how healthy and invigorating and ‘L.A.’ the drink is—so I just wanna show how cool this place and the exhibits are, alongside the drink.”

  Aiden looks at me like I’m speaking a different language, then shrugs.

  “Well let’s just walk around and see what looks good to you. You can tell me when you wanna get a closer look. Just don’t touch anything.”

  I nod and we head inside. Beneath the giant skylight there’s the skeleton of a giant T-rex, another sea-dinosaur suspended above it, looking like some floating dragon. Glass displays surround us, and the cool blue light coming from above lends them an ominous, menacing stature. There’s a group of whispering kids in school uniforms listening to a guide lecture about the exhibits, but once they move along to the next room, it’s just me and Aiden.

  “Wow,” I murmur, gazing up at a massive skeleton. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid. I forgot how big they are. This guy’s taller than my parents’ house!”

  “Yeah,” Aiden agrees, his voice going almost dreamy. “They’re pretty great. Did you see the mamenchisaurus? Come on, I’ll show you.”

  I’m immediately taken by it all, and start snapping away, momentarily forgetting I’m here for work.

  Aiden unclips the rope barrier surrounding a striking camptosaurus so I can get even closer, and when I pull out the kombucha drink to include it in a few photos he’s immediately interested.

  “So that’s the stuff you’re trying to sell? In the flesh?”

  “Yeah,” I say, offering the bottle for him to check it out. “Wanna try it?”

  “No chance,” Aiden says. “If it tastes half as bad as it looks on those Divinity Challenge videos, I doubt I’d keep it down. Is it really supposed to be that shade of green?”

  I groan and take the bottle back, setting it up and starting to shoot. Since I have Aiden here to help, I hand him the bottle and arrange his arm beside a dinosaur’s head—angling my shot so that it looks like the dinosaur is taking a sip of the kombucha. It’s a fun shot, and I figure it’s nerdy-silly enough to get us a solid number of shares and likes on social media.

  “Hey,” Aiden says, moving out from behind the dinosaur. “Labor Day’s coming up soon. My dad’s planning a massive blow-out, calling it his ‘farewell to summer’ barbecue.”

  “Oh yeah? I barely even noticed August is ending.”

  He shrugs. “I was talking with my sister about it the other day. We were thinking everyone might like to go out of town for that weekend instead, maybe go up to Tahoe like in the old days—but I guess the parents wouldn’t be up for all the driving. Maybe next year. Hope we’ll see you at the party, though. Cody and Wyatt said they’re definitely in.”

  At the mention of Wyatt’s name, I immediately stop and look at Aiden, then quickly walk on ahead so he doesn’t notice how interested I am.

  “When did you talk to Wyatt? And Cody?”

  “We were at the Dodgers’ game yesterday,” Aiden says, then laughs. “Hey, how come you never told us you’re working with him?”

  “Oh, you know,” I say, shaking my head as I pack the stuff up and move away from the exhibit. “We don’t really work that closely.”

  “Uh-huh,” Aiden says, and in the seconds between him speaking again I read all kinds of things into the grunt. “You know, Cody thinks you and Wyatt are gonna get it on.”

  “What!?” I say, loud enough to echo off the high walls of the exhibition hall. I clear my throat quickly. “What’d he say that for?” I say more calmly.

  Aiden laughs and nods.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Young blood doesn’t have a clue. I guess he was just a toddler when Wyatt and Winnie dated. How’s he supposed to know they’ve always had a thing for each other?”

  I clench my jaw and walk on a little more, trying to look interested in a wall of fossils, pretending to read the informational plaque while I process Aiden’s words.

  “Thing for each other?” I finally say, forcing a mildly-curious tone. “You think Wyatt still has a thing for Winnie?”

  Aiden shrugs. “Well…about as much of a ‘thing’ as Wyatt can have. I mean, your sister knows her way around Tinder. And dude’s on the prowl. But their relationship goes way back, you know? So I’d say they’re perfect for each other. In fact, I’d bet my original Nintendo that they end up getting back together.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say, my throat feeling tight.

  “Not that he’s interested in settling down now,” Aiden scoffs. “Not when he’s got that whole bachelor thing working so well for him. But once he’s sown his wild oats or whatever, it’s a given.”

  “Yeah…” I say. My brain feels like a bomb just went off inside it. “I mean…you really think that?”

  Aiden laughs as if it’s a dumb question.

  “Of course! Look, I’ll let you in on a little guy talk. Trust me, when Wyatt was in New York he was an animal. Went through women like he was trying to repopulate the earth. Damn near worked his way through an entire year’s worth of Vogue models.”

  I stare at Aiden, my mouth falling open, and suddenly I no longer care about how interested I might sound.

  “I mean, I heard Wyatt dated a lot out there, but—”

  “‘Dated’? You got the PG version,” Aiden says, with a conviction I can’t deny. “The ‘censored for primetime’ story. Wyatt’s a stone-cold player. All he wants from a girl is a tight ass and a promise not to get too clingy. Why do you think he broke up with Winnie all those years ago? He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his dick in his pants when he went off to college—uh, pardon my French. Like they say, ‘a guy is only as faithful as his options,’ and god knows that lucky son-of-a-bitch has a lot of options.”

  I walk on, dazed. I can’t even pretend to be interested in the other exhibits now, my thoughts racing far beyond the job I came here to do.

  “You ok?” Aiden as
ks, finally noticing how listless I’ve gotten.

  “Fine! I’m great. I just…I didn’t realize he was so…restless,” I murmur, almost to myself. Why is this bothering me so much, hitting me so hard? I already knew about Wyatt’s past. And it’s not like we’re anything official. So why do I feel so sick to my stomach?

  “Yeah,” Aiden says, forlornly. “Well, if you ask me, I think Wyatt really had a breakdown when his parents divorced. It’s like he didn’t trust anyone after that. Gave up on women entirely if it wasn’t just for fun. Maybe someday it’ll be different, but right now? Wyatt’s not interested in anything serious. Players gonna play.” He shrugs.

  I stop at a saber tooth tiger display, the taxidermied animal relaxing in repose, looking almost innocent and cat-like—its casual glare and large muscles only a hint of the havoc it can wreak. Instinctively, I bring the camera to my face and take a few pictures—almost as a kind of comforting gesture, a defense mechanism, a way to hide my confusion from Aiden.

  He laughs beside me, shaking his head.

  “Anyway,” he goes on, in a more upbeat tone, “I told Cody all of that. My money’s on Wyatt and Winnie hooking back up the second he’s done screwing his way through L.A. But you and Wyatt? Ha! I’d feel sorry for you! I think everyone in our family would have their heads explode.” He stops himself and points at me as if struck by an idea. “Hey! Why don’t we do that? Get you and Wyatt to tell everyone you’re together at the Labor Day party? Can you imagine the look on their faces? It would blow their minds!”

  He lets out another volley of laughter but I don’t even pretend to join in.

  “Yeah,” I say, staring at him blankly. “Let’s not do that.”

  After I leave the museum, in a foul mood I can’t even begin to hide, I take some time tumbling around the city, taking pictures of various locations with the bottle of Divinity, but my heart’s not in it—and my head is a million miles away. I tell myself I need to get back into my work, forget all the stupid things Aiden said earlier, but I know that the real reason I’m taking pictures all over town is to delay going back to the office and seeing Wyatt again. The prospect of it, once so exciting, now fills me with a sense of dread.

  Because even if Aiden was wrong about Wyatt and my sister getting back together, he’s right about the fact that Wyatt can get any girl he wants—and with an appetite like his, how could I be stupid enough to think he’d actually be ready to settle down? What if I’m just the first stop on Wyatt’s grand tour of the women of Los Angeles?

  And yet… Maybe I’ve got my head in the sand, but I just can’t shake how right this feels, how perfect all our time together has been…the day we spent driving around L.A. taking pictures was almost magical for me—an epiphany in terms of my photography. Was it all just work for Wyatt? Just doing his job? Just being nice to Winnie’s little sister? Just having sex with a willing female, no strings attached?

  Maybe I’ve been reading every signal the wrong way, imagining things that aren’t there, and leading Wyatt to think that this is something it isn’t. And if so, I have no one to blame but myself.

  I enter the MESS offices that afternoon, write disillusioned in the register, then make my way upstairs to find a computer.

  I wrestle my camera and backpack onto a desk and start angrily messing with the switches on the back of the computer once the power button doesn’t work. After about four minutes of nothing much happening no matter how hard I jiggle the display cable, I see a pair of expensive Italian leather shoes walk toward the desk on the other side.

  “Need me to get under there with you?” Wyatt says, his voice making my pulse kick.

  My stomach drops. I stand up and look at him, keeping my face expressionless.

  “I have a lot of photos to go through,” I say, plainly, as if using that blank statement of duty as a shield.

  Wyatt raises his eyebrows and smiles, but I keep my stoic position.

  “Why not use my office? You know I don’t mind—and god knows it’s one of the only computers that works in this place.”

  I sigh and look down at the mess of cables behind the computer, then back at Wyatt. Before I can think of a legitimate excuse—one that wouldn’t draw too much attention to the boiling frustration I’m trying to keep a lid on—Wyatt nods and turns toward his office.

  “Come on,” he says. “I was about to order in a late lunch anyway.”

  When will I learn how to say no to him? Biting my lip, I pick my stuff up and follow him to his office. All the way there I’m thinking of what I can say, what I can do that might satisfy all the questions I have, all the chaotic uncertainty that’s chewing up my insides.

  He holds the door open and I step inside, moving toward his laptop on the desk.

  Before I get there, I feel his hand on my waist, my body spun and pulled up against his. I’m immersed once more in the musk of his body, in the strength of his arms, the taste of his lips. Suddenly I seem to forget everything, that spell cast over me again, turning me senseless and instinctual, a being of nothing more than lust and sensation.

  I run my nails down his back, suck his tongue into my mouth, squeeze my breasts against him, as if I can make everything ok if I just let myself go. In this moment I want him more than ever, and there’s nothing I can do to deny it. But then he pulls away to look at me, to cast that intense gaze my way.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he whispers.

  But without the kiss, the spell ends.

  “No,” I say, pushing myself out of his arms. “I…don’t tell me. I just need to do my work. I’m already behind. On the posts.”

  He looks at me for a moment, confused.

  “Is everything ok?”

  “It’s fine!” I snap, nodding as I turn to the desk and move the laptop around. “I just…I don’t want to…do anything with you right now, ok?”

  “Yeah,” Wyatt says slowly, holding up his palms, “of course. I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you that—”

  “Please! Forget it,” I interrupt. I’m so scared of hearing what he has to say that I can’t even let him get the words out. Can you break up with someone you’re not even officially dating? Is that what he brought me into his office to do? “I just need to focus on this. We can talk later. Ok?” My words come out in a breathless jumble, and I feel my cheeks burning under his scrutiny.

  “O…k,” Wyatt says. “Well. Just let me know if you need anything.”

  I nod and settle down, taking Wyatt’s laptop and using it on the other side of the desk. He sits down in front of some paperwork looking a little weirded out. I don’t blame him.

  For the next ten minutes the silent tension between us is so uncomfortable it feels like ice cubes down my back. Wyatt makes a few attempts at neutral conversation, but my one-word answers and noncommittal sounds of acknowledgement soon end it.

  After about twenty minutes of throwing myself into the work, ignoring my raging emotions by engrossing myself in the minutiae of editing a bunch of the photos I took at the museum this morning, there’s a knock at the door. I can’t tell whether I’m relieved or disappointed at the interruption.

  The door opens and Jim pokes his head inside.

  “Hey,” he says, then sees me and looks a little startled. “Oh, Melina?”

  “She’s just using my computer to get some work done,” Wyatt says. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was just—well. I need to have a word with you,” Jim says, glancing at me. “Not here. In my office.”

  Wyatt nods. “Sure.”

  I watch Wyatt follow my boss out the door. He turns to shoot me a quick eye-roll before disappearing into the hallway.

  Maybe I’m getting paranoid, and maybe my current emotional state doesn’t make it the best time to draw conclusions, but I’m almost certain that what they’re talking about has something to do with me.

  14

  Wyatt

  As Jim leads me inside his office all I can think about is Melina’s strange behavio
r. I’m not sure what’s up, but it probably has something to do with me.

  Ever since we were kids, Melina was the kind of person who went inside themselves when they were upset. She’d rarely argue or explode with anger. She hates confrontation, and would just bottle things up until they either went away or she found some solution on her own.

  Often—way before I left California—I’d be the one to tease her problems out of her, to give her some outlet to channel all that frustration. I’d find some way to get her alone, or split off from the group so we could talk one-on-one, and patiently give her the space and time to start venting. I even let her whoop my ass in a pillow fight once when she was in seventh grade, just to get her anger out, and afterward she sat down and admitted that some boys at school had been tormenting her, asking why she wasn’t as hot as her older sister and making fun of her lack of ‘development.’ She never found out, but the next day I took a city bus all the way across town to ‘talk’ to those boys myself. That was one schoolyard fight I never regretted getting grounded for.

  But even then, I was never the guy she got upset with, only a stand-in for her to direct her problems at, so the way she just looked at me in the office—almost accusingly—is something I don’t even know how to handle.

  “I want to show you something,” Jim says, turning his laptop screen around to face me. I suppress a groan, closing my eyes to try and find some reserves of strength for the PowerPoint slides to come. “What do you think?”

  When I open my eyes, however, it’s not a slide on the screen, it’s a photo of the kombucha drink on the ledge of an outdoor mall. I frown at the picture, then at Jim.

  “That isn’t one of ours. One of Melina’s, I mean.”

  “No,” Jim says, smiling. “I put an ad out for free photographers. ‘Internships.’ And the response was amazing! Look.”

  Jim flicks through a series of photos.

  “These are terrible,” I tell him, confused by the fact that he can’t see it. “I mean, look at this one—the drink isn’t even the subject of the photo. It’s out of focus. And you can tell it’s had about three basic filters applied to it. There’s no message here.”