Buy Me, Bad Boy - A Bad Boy Buys A Girl Romance

by Layla Valentine

  He turned his beady dark gaze on me.

  “You’re supposed to be kidnapped, so if your cards get used or if you get recognized, you’re fucked too. I’d suggest some hair dye, some ugly shit you buy at the grocery store like Dalia does.”

  “Fuck you, Tom,” Dalia hissed.

  Unfazed, Tom turned to Jake again and said, “I still have that smelly Rasta wig in my truck, and that ugly-ass shirt you bought me as a joke. You want ‘em?”

  Despite the circumstances, one corner of Jake’s lips raised in a half smile.

  “Let me look at them.”

  Tom disappeared through the front door, leaving us with Dalia, whose hatred made Jake’s cabin—which I had once thought surprisingly roomy—feel suffocatingly stuffy. Her black-rimmed glare was directed at me, although she took breaks to flick it at Jake, who had his arm around me.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered in my ear.

  I nodded instead of admitting that, after Tom’s rant, I didn’t believe him.

  Luckily, Tom was back in a door-slammed flash. Dumping the items on the floor, he said, “Enjoy.”

  As Tom flopped back onto the couch, Jake went over and crouched before the strange pile.

  After lifting what looked like a giant series of spider legs, which turned out to be the wig, he dropped it and coughed.

  “Shit, that thing is still potent as hell.”

  Tom laughed.

  “Yeah. Check out your shirt, too.”

  Jake lifted the tie-dyed, hippie-esque button-down less gingerly.

  “Nah… I mean, you really think so?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Do you want to end up in the Colorado state prison or not?”

  Jake shrugged.

  “Fine, whatever. But what’s this?”

  Now he was holding a bright pink and yellow flowery piece of clothing that definitely didn’t look like it was intended for males.

  “Chill, bro. Thought Alice could use it, maybe. It was Dalia’s, but she’s too fat now.”

  As Dalia elbowed Tom, Jake lifted the teeny, flamboyant dress to get a better look at it. With a laugh, he shook his head.

  “Thanks for trying, man, but Alice would never wear this—it’s not her style.”

  Tom snorted.

  “That’s the goddam point, dipshit.”

  Silence while all eyes flicked to me. With a sigh and a wave of my hand, I said, “Fine. I’ll try it.”

  As the others cheered and exchanged high fives, I smiled a little myself. There. That should show them that I wasn’t some stuck-up princess unwilling to do anything for anyone other than herself.

  A few minutes later, Jake and I were all decked out in our hideous attire, both of us coughing from the horrendous smell emanating from Jake’s head, the pile of scraggly wool they kept affectionately calling his “Rasta hat.”

  As Tom surveyed our dismal condition, he forced his face into a smile.

  “Eh, not bad. I mean”—he leaned in, took a good whiff, and then coughed—“the smell’s pretty rank, but you only have to wear it when you’re going public places, not when you’re, like, fu—uh—bonding and stuff.”

  “Fuck you, Tom,” Jake said in a joking tone, ripping off the wig and chucking it at Tom, who leaped off the couch to escape the thing’s smelly path.

  “Well, at least you look hot,” Jake said to me, his gaze lingering on the low-cut neckline of the diminutive thing I was wearing.

  “And completely ridiculous,” I said.

  Tom chuckled.

  “Yeah. I mean, you could totally wear that on the run and while bonding.”

  At this, Jake tore off his shirt and, topless, began whipping it into Tom’s back, who howled as he ran away.

  Once they had made the rounds of the cabin a few times and finally collapsed, laughing, onto the couch, Jake asked, “Hey, wanna join us for my Last Supper?”

  Tom got up, sauntered over to the fridge, and yanked open the door.

  “Sure, only…your fridge ain’t got shit.”

  Jake rolled his eyes.

  “Thanks, man; I wasn’t aware.”

  Tom leaned on the counter and glanced at Gerald’s tank.

  “Ooh, that is, unless the furry friends you’re keeping—”

  “Hey, thanks for reminding me. You will look in on them while I’m gone, right?”

  Tom sank onto the floor with a sort of growled moan.

  “Don’t make me do that, Jake.”

  “C’mon, bring your sister, Adelaide. She’s in vet school, isn’t she? Perfect experience.”

  “She lives far as fuck, man. It would be such a hassle to drive her all the way up here.”

  “Dude, if you kill my animals, I will kill you.”

  “Not if you’re in jail.”

  “You know how many guys owe me favors?”

  Silence.

  “Shit. All right, all right. Fine.”

  Jake grinned and then took out his phone. “Speaking of dinner, I have some pizza to order.”

  As Tom and Dalia gaped at him in disbelief, Jake winked at me and, into the phone, said, “Yeah, Bob. Yeah, man, I know. One last time, then I’m out of your hair for good. Okay, for a few weeks, though. Yeah, yeah. Same place. You know it.”

  Jake hung up.

  “What?” he asked Tom and Dalia’s still surprised faces. “Some guy owes me a favor; I told you.”

  “Is there anybody who doesn’t owe you a favor?” Dalia asked.

  “Yep,” Jake said, walking over and slinging his arm around me. “Alice. I owe her, like, a hundred.”

  “A hundred and two,” I corrected, patting his cheek.

  He kissed me, and Tom ambled out the door.

  “Gross. I’m having a smoke!” he yelled over to Dalia. She hurried out to join him with a questioning glance at Jake, who shook his head.

  “Haven’t smoked for months now,” he said.

  I nodded and then joked, “Is there any bad habit you haven’t had?”

  “Yeah,” he said as he shot a sidelong look at me. “Being in love.”

  That called for more kissing, which neither of us was averse to.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jake

  Bob took his sweet-ass time delivering the pizza. Still, by the time his shining bald head appeared at my doorstep, Pip had had some time to appear and bark a greeting at Tom and Dalia. Seeing Bob carrying her next-favorite food after squirrels (ham and bacon pizza), Pip trotted up and barked a greeting at him too.

  Huddled in the corner of my porch, his face less than amused, Bob declared in a deadpan voice, “If your dog bites me, I’ll kill you.”

  To which I replied, “And?”

  A significant look in his eye, Bob retorted, “And then you won’t have any pizza.”

  Nodding, I called Pip off and then took the box.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bob said, walking away already.

  “Hey, Bob?”

  He stopped but didn’t turn.

  “You want one?”

  Now he turned around, his bushy black brows raised in incredulity.

  “You kidding me, man? I have that crap every day—morning, noon, night, dessert. Sick of the stuff.”

  Pip started to make her way back toward Bob as he continued to his little white ‘Sexy Pizza’ labeled car. He called over his shoulder, “Give my piece to your dog.”

  So I did. She carried it inside proudly.

  “Wow, looks delish,” Tom said sarcastically.

  Although after we’d opened the box and he’d had his first bite, Tom kept his mouth shut since he was enjoying the damn thing so much.

  It was an “idiotic” scene as Tom would say, or a “sweet” one as Alice would. All four of us crammed together on my crummy couch, stuffing our faces with Sexy Pizza that was actually yummy, the delicious tang of the ham and bacon mixing strangely with the ever-potent stench of the Rasta hat (which we had chucked outside fifteen minutes ago). Every
one smiling at pizza, or, more likely, nothing in particular.

  It was weird. Alice and I were about to go on the run for two crimes I’d made a mess of, and we could end up never seeing Tom or Dalia again. I should have been nervous, a little afraid, maybe exhilarated. Instead, I felt utterly at ease. Like finally I was on the right path somehow. A fucked-up, dangerous, and risky one, sure, but still, finally, one that felt right. Splat on the couch in the middle of everyone, with my past on one side of me and my future on the other, I felt like right here, right now, I could do anything.

  Tom was the one who broke my reverie.

  “Goddam, was that some sexy pizza.”

  “Only 12 dollars for a large,” I chirped.

  Then, silence. Tom slapped me on the back.

  “Christ, am I gonna miss you, you big fuckup.”

  I mussed up his hair and then rose. We hugged.

  “Thanks, Tom. For everything.”

  Tom shifted, and next thing I knew, Alice’s head was beside me, engulfed in Tom’s huge hug.

  “You take good care of this crazy man, you hear?” Tom said to her.

  She laughed.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Tom shifted again, and, after some scuffling, Dalia’s bitter, bleached head was between Tom and me.

  “Good luck, Jake,” she said. “You’re all right.”

  With this impressive remark setting the tone for our group hug, Tom gave everyone one more giant squeeze, and then we separated.

  “You want us to go first or you?” Tom asked.

  I shook my head.

  “You can stay here for as long as you want to take care of everything, if you feel like it. Or just stop in every few days or so to feed the little shed guys.”

  Tom’s jaw actually dropped, showing a row of cigarette-ravaged lower teeth.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Just don’t do anything idiotic like blow it up or eat the toad.”

  “Shit, yeah—I mean no, of course not.” Tom shook his head so hard that some sticky strands of hair detached from his head and wagged along too. “Fuckers at my job just gave me the boot too, and—” His excited gaze flicked to me again. “Seriously?”

  I nodded, and Tom hugged me, whooped, and then hugged Dalia.

  “We got ourselves a regular old mountainside getaway, Dal!”

  As they whooped and raced around like kids on Christmas morning, Alice and I made our way to the door.

  “How do those two know each other exactly?” Alice asked.

  I turned back to survey them once more. I shrugged.

  “They never mentioned it, actually. Think some metal concert maybe.”

  “Ah.”

  Another silence. Then Alice asked, “Shouldn’t we pack?”

  I shook my head and explained. “I loaded in all our stuff while you were sleeping. Not like there was much anyway.”

  Her face went through an adorable sequence of surprise, confusion, and irritation before settling on a guarded sort of delight.

  “You knew we’d go together all this time?”

  I nodded.

  “I guess you could say that.”

  She kissed me, laughed, and then took my hand.

  “Well, we better get going then.”

  So we did. All decked out in our ridiculous costumes, our bellies full of delicious pizza, we got into the same black van Alice had been in the back of last time.

  Once I started the engine, Tom and Dalia, as well as Pip, ran to the doorway.

  As we drove off, they waved, whooped, and barked. In the rearview mirror, they shrank to tiny specks. Then we turned around a bend and they were gone.

  That was it. No more petty household or friend concerns. There was only the road, the cops, and us, and who was going to beat who.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alice

  I couldn’t tell him. In the roadside truck stop bathroom, I stared at my reflection and nodded. No, there was no way I could tell Jake just what kind of texts I’d been getting. They were the real reason I had rushed into the washroom. I just hadn’t been able to take it anymore.

  It was nice that Jake had gotten another friend who owed him a favor to transfer my phone number and messages onto this burner phone, but being reconnected to my friends and family was turning out to be more of a curse than a blessing. I realized the mistake as soon as the messages started rolling in.

  First, there were Papa’s anxious texts: Is he still there? When are you coming home? What’s going on? Paul’s worried about you. What’s going on?

  Then Lux’s sad ones: Are you mad at me? Is that why you aren’t texting? If the kidnapper asshole is seeing this, then FUCK YOU. Alice, please, if you’re seeing this, please, please just respond. Please.

  They didn’t understand. I couldn’t text them back, not yet anyway. Because yes, Jake had been with me every step of the way on this journey the past few days, but that was a good thing, not a bad thing. The only thing that had kept me sane in this whirlwind of running was the prospect of our nights all snuggled up together, rejoining ourselves and forgetting everything else.

  I couldn’t text them, because I didn’t know when I was coming home or how long this running from the cops was going to go on. Every day, Jake mentioned turning himself in to the police, but I couldn’t bear to let him do it, not yet. If he got put in jail for good, I didn’t know what I’d do with myself.

  So for now, it was this: fast food and slow driving in our ugly disguises so that we stayed under the police’s radar.

  Even Paul had texted me: Alice, sweetie, are you all right? I heard from your dad. You text me as soon as you get this, you hear? God, I’ve never been so afraid in my life.

  Not responding to that bastard wasn’t easy either. Every part of my being hissed at me to tell him to go screw himself, to tell him that I knew the truth now, to call him so I could laugh in his face.

  But instead, after his latest message, while Jake chowed down on three burgers, I hurried into the bathroom and set my phone to airplane mode.

  Then I looked at my pale face and sad eyes in the mirror and whispered, “You can’t tell him.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jake

  Who would’ve thought a week could go by so fast? Well, you know what they say—time flies when you’re on the run from the police.

  I glanced at Alice beside me. Looking out the window, her face wore none of the strain of the late nights and early mornings we’d been forced to keep. This had been on Tom’s recommendation, his reasoning being that there were fewer cops on the roads during the night. Up until now, he’d been right. Thankfully, we hadn’t been stopped—not yet anyway.

  As I pulled into the parking lot in front of the building with the giant jukebox on its sign, a smile flickered across Alice’s face.

  “This is the place?”

  I nodded, stopped the car, and took her hand.

  “This is it.”

  We adjusted our disguises, gave each other the usual good luck kiss, and clambered out.

  As soon as we walked in, I could see that Tom had been as good as his word—better even. Peggy Sue’s Diner was a veritable step back into the past: classic black and white tiled floor, 50s rock and roll paraphernalia all over the walls, and a red and black bedecked waitress who squealed, “Oh, I’ll be damned!” at sight of us.

  To be fair, with Alice’s pink and yellow go-go dress and red wig (added due to her staunch refusal to bleach her hair), as well as my hideous shirt and rank Rasta wig, we’d drawn much more vehement responses, from catcalls and whoops to stares that didn’t stop.

  “Well, y’all will just fit right in,” the waitress declared, showing off her buck teeth.

  Her sausage fingers directed us to a booth. We sat down and she swept away, leaving us to look at the peeling, faded picture of Marilyn Monroe on the wall beside our table.

  Alice took my hand.

  “I like this place, babe.”

  Absentmindedly,
I nodded while I scanned the room out of the corner of my eye. The guy sitting by the TV seemed to be staring at us too long, though it could have always just been because of my ugly-ass outfit or Alice’s hot one. But his ball cap looked stupid—a Toronto Maple Leafs fan in Nevada? It couldn’t be that he was…

  My foot was brushed. I looked up to see Alice pouting at me.

  “Pay attention to me,” she whined jokingly.

  I kissed her on the cheek, patting the other one with my hand.

  “Sorry, babe. You know how I worry.”

  Her foot strokes were rising higher and higher up my leg. Now they were at my knee. Alice said nothing, but she didn’t have to. Was she thinking the same thing I was?

  “…And this just in: Paul Van Patten, the famous Denver banker, has just been caught trying to flee the country after his company’s 100-million dollar off-shore account was uncovered to be siphoning money from customers.”

  At the same time, Alice’s head and mine whipped around to the television where, sure enough, the scowling blond face of Paul was shown as he was manhandled into a cop car.

  I grasped both of Alice’s hands and squeezed. She was beaming like I’d never seen before.

  Her foot was now stroking my inner thigh. I wanted to seize her—right there and then—sweep her up in my arms and spin her around. Instead, I kissed her, and when we parted, our returning waitress let out an appreciative whoop.

  “Well aren’t y’all just the cutest thing since sliced bread.”

  Under her delighted spider-lashed gaze, Alice and I smiled sheepishly.

  “What’s the occasion?” she asked.

  Over her shoulder, the man with the Maple Leafs hat was staring at us again.

  “Oh, you know”—I took Alice’s hand and squeezed—“love.”

  Our waitress—Alma, according to her nametag—nodded appreciatively.

  “So, what’s next?”

  “Las Vegas,” Alice exclaimed before I had a chance to respond.

  “Well I’ll be,” Alma crowed.

  “I think we’re ready to order,” I said.

  “Huh,” Alma said. “Didn’t give ya the menus or nothing.”