Lost Ones (Bad Idea Book 2)

by Nicole French

  Well, one woman’s skin. But she’s not here right now. We’ve been talking every now and then over the past two months, but it’s hard. Layla and I…we can’t not be in each other’s lives, but at the same time, it’s painful. I know she’s doing a lot of things I don’t want to know about. Going out with her friends. Meeting other men—she’s beautiful, how could she not? And there is plenty about my life I can’t tell her either. Details about Jessie, who, if I’m being honest, acts more and more like my girlfriend these days and less like a roommate. And if I’m being really honest, I don’t do much to stop her. I get tired of sleeping alone, even if the body next to me isn’t totally the one I want.

  “What’s this?” Jessie asks, squinting down at the stack of practice tests and the legal pad full of notes.

  I repress the urge to shut the book and turn over my messy chicken scratch. It’s been a while since I took notes on anything, and I wasn’t exactly a great student before. No one but Gabe even knows I’m taking this test. Not K.C. Not my mother. Not Layla. No one. I’m not sure why I haven’t told anybody. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to hear the obvious: that I’m not exactly a brain, and only the top five percent of test-takers even have a chance at a call back. I looked it up. The last time they held this test, they had thirty thousand applicants. That means maybe fifteen hundred of them got a real interview. The odds aren’t great.

  But that hasn’t stopped me from trying my best over the last two months. I’m twenty-seven now, having celebrated my birthday checking IDs last week. The FDNY doesn’t hire anyone over thirty, and they won’t do this again for another four or five years. This is my last chance.

  “Seriously, what the hell is this?” Jessie asks again as she pushes me to the side and starts leafing through my notes. She picks up one of the practice exams that I’ve taken at least three times. It’s highlighted in four different colors. “The FDNY? Seriously?” She flips through some of the other tests. “How long have you been doing this?”

  I trade my pencil back and forth between my hands. Jessie’s looking at me like I’ve betrayed her, but honestly, this isn’t any of her business. She and I don’t really talk much, considering we’re on completely different schedules, and when we overlap, it’s usually for sex, and that’s about it. Sometimes we do nice things for each other, like make an extra cup of coffee in the morning, or order the takeout the other likes. But those are roommate things, right?

  Sure, asshole. Keep telling yourself that.

  “A while,” is all I say.

  Jessie stands up with a pout. “You could have told me.”

  I shrug. “We’ll see what happens.”

  She tips her head like she’s trying to figure something out. Then that look appears––one I know pretty well at this point. One side of her painted pink lips lifts as she leans over, giving me a nice view down her shirt. She looks like a typical California girl, tan and golden in a pair of short shorts and a loose white tank top. She’s pretty; some might say gorgeous. But as she sinks to her knees and runs her hands suggestively up my thighs, I’m not feeling it. At all.

  “I can’t,” I say as I lift her hands off me. “Look, I’m sorry. But I’m taking the test next week when I go home for Thanksgiving, and I’m still not doing very well on the last section.”

  Jessie frowns and stands back up. “You know, I’m getting kind of sick of this shit from you.”

  “And what shit would that be?”

  “This hot and cold bullshit,” she snaps. “You were kind of off when you first got here, but I figured that was just getting used to each other again. You mostly got back to normal though, and that Nico wouldn’t say no to some cookie if it was two a.m. and he had the flu.” She squints her eyes a little. “Is it that girl? The one from the beach that day?”

  Now it’s my turn to frown. “I told you not to talk about her.”

  “You told me not to say anything disrespectful. I’m not.”

  I stare at her for a moment. Then I shrug. “Yeah. Well. That was almost three months ago, Jess.”

  “And you’ve been kind of different for three months. I know you still talk to her.”

  “So what? We’re friends. She gives me study tips.” It’s a lie, sort of. Even though Layla has no idea I’m doing this, picking her brain about her classes tells me a lot about what a good student looks like. And my girl is smart. Really smart.

  Jessie, on the other hand, isn’t exactly big on education. She moved to LA when she was seventeen, as soon as she graduated high school. As far as she’s concerned, there’s nothing else but LA, nothing but modeling and auditions and nightlife.

  She grimaces. “Why? What’s the fucking point?”

  I scowl at the mess of papers, feeling my face get hot. This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell anyone. “You know why.”

  Her frown deepens. “Why would you want to be a firefighter anyway? You’re a promoter. You could make more money doing that than you ever would at the FDNY. And you won’t die of lung cancer or whatever before you’re fifty.”

  I roll my eyes and slump back in my chair. “I’m a doorman, not a promoter. And maybe I want to do more with my life than check IDs, Jess.”

  “Like be a big, strong fireman? What are you, three, watching Sesame Street? Should I get you a play ax too?”

  I just stare her down. That’s fucked up, and she knows it. Jessie knows how many times I’ve applied to the FDNY. She knows it’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do––I told her that last year, when we first met.

  “Maybe,” is all I say finally. “Can’t hurt to try again.”

  Jessie steps closer, forcibly takes my hands in hers, and pulls me off my chair. We’re almost eye to eye. I’m not a huge guy––I’ve got big shoulders, but I’m not quite five-eleven––and Jessie tops five-ten in bare feet.

  “I don’t want to be mean here,” she starts.

  I cross my arms. “Then don’t.”

  “Nico.” She tugs my chin so I’m looking at her. “They. Don’t. Want. You. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. Hon, you need to come back down to reality and join the rest of us.”

  “Should I say that to you every time you get turned down for a job?” I ask. “You think being a supermodel is any less of a pipe dream?”

  Jessie rolls her eyes. “It’s not the same thing. And second of all, I’m getting work regularly these days. You…you’re not going to be a firefighter, Nico. Maybe it’s your record; I don’t know. But it’s time for you to just give it up. Come back to earth, baby.” Her hand slips across my chest and up my neck, and her thumb brushes over my lower lip. “I could probably convince you to stay if you let me.”

  We stare at each other. And I almost let her pull me closer. I almost follow her into her bedroom, have my way with her, just like she wants, just like sometimes I do. But then she quirks a slim blond brow, like she already knows what I’m going to do. And it’s that knowing that makes me sit my ass back down and pick up my pencil.

  “I can’t,” I say again. “I have to study. I don’t have time to fuck around.”

  She flinches a little. I feel bad. No one likes being told they’re a waste of time. I know better. I rub the back of my neck.

  “Look,” I say, softening as I take her hand and play with her knuckles. “I’m sorry. We can hang out when I get back on Friday, okay? You can come by the club if you want.”

  Jessie presses her lips together and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Friday. Yeah, okay.” She looks at me like she’s hoping I’ll pull her into my lap and assure her with…something.

  But I don’t. Because that’s not what we do. As much as I yearn for it sometimes––the feel of a body next to mine, the touch of someone who doesn’t just want to fuck me, but actually wants me, the person, Nico––it isn’t Jessie, and it’s not fair to make her think otherwise. I might be a weak motherfucker for letting my dick take over from time to time, but I can at least give her that.

  ~

  Jess
ie’s comments are still ringing in my head hours later, to the point where I have to stop studying and go to the gym. But they don’t go away. And when I get back, I’m dying to call the one person I know who never has anything but good things to say about what I can do with my life. The one person who’s ever believed in me unconditionally.

  But I won’t. I only let myself call Layla once a week––twice if she texts me first. It’s better for us both if we keep a little distance.

  So I’m surprised when my phone buzzes on my desk around six, just when I’m getting ready for work. We just talked last night for over an hour. Sometimes it feels like Layla has a sixth sense for when I need her most.

  I pick up the phone. Fuck distance. I need to hear her voice.

  “Hey, baby,” I answer with a grin. “Twice in two days. Lucky me.”

  I can practically hear her smiling through the phone, and fuck, it feels good. I shouldn’t call her baby. I know that. But she’ll always be that to me, and I think she knows it too, because she doesn’t tell me to stop anymore.

  “Hey,” she says. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for work.”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  It’s a familiar game we play. I usually ask her what she’s wearing whenever I call, partly because I’m hoping she’ll say nothing, and partly because I just want to imagine her.

  I look at myself in the mirror. “Same black monkey suit as always. Black shirt, black tie tonight. I’m feeling dangerous.”

  “Oh?”

  I smile into the mirror. We might be three thousand miles apart, but I can still read my girl like a book. She’s imagining me right now, and she likes what she sees, so I make a mental note to take this shirt and tie with me to New York later this week. I kind of look like Zorro in this shit, but it’s not a bad look.

  “What about you?” I ask. “It’s Saturday night. What are you wearing?”

  “Um…” she drifts off. “Black pants, a blue shirt, and my black boots. The girls and I are about to go out to meet Jamie’s boyfriend and his friends. They’re all business students.”

  I shove the growl that rises automatically back down my throat. Meeting up with a bunch of dudes sounds like a great recipe for meeting a new boyfriend. I can just see these fuckers now with their shiny leather shoes and their striped shirts and gelled hair, buying Layla and her friends drinks and expecting more afterward. I want to fly across the country tonight and punch every one of them in their entitled fuckin’ faces.

  Whoa, there. Calm the fuck down, hot shot.

  “Good, good,” I lie. “I hope you have fun.”

  “Are you okay? You sound kind of sad.”

  I snort. This girl can read me like a book too––she always could.

  “I––I’m just nervous,” I admit as I sit down on the bed. “I…yeah. I’ve got this test thing coming up.”

  “What test?”

  I’m not going to tell her what it’s for. As much as I’d love Layla in my corner, cheering me on, it would be unfair to her. I know her. She’d get her hopes up like crazy, imagining I’m going to be moving back to the city next year.

  But it can’t hurt to tell her a little right? I could seriously use her optimism. So I tell a white lie.

  “Uh, it’s for a first responder thing.” It’s not a total lie. Firefighters are a type of first responders.

  “What, like an EMT?”

  “Yeah,” I say, deciding to go with it. “Like an EMT. I decided…well, yeah. I’m sick of this club shit. And I want to do something different with my life. But first I have to take the entrance exam for the program, so I’m studying for that.”

  “What?!” Her enthusiasm blasts through my phone’s tinny speakers. “Nico, that’s amazing!”

  My face practically splits in half when I hear the excitement in her voice. This is what I needed. Not the doubt dripping off Jessie or the worry that my brother projects even though he sent me the test announcement to begin with. Everyone needs someone in their life who really believes in them, and for me, Layla is that person. I never want to lose that.

  “God, I wish I could see you right now,” she says. “I just want to tackle you. I want to give you the biggest hug to wish you good luck. You can do this, Nico. You’re so smart. If you’re putting your mind to it, I know you’ll kick that exam’s ass!”

  Fuck. It’s so easy to forget what this feels like when you’ve never really had it before. How many people have had this kind of faith in me? I could count them on one hand. Layla gives it so freely, and it feels so crazy good. I close my eyes as she keeps going, not really listening to all of the praise she gives, but just absorbing her enthusiasm, letting her belief in me sink in. Hoping I can take that with me after we hang up.

  “I want to see you,” I blurt out, interrupting her from her onslaught. “I’m––shit, I should have told you before. But I’m going to be in town for Thanksgiving next week. Do you––are you––you’re not going to be around, are you?”

  Shit. Of course she’s not, you idiot. And fuck me, if I’d really thought about this before, I would have arranged my trip so I was in LA when she got here. Because in all likelihood, this is where Layla is going to be spending her breaks. Her mom lives here now. And I just fucked up my next chance to see her.

  “Actually, yeah, I will.”

  The words are a fresh breeze. My eyes pop open. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. My mom is going to Cabo or something with my grandparents. She wanted me to come too, but I just…I didn’t want to.”

  She trails off, and I can hear the sadness in her voice. I know the last few months have been hard for her. She doesn’t hear from her dad much these days, and her mom sends money but never calls. I don’t get the feeling that Layla’s family was ever that affectionate. Her dad is a typical, domineering Latino father, but it doesn’t sound like either of her parents balanced that sternness with warmth. Which is crazy, because when I’m around their daughter, all I want to do is hug her. Okay, and other things too. But it’s impossible not to love her.

  Despite the sadness in her voice, I can barely hide the excitement in mine. “So, that means I get to see you this week?” Okay, I can’t actually hide it at all. And I don’t give a fuck.

  There’s a swift intake of breath, and I can practically see Layla squirming on her bed. Is it the same kind as last year, with the makeshift curtains she hangs around a twin mattress? The one where we used to get it on like rabbits, not giving a shit that her roommate was snoring maybe ten feet away?

  The thought of it, snores and all, actually gets me more excited.

  “Yes,” she breathes, and I’m practically bowled over by another wave of anticipation. Suddenly, I don’t give a fuck that I’m really going to New York to take that test. I’m just excited I get to see my girl.

  “Layla?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know we promised not to talk about it,” I start, “but are you seeing someone right now, baby?”

  She hesitates, and my heart stops in my chest. No. Please, no. I’ll take whatever I can get from her. But goddamn I really need her to be single right now.

  “Not really,” she says slowly. “Nothing…nothing serious.”

  I exhale, long and loud. “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Good,” I repeat. “Because when I see you, I want to kiss you, baby. And I really fuckin’ hope you’ll let me.”

  She doesn’t answer at first. Then, a few seconds later, there’s a giggle. It’s not a yes, but it’s on the right track.

  ~

  CHAPTER TEN

  Layla

  I’m sitting on the couch, trying to find something, anything to do with myself. I hate waiting like this more than anything else—waiting for the stupid phone to ring, waiting for the seconds to tick by, waiting for the moment—whatever is going to happen in it—to occur.

  It’s been like this for days, ever since that phone call on Saturday night.
Quinn’s been yelling at me all week to calm the fuck down because I’m so jumpy. But I can’t help it. I’m pretty much beside myself with anticipation over seeing him. Seeing Nico.

  My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I leap for it, practically falling over my feet to get it. Behind me, there’s a snort: Quinn, studying in the kitchen. But I’m too annoyed to respond, because the number on the front is not the one I’ve been waiting for.

  “Not him?” she asks dryly.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  It’s Giancarlo, the Argentinian student I met at Fat Black’s. He calls a lot, at least two or three times a week. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I don’t. Most of the time I send him to voicemail––the guy is a little intense, and I’m not really in the headspace for dealing with a new relationship. But the guy is nothing if not persistent.

  I’d never say this to my roommates, but it kind of feels good to be pursued like this. Sometimes, usually when I just can’t deal anymore with listening to Jamie and Dev cuddling on the couch, or Quinn’s bitching gets to be too much for me, I pick up the phone.

  Giancarlo and I have met up maybe three times since that first night, and it’s usually led to something similar; a lot of drinking and me waking up in his apartment uptown. But every morning I feel weird as I do the walk of shame back to the subway, avoiding the catcallers and practically sprinting past Nico’s old block, where his brother now lives.

  I silence the call. Giancarlo is the least of my concerns right now. I go back to freaking out about what’s going to happen when Nico shows up.

  Will he be happy to see me?

  Will he act like it’s no big deal?

  Will he act like the last six months haven’t happened?

  Do I want him to?

  Quinn looks up from her books. “Can you find something to do over there, babe? You’re making me nervous.”