VOID: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Stella Noir

  "There might be someone," he said eventually. "Yeah. There's someone who you should talk to."

  The way he phrased seemed a little weird to me, but I didn't hesitate giving him my card and letting him know how to reach me.

  It had been a couple of days and I hadnt heard anything. I had almost given up hope, but just when I thought I would have to come up with another angle, I got an e-mail from Joe telling me that the guy he was thinking of had agreed to meet me.

  Strangely enough, the guy Joe had suggested that I interview never contacted me directly. It struck me as a little odd that I still hadn’t had any direct contact with him, but today was the day we had arranged for me to meet him.

  The guy’s name is Jed Lozano. He wants to meet me in the evening. At a bar. Joe didn't provide me with his phone number, just his name and an e-mail address, as well as the name of the bar and its address. I sent him an e-mail confirming the date and time that Joe had set up for us to meet, but he never replied.

  I told Joe I was a bit anxious about meeting Jed since he never replied to me, but Joe assured me that it'll be okay and that I should trust him on this.

  "Jed is a busy man, and he’s the type of guy who simply doesn’t think about replying just as a formality. It might be the courteous thing to do, yes, but I’m sure he just assumed since I set it up, everything was all set," he said. "Don't worry."

  Don't worry.

  Easier said than done. For some reason, I was extremely anxious and nervous about meeting Jed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lily

  I thought about taking a cab to the bar, but decided against it when I found myself climbing the walls in my office as I waited for the time to pass before I was scheduled to head out for the interview. Instead of wasting more time driving myself crazy, I decided to take a walk. The bar where we were scheduled to meet was less than fifteen minutes walking distance away from the office, and it's a nice crisp evening, perfect for a stroll. Summer faded away a few weeks ago and now we're in the midst of fall. The leaves have started changing colors, and as I look out the office window, I notice they look extra pretty tonight with the way the early evening sun is reflecting off them as it's setting over the city skyline.

  I pack up and head out of the office after double-checking about a hundred times to make sure that I didn't forget to pack anything essential for my interview – notes, questions, little recording device, phone. Sara is not in the office today, otherwise I would have stopped by her office on the way out for some last minute advice and a pep talk.

  I'm looking forward to walking along the tree-lined streets appreciating the colorful palette of autumn hues. When I step outside the office building, I take in a deep breath of the crisp evening air and turn right. The last hints of sunlight are breathtakingly beautiful as the sunset casts its dark orange veil of dusk over everything.

  I've walked less than a few yards when my phone vibrates inside my bag.

  "Crap," I hiss, rummaging through the black hole to fetch it.

  Please don't let this be the guy canceling on me, I silently pray as I search frantically for my phone. Please, please, please.

  As soon as I look at the screen, I'm overcome with two emotions: relief and anger.

  It's a text message, but thank goodness it’s not from Jed. So, my interview is still on. That's the good news.

  The bad news is that the text message is almost as unwelcome as if it had been the guy cancelling on short notice.

  It's from Peter, my ex-boyfriend. The guy I shared three years of my life with, that is, up until I realized that I was no longer happy with him. He's a good guy. A nice guy. He never treated me badly in any way. He loved me in a warm, fuzzy and utterly dispassionate way. I never wanted to hurt him, which was why I stayed with him for so long, even after I realized that the relationship wasn't giving me what I needed. I still feel bad for staying because I wasn’t being honest with him. If I had ended things when I first realized we had no future, he wouldn't have wasted so much time on someone who wasn't right for him. He would be over the grief from our break-up and maybe even found another girl by now.

  But I lied to him and to myself. I stayed with him because I was a coward and didn't want to break his heart.

  If it was up to me, we'd still be friends. He's a good person, and he's been such an important part of my life for a long time. The break-up was hard for me, too.

  However, what made it especially hard was the way he treated me after he finally accepted that the break-up was for real. He turned into a complete asshole, throwing insults and hurling hurtful comments at me for days after.

  Soon, he felt bad for his behavior and apologized.

  And then he started to try to win me back. It started with text messages, then there were phone calls, and then he went back to sending me text messages. He begged to see me again, just to talk. He made ridiculous promises, telling me he'd become the man I wanted him to be if I just told him what it was that I needed.

  Today's message is no different.

  "If you would just give me a chance," he writes. "Why won't you even agree to see me?"

  We've seen each other a number of times since the break-up. Thank God we never lived together or this would have been even worse. I agreed to meet up with him, to talk, to explain to him why things wouldn't work out for us and why we should stop dating.

  But he just wouldn't have it. If only, if only, if only – that’s all Peter could focus on.

  It saddens me to see him like this. His desperate behavior is so pathetic, but I still care for him enough to feel sorry for him. All I want is for this to end. For him to get over me, to be happy without me and to start rebuilding his life. I miss him as a friend, I miss the man he was when we first started dating, and I miss all of his good qualities that made it so easy to stay with him – longer than I should have stayed. There were times when I thought I should go back to him. He's a safe bet. He loves me, he depends on me, I believe him when he says that he wants us to be together and that he’s willing to do everything and anything he can for us to be together again.

  But that's not what I want.

  I don't want a man who depends on me the way he did. While dating Peter was easy and safe, it also bored me to death. There was no thrill with him, no passion, no variety. Peter wanted security, consistency, routine. He was happy doing the same things again and again, in his job, in his spare time, in bed, in life. We had settled into a comfortable routine, and every time I suggested trying something different, he looked at me as if I was the she-devil, whether it was something as simple as going to a different restaurant or watching a movie outside our normal genre.

  I couldn't live like this. I didn’t want to live like this.

  I chose this career because it's exciting and full of variety. It's hard work, but it’s interesting and there’s always something new.

  I wonder what it would be like to have a relationship that was exciting, spontaneous and full of variety? Could I handle it?

  I don't know. But what I did know was that I would never find out if I stayed with Peter.

  I delete his message and stuff my phone back into my purse, turning my attention back to the beautiful fall leaves drifting down around me as I continue walking toward the bar.

  The thought crossed my mind as I continued down the street that I might have to block his number so he couldn’t contact me anymore. It makes me sad to even have to consider it, but it may be the only way to force Peter to let go of me.

  I shake off the final remnants of thoughts about Peter when the bar comes into sight, and a burst of adrenalin reminds me of how much my job excites me.

  I pause for a moment to smooth my clothes and my hair. I take in a deep breath to mentally prepare myself for the interview, before striding forward, trying my best to portray confidence.

  This interview – this story – was important. I had done my best to prepare as thoroughly as possible, Googling the guy and asking Joe to tell me as much
as he could about him, but he only provided me with the very basics.

  "He's young, and he's broken." That's what Joe told me about him first. When I probed farther, he explained that Jed Lozano had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder after retiring from the armed forces about three years ago. He was admitted for inpatient therapy to learn how to manage his PTSD, and he's continuing to make progress after recently finishing his treatment through outpatient sessions as needed.

  I wouldn’t have known any of this had it not been for Joe. I found nothing about this when I Googled his name. When I pulled up Jed Lozano online at first, I wasn't even sure I was looking at the right guy, but everything matched, not to mention that his name is not a common one.

  What I did learn was that Jed Lozano is a highly successful entrepreneur who made a fortune by making smart investments with his money. His name was associated with a few mergers or other business developments. That, and he must be about 27 years old, the perfect age in my opinion for the article I was writing. His memories and experiences would be fresh and new.

  I hadn’t found a picture of him, so I had no idea who I was looking for when I walked into the bar. All Joe had told me was that I'd know him when I saw him.

  "He radiates darkness," he had said. As poetic as that sounded, I had no idea what to make of it.

  When I step into the bar, I see there are only a handful of people there, scattered among the few small tables and booths.

  I scan the dimly lit inside of the bar, admiring its rustic decor, and conclude that he's not here yet. I’m not surprised considering that I'm here early.

  When I take a closer look at the counter, however, I realize that my assumption might be wrong. There's a guy sitting at the far end of the bar, seemingly hidden in the dark shadows. Even while sitting, it's easy to tell that he must be very tall, and if a person can radiate darkness, then this would be it. He has black hair, equally black eyes, and is wearing a heavy black leather jacket. It's not only his color palette that exudes darkness, though.

  He's sitting, face turned towards the door, but he’s not looking at me. His sinister gaze is diverted down on the counter, fixated on a tumbler of Scotch he's holding in his right hand. He's turning and tilting the glass, observing the liquid as it swirls with his hand movements. I know he can’t be much older than me, but considering the way he's carrying himself, he looks mature beyond his years. He doesn't look sad, but there's something about him, something that casts a somber veil about his entire being.

  He looks up and our eyes meet. I’m not sure how much he knows about me aside from what Joe could have told him, likely that I’m a young woman about his age. I’m really the only one here who fits that description so it should be obvious that I’m the person he's waiting for. But nothing about his facial expression hints at recognition. He just fixates his gaze on me, his dark eyes narrowed and his eyebrows slightly furled. Nothing else shows on his face, except for that sinister stare he gives me.

  I gulp and take in another deep breath before deciding to approach him. The closer I get, the faster my heart beats. Damn it, I knew I'd be nervous, but I never expected to be faced with someone who'd make my heart flutter.

  "Mr. Lozano?" I say, as I come to a halt next to him.

  He nods, his expression unchanging. A normal person would get up from their seat, or reach their hand out to shake it in welcome. He does nothing. Instead, he just beckons for me to take a seat on the stool next to him.

  I'm startled for a moment, but follow his gesture and pull myself up onto the seat. He's so broad that it’s almost impossible not to touch his arm as I’m sitting next to him. Even through the heavy leather jacket it's easy to tell that he must be a mountain of muscle.

  My heart fidgets like a trapped bird.

  Keep it together, girl.

  "I'm... my name is Lily Howes," I say introducing myself, forced to clear my voice before continuing. "It's so nice of you to spare the time for this interview. I promise, it won't take long."

  "How long?" he wants to know. It's the first time he's said anything, and he's not even looking at me while he speaks. After I sat down, he turned his attention back to his drink and is now lifting the tumbler up to his face, all the while studying the remaining contents while awaiting my answer.

  "Uh..., um, maybe like 30 minutes? Or 40?" I say. I really have no idea. This is the first time I've conducted an interview like this, and I can only guess how long it will take for him to answer the questions I've written down.

  Judging from these first few moments, though, I'm beginning to think this will be a very quick interview. He seems to be a man of few words.

  "Less than an hour for sure," I promise, as I start rummaging through my bag to retrieve my notes. He obviously doesn't want to waste time on smalltalk, so I better hurry up and get to the point quickly.

  My hands are sweaty and I'm trembling like a leaf. It only gets worse when I feel his eyes settled on me, observing my nervous efforts to get the stuff out of my bag without dumping half of it on the floor. My bag is such a mess, and I curse myself for not cleaning it up before I came here.

  Finally, I manage to produce the notebook after untangling it from my headphones, but when I pull it out of the bag to place it on the counter in front of me, a bunch of crumpled receipts and two pens fall down to our feet, creating just the kind of mess I was trying to avoid.

  I blush. This interview is off to a great start.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lily

  "Excuse me," I say hurriedly, before jumping off my stool and diving down to gather my belongings off the floor. I hastily grab the pens, feeling the heat rush up to my cheeks. When I straighten up, I make everything even worse by bumping into his elbow. He was about to take another sip of his drink, but when I bump into him, I cause the glass to bump against his teeth, spilling the drink across his chest.

  Crap!

  "Oh no, I'm so sorry!" I exclaim, touching his upper arm. I can't believe I just did this. How could anyone be this clumsy? I'm such an idiot!

  "Oh, God, really, I'm so sor –"

  I stop mid-sentence because I'm so taken aback by his reaction.

  He's laughing.

  He put his almost empty glass down on the counter and is wiping at his shirt with a napkin – and all the while, he's laughing. It's a robust, hearty laughter that comes from deep within his broad chest.

  I'm so startled by his reaction that I can’t move. I’m standing still next to him as if I’ve been turned into a pillar of salt, while my cheeks burn with the heat of embarrassment.

  "Sit down," he tells me, still laughing and gesturing towards the empty barstool next to him.

  I follow his request like a well-trained puppy.

  "Let's order you a drink," he says, waving at the bartender.

  "Oh, I'm not... I mean I can't," I stutter. Damn it. I don't want him to think I'm a spoilsport, but I haven't planned on drinking alcohol tonight. I’m working, after all.

  He looks at me, arching his eyebrows. "Yes?"

  The way he fixates his dark eyes on me sends shivers down my spine. This man is so gorgeous, so intimidating. Why can't I calm down and relax? Why am I having these silly heart palpations and acting like a fool in front of him? How am I supposed to do this interview?

  "I'll just have a Diet Coke, if that's okay," I finally dare to say. "And, of course, the drinks are on me. Business expense, you know. You needn't worry about it."

  He waves me off and huffs.

  "You'll have a Scotch," he declares. "And I'll pay."

  "But –"

  "No buts," he interrupts. "I told Joe I'm only doing this under my conditions. And one of those conditions is that I'm paying for the drinks, young lady. And you'll have a little sip of Scotch to take the edge off. Trust me, it'll help you."

  Take the edge off? Oh, God, is it really that obvious that I'm dying of nervousness right now?

  I clear my throat and straighten my back. "Okay. As you wish,
sir."

  He nods and orders two drinks for us.

  "Thank you," I whisper, as the glasses are placed in front of us. I never drink whisky and I don't know the slightest thing about it.

  But he's right. I only kiss the glass, taking a tiny nip from the strong beverage, but as soon as the amber liquid starts warming my insides as it goes down my throat, I can feel my muscles and my heart relax. And it doesn't even taste that bad.

  "Smooth," I say, trying to give an acceptable comment on the drink.

  He huffs again. "It's okay, but you must have very little experience with the good kinds if you think this one is smooth."

  Ugh, I knew it. I shouldn't have said anything. Any commentary from me on whisky was doomed to fail. What was I thinking? It seems like I take every chance to embarrass myself in front of this man.

  It’s time for me to act like a professional. I open my notebook, revealing the first part of the questionnaire and the notes I've prepared.

  He casts a look at my notes from the side, causing me to shift the papers out of his line of vision, hoping he will take the hint. I don't feel comfortable letting him see my notes and questions while we talk.

  "Okay," I say, trying to seize control of the situation. "Again, thank you for –"

  "Please," he says, interrupting me in his husky voice. "Let's skip the pleasantries. I'm here because I owe Joe a favor. You're here because you need material for your little assignment. I'm not going to act as if I'm happy to be here, and you don't have to brown-nose me like this. Let's just get this over with."

  He twirls his hand in an impatient gesture, while I take another sip from my drink, processing his insulting behavior.

  Little assignment? Brown-nosing? Who the hell does he think he is?

  "I'm writing an article for City Heartbeat," I say calmly, hiding the fact that I'm furious at his words. "And I wasn't brown-nosing. I was just showing professional courtesy."

  "Fuck decency," he hisses. "It's nothing but a waste of time."