Sweetest Sin: Bad Boy Bundle

by Delilah Wilde

  The night that Lola ran me over I sat on the couch, smoking a cigarette and watching the kind of crap that the channels only put on after midnight when they think no one with a life is watching them. To be fair I wasn't really watching, instead I was thinking about Lola and wishing that she'd come into the house. She'd be impressed by the luxury of it all, no doubt. That probably would have gotten me a second turn at fucking her. It was funny, I had never craved a second round with anyone but Lola had something. I felt like I hadn't seen all she had to offer yet.

  My doorbell rang, the sound of it reverberating through the house.

  “Who the fuck?” I said, getting up. Had I somehow ordered a pizza and forgotten about it? Maybe my head injury really was serious if it was affecting my memory like that. I started to regret not letting Lola take me to the emergency room.

  My worries about brain trauma were soon replaced with other worries when I opened the door. Sophie was standing there, a big smile on her face. She wasn't as pretty as I had remembered. Not ugly of course, and still hot by anyone's standards. Now that I had a taste of Lola she looked kinda plain to me. The fact that she was standing at my front door, uninvited, in the middle of the night didn't do anything for her attractiveness either.

  “Sophie?” I said. This bitch had to be insane. Her smile quickly turned to a frown when she saw the state of my head. I'd cleaned it up so it didn't look so bad. In fact, it only looked like a shallow cut that grazed along the side of my head. Sophie obviously didn't think so.

  “What the fuck happened to you baby?” she asked, pushing her way into the house and touching my head right where it hurt, “Oh, you're wincing! How did this happen? You should sue the pants off of the idiot that did this.”

  “Hey hey,” I said, pulling away, “I'm OK. Just a little fender bender. I can walk this shit off. Nobody's gettin' sued, OK?”

  Sophie shook her head at me as if I was a silly kid and her smile returned. It was somewhat eerie at this stage.

  “Well, I'm just glad you're OK, baby. I'm just sorry I wasn't there to help you get home.”

  I frowned at her but she didn't seem to take subtly too well. When she tried to walk past me into the living room I blocked her way.

  She giggled at me. Shit, that giggle seemed to make my head hurt even more than it already was. I hated it. Sophie needed to go.

  “Let me through baby, it's late. I want to make you some chicken soup and take care of you,” she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say to me. As if we had been dating for three years. As if I was the kind of guy who dated.

  Even if I did date, it certainly wouldn't be chicks like her.

  “Chicken soup? Chicken soup? Bitch are you crazy? You show up at my house in the middle of the night and you wanna make me chicken soup?” I said. “You're not my mother and you're definitely not my wife, so I can take care of myself, thanks!”

  Sophie looked stricken. OK, so I didn't exactly mince my words but it wasn't like I had a choice. Girls like that don't understand subtly.

  “You mean you don't want me here? But I thought you liked me?” she said, her eyes watering. Shit, the last thing I needed was for her to start blubbering in my hallway. If her crying was anything as annoying as her laughter then I would have to kill us both.

  “Sophie, I fucked you in a cubicle at the club. Just cos I fucked you, doesn't mean I like you.” A few tears began to roll down her cheeks and I did everything I could not to roll my eyes at her. “But I thought you wanted to be my boyfriend?”

  Oh Christ, this was worse than I thought. I had to make this quick and as painless as possible, otherwise she would never leave.

  “If you go now, I won't get a restraining order,” I said. To my surprise, Sophie nodded and left without protest.

  I figured that would be the last I would see of her.

  Lola

  I hadn't seen Janey and Allison in forever, so by the time they showed up for our coffee date they were both bubbling over with stories to tell me. Allison, who I'd known since middle school, had finally gotten engaged to her high school boyfriend Chad. I'd never thought much of Chad. Guys who only talked about sports weren't exactly my thing. Spending the rest of my life with a guy like that sounded worse than a death sentence but Allison seemed happy about it. So I squealed dutifully and fawned over the ring, a rather unextraordinary princess cut diamond on a gold band. I hated gold and diamonds had always seemed like the most generic, boring gemstone to me but I continued to fake enthusiasm for it until Allison was satisfied.

  Janey had similarly exciting news. Her marriage was going perfectly and she had just been promoted to the highest position in her law firm.

  “Oh wow, how much money are you getting for that?” asked Allison. Janey tried to play it coy. “You know I don't like to talk numbers,” she said, faking humility. I rolled my eyes.

  “That means a butt load.”

  The three of us laughed and suddenly it felt like the old days again. What was I doing getting upset about Vince? That guy was a waste of time, just like every other guy I'd had anything to do with. Let him have his bimbo girlfriend. He couldn't have me.

  Then the conversation turned to that dreaded moment. When you saw your friends as infrequently as I did, it happened every time. The 'so what have you been up to?' question that I never seemed to have a good answer for. It reminded me of thanksgivings back in the day, when distant relatives would ask probing questions and frown when I said that I was a journalism major or that I was still single. My friends would never berate me but I could always see the pity in their eyes and I hated that more than anything else.

  This time was different though. This time I had something to say.

  “Well, I got that fashion journalist job that I interviewed for,” I said, feeling oddly smug. The interviews had been so competitive, it hadn't quite hit me what I had achieved until that moment. Allison and Janey smiled and for once I couldn't detect a hint of pity in their eyes.

  “Wow Lola, that's amazing! You said it was your dream job,” said Janey, “Is it as fabulous as you were hoping?”

  For about a second I considered telling the truth, but I knew better. They didn't want to hear that it was stressing me out and that I was barely sleeping. They wanted to hear that everything was going great, so that's what I told them.

  “Oh yeah, it's amazing. It's really nice getting to be so creative on a daily basis. My boss is a total sweetheart too, and she loves the way I write,” I said. Fuck, I really was stretching the truth today. Still, the girls lapped it up and believed every word I said. Of course it didn't take long for them to get onto that other important topic.

  “How about your love life?” asked Allison, with that same teasing smile she'd been giving me since we were kids, “Is that dry spell still going?”

  “Yeah, any man on the horizon?” added Janey.

  Fuck. This was what I had dreaded even more than the career question. I stirred my coffee in an attempt to formulate what to say. Janey had been married for two years now and Allison had been as good as married to Chad since high school. I hated being the single friend. They always looked at me with an unpleasant mixture of morbid fascination and pity, like I was some pathetic carnival freak.

  I gave them my standard answer.

  “Oh, you know. I'm just enjoying being single right now.”

  Allison and Janey exchanged knowing looks and I wanted to slap them both. What was so bad about being single anyway? I was independent. I earned my own money and when shit hit the fan I picked myself up and dusted myself off. I didn't have someone to hold me at night and tell me that things would be OK because I was too strong for that. Allison and Janey hadn't been single since they were kids, so they didn't understand that it wasn't all misery and loneliness. I should have kept my big mouth shut, but I couldn't help myself.

  “Plus I'm really enjoying a casual relationship right now,” I pulled Vince's belt out of my handbag, just in case they needed proof, and pu
t it down on the table, “He left this in my car last night.”

  I thought that Janey and Allison's eyeballs might pop out of their heads at the sight of it. Casual sex was so beyond what they had ever experienced that I couldn't help but feel smug.

  “Lola are you serious?” asked Allison. Janey nudged her.

  “Of course she's serious, why would she have the belt if she wasn't? God Lola, this is a whole different side of you.”

  The two of them then banded together and decided to give me a lecture on the dangers of casual sex. I half listened while stirring my lukewarm coffee and thinking about Vince. What they were saying didn't matter now.

  Nothing would happen between me and Vince again. I was sure of it.

  Chapter Three

  Vince

  It was a week before I realized that something was very wrong. It wasn't my head wound. That actually healed up pretty well within a few days. It wasn't Sophie. She hadn't bothered me or any of my friends since the night she'd shown up at my place, so things were good in that department. It only struck me when I was home alone on Friday night: I had not fucked anyone since Lola.

  For most single people, going a week without sex is no big deal. Fuck, for most married people it doesn't matter. The few married guys I knew sometimes went months without getting their dick wet. I guess that was how I figured that it wasn't the life for me.

  For me it was like going without eating for a week. Well, usually it was. I laid back on my giant bed and looked up at the ceiling. It wasn't too late to head out. I could definitely find a girl to take home if I hurried. The clubs wouldn't be shutting for another while.

  I didn't feel like hurrying though. That carnal craving that usually took over my body at the thought of fucking a beautiful woman was seemingly absent. It was weird. What was wrong with me?

  On top of all that, I hadn't even flirted with a girl. We got a surprising amount of chicks into the bike shop that week. Most of them were inquiring about custom work for their boyfriends or husbands. They were bored young housewives who had married rich guys with the hopes of being spoiled with presents and attention, but were left home alone while the husband worked and partied with models. These girls were desperate for male attention and I knew that a guy like me would only have to say the word and they would drop their panties. I knew because I had done it in the past. This week something stopped me.

  Brett noticed after the first day.

  “Dude, that soccer mom was totally wet for you. Why didn't you go for it? She was so damn sexy, you should have let me have her if you didn't want her. You all right?” he asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Nah, she was kind of a dog.”

  The woman in question was barely thirty, in perfect shape and obviously gagging for it. No heterosexual man in his right mind would turn her down. No guy except me. It wasn't like I could tell Brett about how weird I was feeling, so I had to lie. He rolled his eyes at me.

  “You're nuts,” said Brett, shaking his head. “She was beautiful. Fuck Vince, I'm starting to think you've fucked so many girls that you’re de-sensitized to quality pussy.”

  I locked the front door of the shop and smirked back at him.

  “Maybe you’re too desperate cos you never get any!” I said. Thankfully, this made things go back to normal. My banter with Brett proved, at least to him, that I hadn't been abducted by aliens and replaced by a clone. As for me, well I wasn't so sure.

  It was probably a temporary thing. At least, that's what I told myself. It wasn't like I loved her or anything. Nah, that definitely wasn't it. We'd only interacted for a couple of hours and half of that time was spent with her running me over or yelling at me. The other half was pretty fucking good though.

  I turned on my side and wondered if Lola had thought about me at all. She must have. She didn't seem like the kind of chick that had one night stands regularly. Sex was actually a big deal for her. There must have been something that attracted her to me, even if it was only my looks. Tattoos and muscles seemed to have that effect on a startling percentage of the female population.

  I glanced at my cell phone. If I had her number I could invite her over for a booty call. I'd find out every position she loved to be fucked in and even try a few new ones. I'd eat her out for as long as she wanted and maybe even let her suck my dick if she was into it. It would be hot. I wondered what kind of lingerie she liked to wear. She would look good in red lace, I bet.

  Unfortunately, my plans were destined to go unrealized that night. I didn't have her number and she didn't have mine. All she had of me was the expensive belt that I'd accidentally left in her car. All I had from her was a head wound.

  It was OK though. I didn't give up easily. I didn't become as wealthy as I was by being a quitter. I would find Lola again somehow and when I did I would fuck her again. That would settle things. It was the only way things could go back to normal.

  Lola

  Going back to work after my insane encounter with Vince and a weekend that slipped away in the blink of an eye wasn't exactly an exciting prospect. Meeting Vince was like a crazy scene from a movie, or the kind of sexy experience that rock stars write about in their songs. It all made work seem like an unpleasant dream. Unfortunately, Jennifer was my reality.

  “OK ladies, let's brainstorm. What comes to mind when I say the words 'Biker Chic'?” Jennifer, my boss from hell paced around the board room. Me and my four co-workers sat and looked directly at our travel mugs, hoping and praying that she wouldn't call on us. It wasn't unlike elementary school in that way. Jennifer was like that one teacher who scared the shit out of even the toughest kids. Only, the worst that could happen in school was getting a note sent home to your parents from said evil teacher. Jennifer had actual power over us. If she deemed any of us to be unfit journalists then we would be out on our asses with a shitty reference to boot. I hadn't been here long enough to see it happen but my co-workers had told me horror stories about old friends who Jennifer had cut loose. Usually her sway meant that they never worked in the fashion industry again. I just hoped that I could keep my head down long enough to avoid being her next victim. Her question had been simple enough, but no one wanted to answer it. Even my more seasoned colleagues knew that one bad answer could inflict Jennifer's wrath and no one wanted that. Any sudden movement would be interpreted as volunteering. Unfortunately, I automatically flinched at the word 'biker'. Jennifer shot me an icy smile.

  “New girl. What's your name again?” she said, “No, don't answer me. I've got it. Your name is Laura. Laura, what do you think of when I say 'Biker Chic'?”

  “Lola,” I mumbled and she glared at me. If I didn't want to make an enemy of her I should have just changed my name to Laura, but I wasn't quite ready to do that for her. She saw any disagreement as a threat. That small correction alone had already cemented my place in Jennifer's bad books.

  “All right Lola,” she over-emphasized my name as if it was the stupidest thing she had ever heard, “Please feel free to regal us with your wisdom.”

  “I don't know much about bikers really,” I said. This seemed to infuriate Jennifer even more. Even my co-workers winced in anticipation of what they knew was going to happen. At least she couldn't hit me. That wasn't her style anyway. Jennifer's attacks were always verbal.

  “I didn't ask you about bikers, Lola. I asked about 'Biker Chic'. I don't give a shit about dirty old tattooed men with beards full of crumbs and leather vests two sizes too small. I care about fashion, because this is a fashion magazine,” she gave my outfit a withering glance, “It would be great if you could remember that, New Girl.”

  I thought it was best not to correct her this time. She knew my name, she was just deliberately choosing not to use it. The words 'New Girl' weren't words she used to make up for her memory issues. No, they were a threat. She was using them to remind me that I hadn't been here for long, that I wasn't at her level. That I was disposable. It was despicable, but true.

  Jennifer moved o
n from me and started talking about leather mini-skirts and studded heels. Basically the kind of shit that would get you killed if you ever actually rode a motorcycle. I wondered what Vince would think if he pulled up to take me for a ride on his bike and I appeared dressed like that. He'd probably like it, not that it mattered. It didn't seem very likely that I would ever see him again, much less get a ride on his motorcycle. I certainly wouldn't be seen dead in a leather mini skirt.

  I didn't contribute anything to the rest of the meeting, apart from when Jennifer asked me what direction we should go with for the womens' makeup. I had learned from experience that 'nude lip, smokey eye' was the only makeup look that Jennifer didn't label as vulgar and was a safe bet. It was the makeup that she herself wore every day, so obviously it was perfect.

  “I think maybe a nice nude lip and a really sexy smokey eye would compliment all that leather without making it look trashy,” I said, paraphrasing what she always said to make it sound like I had just come up with it on the fly. I wasn't quite sure how a leather mini-skirt could not look trashy but Jennifer actually seemed pleased by my answer. I was blessed with a curt nod, akin to highest praise. I couldn't help but smile, feeling like the class dunce who had finally got a question right. Jennifer's foul mood returned as she dismissed the meeting.