RECKLESS — Bad Boy Criminal Romance

by Aletto, Anna

  “Something that won’t cost any money.”

  “So you’re a cheap date?”

  “At the same time I want to make it clear that this is a date. That I’m romantically interested in her. I don’t want to let it become some situation where I become another anonymous person she’s trying to convert. Maybe I should just go old-fashioned. Dinner? That we can talk yet my intent is clear. I just need to find a place where I don’t have to spend too much on her.”

  “McDonalds?” Angela suggests. “But be sure to make it clear that she’s only allowed to pick something off the value menu.”

  “Hold on.” I grab the yellow pages, then sit back on the couch and flip through the restaurants. “How about Red Lobster?”

  “All you can eat shrimp? I thought my McDonald’s idea was better,” she muses. “Or take her to Chick-Fil-A. They’re closed on Sundays; that’ll impress her.”

  I dial Britney.

  “Hello?” she answers.

  “Britney, hey, this is Bill. I asked you for your number in the student union.”

  “Yeah, I remember you.”

  “I’d like to see you. Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll be free then. This is a date, right?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Is that okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. I was just making sure.”

  “Tell me where you live. I’ll pick you up around seven.”

  On a Wednesday night Britney and I sit at a booth at the Red Lobster.

  “I’ll have a Diet Coke,” Britney tells the waiter.

  I order a water.

  “Are you allowed to ever drink alcohol?” I ask her.

  “Well, different Christians have different opinions on whether it’s a sin or not. But I don’t drink.”

  “Never?”

  “Well … there was one time when I had a glass of champagne at my cousin’s wedding.”

  “Right.”

  “But that’s about it. I want to keep my head clear to keep up with my work and pursue my goals. Plus, God says your body is a temple. So it’s good to maintain it and keep it pure, you know?”

  “Right on.”

  “Do you ever drink?”

  “On occasion. Not that often, just every once in a while. But not to excess. Like you said, it’s good to keep healthy, stay clear-headed and whatever.”

  The waiter brings us our drinks.

  “I have to tell you something,” she says.

  “What?”

  “I don’t go on dates that often.”

  “I wouldn’t have known. You’re pretty and, even though we just met, you seem like you have a lot going for you.”

  “I’ve only ever had one boyfriend.”

  “You’re only how old? Eighteen? Just started college. It was probably your high school sweetheart, right?”

  “Sort of. It was a guy I knew from youth group. But he always felt more like a friend than a boyfriend. I just never felt that way towards him, you know?”

  I nod.

  “Sometimes I feel so different than everyone else my age. I used to always think that I’d like to meet a man who was just like me, really involved in the church and everything. But all the guys I’ve met like that I’m not really attracted to.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why God has done that to me.”

  “Maybe you don’t have to be with a guy who’s just like you.”

  “That’s what I just started thinking recently. I thought maybe God wants me to find a guy who’s not that religious but has an open heart. And by being with me he could see my example and start to grow and develop his relationship with Jesus.”

  “Is that why you agreed to see me?”

  “Well, partly.”

  “What else?”

  “When we first met you told me you thought I was cute. I felt the same about you.”

  I smile.

  “And I liked how you were so confident to approach me. I never would have the guts to do something like that. If it was the other way around and I had seen you sitting there, I never would have been brave enough to just walk up and ask you out.”

  “You’re brave. You were sitting there trying to convince strangers to go to church.”

  “That’s different,” she says. “When I do stuff like that, God gives me the strength and courage to talk to people and do good work for Him. I’m not always like that though.”

  Our waiter returns. For my entrée I order Cajun chicken pasta. Britney orders crab linguini alfredo.

  “I have to tell you,” Britney says. “I can’t have sex until I’m married.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sorry to bring it up out of the blue. But I thought I’d tell you in case we start to really like each other. I’m not against sex or anything. I think it’s great if it’s between a married man and woman who love each other.”

  “Alright.”

  “Is that a big deal to you?”

  “No. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  “It just seems like society is so permeated with sex these days. In movies, TV … It seems like everyone is so obsessed with it nowadays.”

  “Maybe they always have been.”

  Britney thinks a moment and then says, “Do you ever pray?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “What do you do when you really want something to happen in your life?”

  “I usually think about it, come up with a plan, and then go for it.”

  “Oh, I do that too. But I also ask for God’s help.”

  “How do you know that God hears you?”

  “He’s never too busy to listen. He blesses me all the time with what I ask for.”

  “How about when he doesn’t?”

  “Then I know whatever I asked wasn’t best for me and He has other plans.”

  “That makes sense.”

  We’re both quiet a moment.

  “I’m sorry I bring up God so much. He’s just a big part of my life,” Britney says. “I know I’ve lost some friends over it though, the way he’s always on my mind. Does it bother you?”

  “No, I know it’s important to you,” I tell her. “But how about we make sure to talk about stuff that has nothing to do with religion too? We could split it up so the conversation doesn’t get too stuck on one topic.”

  “Okay. What should we talk about?”

  “What’s one of your favorite things to do that doesn’t involve church?”

  “I like to drive go-karts … but I usually do that on youth group trips. Could that count?”

  “Yeah, let’s just focus on the driving part. What do you like about it?”

  “I like the adrenaline rush. The feeling I get from driving real fast and trying to win. I’m kind of competitive by nature, so …”

  For the remainder of dinner I steer our conversation away from God-related topics in an attempt to learn more about Britney, the normal eighteen year-old girl. I also speak of my own likes and dislikes and she remains absorbed in the conversation. We finish dinner and I pay the bill.

  In the parking afterward, walking to my car, she has a bright smile. We’re close together and I put my arm around her waist and pull her into me slightly as we walk. I open the car door for her and we get in.

  “I need to bring up God again for just a second,” she says inside my Toyota. “Have you ever been to church?”

  “I need to bring up God again for just a second,” she says inside my Toyota. “Have you ever been to church?”

  “Once when I was younger.” I drive out of the lot.

  “Would you like to go with me this Sunday?”

  “Is it a date?”

  “I don’t know if church can be a date,” she ponders.

  “Why not? The two of us sitting there together, Jesus chaperoning. Sounds like good, clean fun to me.”

  She giggles and says, “Yeah, I guess so. It’s a date then. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah.” I smile. “I was just makin
g sure.”

  Britney lives in apartment community called The Cliffs. I drive to her complex and park in front of her apartment. I walk her to the door.

  “I had fun,” she says. “Do your dates normally go like that?”

  “No, most girls after talking to them a few minutes I realize I could never be with them. I just don’t feel that connection, but I don’t know … I feel like there’s a spark with you.”

  She smiles and says, “Yeah, me too. Most people just wait for their turn to talk, but you really listen.”

  We’re standing face-to-face near her door. I lean in to kiss her but she pulls away slightly. “I … I can’t kiss you on the first date,” she stammers.

  I stare at her, blink twice, then grab her by the hips, pull her into me and kiss her anyway.

  She doesn’t resist, though she doesn’t participate either, just letting me kiss her. “Oh, wow … okay,” she says after I let her go.

  “It’s just a kiss,” I say. “I like you.”

  “Okay. It’s fine. It was good.”

  “Would you like to try it again?”

  She looks at me, thinks a moment, and then says, “Okay.”

  We kiss again, this time much better, her actively kissing back.

  “I have to go now,” she says afterward.

  “Alright. Church, Sunday?”

  “Yeah. Call me and we’ll go together.”

  I drive back to my mother’s house. It’s dark and I find Angela sitting on the screened-in back porch smoking a cigarette and staring at the night sky. She sits on a rocking chair I sit on one beside her.

  “Do you want one?” she asks.

  “Sure.”

  She hands me a cigarette.

  I perch it on my lip and she lights it for me.

  “So did you sleep with her?”

  “Hell no. Just to kiss her, I had to force her against her will.”

  “So it that, like, your style? Forcing yourself on girls?”

  “Take it easy.”

  “What?” Angela laughs and playfully pushes my arm. “You know I’m just playing.” She giggles and taunts, “It must’ve been fun, right?”

  “Yeah, it was fun. Fun for all the three of us. Me, her, and Jesus.”

  Angela laughs. “So should I skip the questions about what you think of her? Is there anything you like about her?”

  “She is a pretty girl. And there are a couple things I like about her. Her innocence and enthusiasm, I think.” I look at Angela and then stare at the sky. “But at the same time she has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.”

  She giggles and lifts a glass from her lap that I didn’t see before. She takes a sip.

  “What is that?” I take the glass from her and sip it. It’s Jack Daniels. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Your mom has a liquor cabinet.”

  “Christ.”

  “What? I’ve only had a couple glasses. And I’m not drunk.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “You need to find something for me to do,” Angela pleads. “I can’t stay cooped up inside all the time. I’ll go out of my mind, bored. I know I need to keep a low profile, but there has to be something I can do.”

  Once we bought a car, Ariel’s shoe collection expanded rapidly. New sneakers, heels, flats, boots, and sandals – they all littered her bedroom floor. Ariel had an employee discount from working at the shoe store, but she still seemed to be blowing all of her hard-earned money now that she wasn’t saving up for the car.

  She had a variety of roles at her job. Sometimes she worked the floor as a salesgirl. Sometimes she worked the register. And sometimes she stocked shoes in the back.

  In the back storage room was an extra-large trash can. To dispose of shoeboxes and mass quantities of paper, it had to be oversized to accommodate all the garbage. Every so often the can filled to the brim and an employee had to pull out the trash bag and lug it outside to a row of dumpsters behind the mall. After first gaining employment, Ariel actively avoided this job. If she threw away the shoebox that filled the can to the tip-top, she pretended not to notice and busied herself with other work.

  But suddenly, that changed. Ariel volunteered to take out the trash anytime it was full. Her skinny frame struggled to haul the heavy bag outside and hoist it into a dumpster, but she did it anyway. The store manager, pleased with her initiative, mentioned that her hard work could earn her consideration for a promotion. She was also given preference for getting shifts on the weekend.

  Both her career and shoe collection were on the up and up. Then Ariel came home early one day with a blank stare. She’d been fired. Upset, she didn’t want to talk about it, so I gave her space. In time, though, she confided to me what happened.

  When working in the storage room by herself, Ariel often found a pair of shoes in her size that she liked. Not having anyone to buy them for her, not wanting to spend her own money, she still had to have them. So while discarding excess paper and empty shoeboxes into the trash can, she also threw away the shoebox of the pair she wanted with the shoes still inside. Once the trash was full, she dragged it outside and heaved it into one of the many dumpsters, mentally noting which one it was. Then, in the early hours of the next morning, she woke up around three or four o’clock. She drove our Toyota over to the mall dumpsters, found the shoes, and drove back home. The scheme worked and Ariel acquired three dozen new pairs.

  Meanwhile, the store manager was baffled about his loss of inventory. Shoes vanished without explanation. And none of his employees offered any insight into their disappearance. On a hunch, he stopped Ariel as she took at the trash on her final day at Kendra’s Shoes. He ordered her to empty the trash bag onto the back room floor and open every shoebox. Lo and behold, a shoebox for Marc Jacobs boots was in the trash with the boots still inside.

  “What do you have to say?” the store manager asked.

  Ariel played dumb. “Someone must have made a mistake.”

  “You put them in there.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Several other employees had had shifts that day. Ariel wasn’t going to let him pin it on her that easy.

  “You’re always the one bringing out the trash,” he said. “And we’re always missing shoes.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ariel responded. “You’re blaming me because I do a job no one else wants to do?”

  “Listen, you little bitch,” the manager shouted. “You’re stealing and have cost us a ton of money. Tell me exactly what you’ve been doing or I’m calling the cops right now and you can tell them.”

  He thought he could intimidate Ariel into confessing. He thought wrong.

  “Call them then,” Ariel said plainly. “It’s not my fault someone else accidentally threw these shoes away and you can’t keep track of the inventory.”

  The manager could only stare at her, seething mad, before barking, “You’re fired.”

  Ariel left and never returned. She had a new closetful of footwear but was out a job.

  Cassie and I had a date planned for a Saturday evening. Her parents were on vacation. Ariel spent the night at Cassie’s on Friday and never made it home. Cassie and I often planned to have a normal date, dinner or a movie, but these plans always fell through. When I arrived at her house, she and Ariel were in the living room. In the room, off to the corner, was a fully-stocked wet bar. Before I had shown up, they had split a bottle of wine. They were now working on their second bottle, a feat considering how skinny they both were.

  “Oh my god, Brandon, I love you,” Cassie blurted, hopping off the couch, kissing me, and hugging me tight. “I was hoping you’d get here soon.” Her words were slightly slurred. “Ariel, I love your brother. Why didn’t you introduce me to him sooner?”

  Ariel curled up on a couch, amused by Cassie’s behavior. “You didn’t want me to. You were acting all embarrassed about it.”

  “Was I? Whatever. I don’t remember that.” Cassi
e thought a moment, then said to me, “That’s bullshit that your sister got fired. She was, like, the only person I liked there. I can’t work there now without her. I’m quitting.”

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I know what Ariel and me can do though,” she said. “My parents know some rich people with kids who need babysitters. I did it before and got paid well.”

  I couldn’t picture Ariel babysitting. She wasn’t the most caregiving person in the world. “You’re into this idea?” I asked her.

  Ariel rolled her eyes.

  “I’ve been trying to convince her,” Cassie told me. “It’s not that hard. Order the kid a pizza for dinner, maybe wash a dish or two. Or better yet, just eat the pizza out of the box, then send the kid to bed. Simple.”

  “What if the kid starts crying or goes out of control, destroying the house or whatever? I don’t think I could deal with that,” Ariel said. “I’d probably want to smack him, but I couldn’t do that, right? His parents would notice the bruises.”

  Cassie laughed. “Trust me. Just give it a try. You’ll do fine.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “What are we doing for our date?”

  “Do you want to go somewhere?”

  “No.” She giggled and rubbed my chest.

  “Looks like I should go home now.” Ariel downed the remainder of her glass of wine.

  “You think driving is a good idea?” I asked.

  “I can make it home.”

  “Or wind up with a DUI.” I looked at Cassie. “She can stay here, can’t she?”

  “Yeah, take one of the guest rooms. What’s the hurry anyway?” Cassie goaded her. “You don’t like me touching your brother?”

  “No, I’d just rather not hang around for it.”

  “What? I wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.” Cassie trailed her fingers across my chest to my shoulder. “He does have a really nice body though. Strong chest and shoulders.” Her hand felt my bicep. “Strong arms, abs.” Her fingers trailed to my abdomen and down to my belt. “And a nice—”

  “Stop, stop, stop,” Ariel said. “I love my brother, but I don’t want to hear about that.”

  “What’re you getting so upset about? I’m just telling you what I like about him. I’m totally innocent.”