by Evelyn Glass
That night, I opened my laptop and began to write. I put everything down on my blog from the moment he placed a gun to the back of my seat until I left him both sore and satisfied. I tagged the posts “Bad Boy Chronicles” in honor of Jana’s advice. To my surprise, when I opened my computer the next afternoon while I tried on skanky dresses from Jana’s closet, the post had practically exploded. In less than ten hours, it had managed to attract over 200 comments. Most didn’t believe me. Others thought this was all fantasy, but for the few who took it as truth, they were enthralled and asking for more. I even spotted a friend of a friend reposting it on their social media pages! The story of “L” and me was hotter than I could have imagined.
Jana watches as I stare off over at my purse where I have stuffed my laptop. She must be reading my mind as she says, “I added some advertisements to that post. If you’re going to go viral, you might as well make us some money off of it. I’ll take my cut, as per usual.” She winks at me as she stands up and throws on an oversized t-shirt I don’t recognize.
“You know,” she says as she climbs up to her lofted bed. “You should really write about tonight, especially if it went as well as your face is giving away.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask wide-eyed as I feel warmth spread to my cheeks. I hate how my blush seems to instantly give me away whenever I’m trying to hold something back.
“Oh, don’t be naive, Alana. You’ve got the same glow on your face as you did last night. Both of us may have gotten some action tonight, but only one of us looks like it. I look forward to reading about it on my commute to the research library tomorrow.” Jana reaches over her bed and turns off the clip on her reading lamp near her disheveled pillows. Her back turns to me as she signals she’s done pestering me for the night. I’m officially alone with my thoughts for the first time.
Was she right, though? Did readers really want more “Bad Boy Chronicles?” I mean, it started off as a joke, a one-time story with a lot of very fuzzy details. But the comments, shares, and likes couldn’t be explained away as just a weird, viral happening. Maybe Jana was right that every girl should experience a man like Liam. Maybe I was the gateway for these girls to see what it was like first hand. Maybe I could even provide a little insight into how to get one to be more than just a one-night stand…
My mind explodes in a daze of memories and ideas. I leap off the couch and grab the laptop from my bag. I pull up my blog within seconds and open a draft page. I can barely move fast enough for my thoughts, but I write out the first thing I think of:
I slept with him again. Well, not slept with, per say. We fooled around. It was right after his match (did I mention he was a pretty damn good boxer too?), and we were both in this daze from his win…
I write it all, from start to finish. I don’t bother to edit my words or even use spell check. I just want to get this story out. A good hour passes as the sky grows impossibly darker and the only light in our room is from the streetlight outside. Jana’s soft snore doesn’t even phase me.
That night, I dream about words flowing through me. They circle around my head and then filter down through my fingers until they are spilled out onto a blank page. This is the inspiration writers like me dream about. And I sleep soundlessly at the thought that maybe, just maybe, I had found my own muse in Liam.
“Alana!” Ugh. Someone’s touching me, shaking me by my shoulders. Light is peaking through the dim slits of my eyes. I can faintly hear the sound of my chiming alarm in the background. But I’m not ready to wake up just yet. I reach over and hit my alarm until it quiets, but the urgent voice continues. “Alana! Wake up! Come on! You have to see this.”
“See what?” I ask drearily. “Can’t it wait like ten more minutes?”
Jana replies quickly. “No, Alana. You have to come read this comment on your blog now. I don’t know what to do.”
My blog? What the hell? Even though Jana’s pretty invested in my website and the few dollars it makes her a month, she’s never been this worked up over something. I push up with my hands to sit, grabbing the blankets around my chest. Jana places her large laptop on my chest and pulls up a page. The screen’s bright glow strikes my eyes as it takes me a few moments to focus in.
Jana’s highlighted the comment she’s talking about. It’s one of at least fifty -- all of them repeat the same words: “Amazing… OMG… Did he really?... You’re so lucky…” I smile widely at those, but Jana’s fixated on the one near the end.
“You have to read this. I don’t know if it’s real or not, but if Liam was right about that girl…”
“What girl?” I ask, still trying to get my mind to catch up with the rest of my senses. I could barely remember my name, let alone a few details of what Liam told me.
“Amy -- his ex! She found your blog and commented. I’m not sure how she knew or how she came across it, but it has to be her. I mean, read it.” Red flag! Red flag! Now I’m there with Jana. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I remember the girl that seemed to bring even Liam to a minor panic. Her comment really doesn’t ease my mind either:
THE REAL AMY P: Who are you fooling, girl? You think you can tame a guy like ‘L’? You can’t. I know him. I know him better than you ever will. A little nerd girl like you will be spit up and thrown out by him in a week -- if your pussy is that good. No red dress and heels could make up for the fact that ‘L’ is mine. And once I get the rest of Steel Saints on my side, I’ll make sure that you regret the day that he found you in that ice cream truck of yours.
I stare at the screen for a long while, my heart in my throat and my hands practically shaking. Jana finally breaks the ice. “Do you think she’s serious?” she asks, her voice quaking a bit.
I can’t help it. I shoot back without checking my tone. “Are you fucking kidding me, Jana? Of course she’s serious! You heard Liam -- she’s crazy! And not only that, she knows who I am. She saw me in that damn red dress yesterday.” I throw off my covers, pushing her laptop to the side. I run over to my closet and quickly change out of my pajamas and into a black t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts. I run my fingers through my hair before throwing it up into a quick ponytail. I couldn’t care less about what I look like right now. I just want to get out of here.
Jana stares at me for a long while, giving me my space to calm down. “What are you going to do, Alana? I mean, you have to tell Liam about this, right? He dated her so he would have to know what to do with her.”
“No. I’m not going to tell him. I am just going to get my business done, have him sell his damn diamonds, and then get the hell out of this. He’s not worth dealing with a psycho like that.”
My phone begins to ring as my stomach drops. I have no doubt it’s Liam. I told him I’d call him first thing in the morning and between my alarm going off and Jana and I discussing Amy, he’s probably wondering what was taking me so long. I reach over my bed and retrieve the phone from under my pillows. Holding up a finger to Jana who is still ranting on about why I should tell Liam, I answer the person on the other line quickly, “Dr. Underwell? This is Alana. Has something happened?”
Jana goes silent as she jumps straight up to my bed and sits down next to me, leaning her head in towards the receiver. “Hi, Alana. I’ve got some news for you, and I thought I should call you myself. Your father is awake. While he’s still not totally conscious, his vital signs have improved, and his eyes are open. We’ve also checked his reflexes, and they are also good, but in a slow condition.”
My heart breaks through my chest as I am stunned speechless. I fall back towards my pillows with a soft hand placed to my lips. “Doctor… Doctor...” I repeat over and over again as I try to find the words at the tip of my tongue. I take a deep breath and push out all the questions I have about his care. Finally, I end with, “So what does this all mean? Can he come home soon?”
“‘Soon is certainly being optimistic, but in a few weeks, he could be moved to a rehab facility where he could live part time. Lik
e I said, he will need extensive physical and occupational therapy to regain his strength and mobility. The injuries from his accident are physically repaired, but mentally and internally, we will have to monitor him extensively to see what damage may be there.”
“When can I see him?” I push aside the nagging thought of Liam waiting for me to pick him up at his restaurant. All I want right now is to hear my dad’s voice and to see him with outstretched arms calling for me. I know that isn’t the reality here, but anything close would be heaven.
“Give me the day to work with him. He’ll be in and out of x-rays and CT scans all day long, and the nurses will need to monitor him back in the ICU. I’d rather you not go through that again.” The doctor is right. The buzzing and ringing from the ICU still play in my head like a bad record determined not to be stopped. That nightmare is one no one should have to face, especially not when they are just waiting out reports. I thank him for his time and promise to stop by in the evening, but in the meantime, I hold him to his word to call me when and if results come in.
“Your dad? Is he really…” Jana practically beams. My father and her have always gotten along. He was the one who lifted her bed up onto the dressers and desk when she complained that there wasn’t enough floor space to entertain. She also helped redesign some of the ice cream truck’s t-shirt logos as a Christmas gift to him. Jana was invested in him as I was.
“He is! He’s awake. I mean, as much as he can be from a coma. I’m going to see him later tonight.” I grab my backpack up off the floor and begin to walk out of the room. My feet feel as if they are about to fly off of me.
Jana is the one who stops me in my tracks, “What about Amy, Alana?” she calls after me, “You can’t not tell Liam. He’ll know what to do!”
Although she’s right, I don’t… I can’t hear it. Not right now. All I want is to focus on getting through today with Liam so I can see my dad. Everything else will work itself out. After all, despite apparently finding my blog and recognizing me in the crowd at the boxing match, Amy can’t be that much of a threat, and I told Liam about what I heard in the bathroom. He’s probably already got it worked out by now.
Chapter 16
“Liam!” Alana squeals as she sees me walking up to the truck. “Stop it with the flowers! It was old the second day you brought them. Now I think I’m coming down with hay fever or something and this truck is smelling like a freaking bath shop!”
I don’t know why I did it on the first day -- a fresh bouquet of painted green daisies in honor of my win. She blushed in that way only she can blush, and placed them aside in the back of the truck. When we parked, she found an old canister of ice cream, cleaned it out, and cut the daisies to fit inside. They looked just as if they belonged outside the service window of the truck, and she went red whenever anyone mentioned them.
It was the perfect distraction for me, at least. The first day spent working out of the back of the truck was less about selling and more about making sure I could get buyers. Most in the limited circle had heard about the diamonds and wanted absolutely nothing to do with it unless I could find a way to scratch the codes off each individual diamond so that they couldn’t be traced or reported stolen.
I managed to track down one former jeweler who could do it as a rush order and promised him a five percent cut in exchange for his work and a commission fee for every buyer he could send me. On the second day, we moved the ice cream truck to outside his housing complex as a cover while he worked and I supervised. Most of the day was spent looking out my window, watching Alana as she sold cone after cone to children out for fall breaks.
Every day, she looked just that much happier; that much more settled with me. She didn’t even mind my men tagging along behind her, posing as frequent customers or friends of hers. She handed them treats from her freezer and pretended to take their cash while making small talk.
The third day, we had our first buyer. When I told her that he was meeting us at the Simpson Memorial Park she, uncharacteristically, had a mini-meltdown. “The cops, Liam!” she shrieked. “Simpson Park is right outside their station. I can’t get caught now. You don’t understand--”
I cut her off quickly, promising her that the buyer had been vetted and didn’t have any ties or obviously links to the cops. My detective contact made sure of that. And by doing it near the police station, we could ensure that nothing would go down between my security guys and a buyer who may be scouting stolen goods for the mafia I took them for. It took her a few minutes, but she significantly calmed down with that. And when the buyer appeared dressed in a suit, Ray Ban shades, and a Bluetooth in his ear, Alana personally greeted him with an offer for a free sundae.
By the fourth day, we had our flower routine down pat and our diamond selling business on a roll. Each morning we were open, I would jump in the passenger side, grab a t-shirt with the truck’s logo from the back, and cut the flowers for her in advance. By mid-morning, we would be working different angles of the truck. I would lead the buyers to the back, pretending them to show them equipment on the inside while Alana would deal with the real customers as she always did -- with a smile and a friendly greeting.
Today, however, was different. I hand Alana the flowers as she rebuffs them. This time, they are roses, and they are attached to a box tied with a green velvet ribbon. She doesn’t even register the gift until I set it on her lap. “What is this?” she asks as she studies me up and down. “Should I be worried or something?”
“Will you just open the damn thing up and not ask questions!” I insist. She gives me another roll of her eyes before tugging gently on one of the ends of the bow the salesperson tied up for me last night. The fabric unfurls, and she removes the cover to the box. Inside is an emerald green dress, the same color as the ribbon, from Viva La Hera, a top Vegas designer. I had spotted it in the window of one of those high-class boutique shops while dropping off some security detail last night at the Bellagio. The store wouldn’t unlock their doors for me until I flashed them some cash through the security camera lens.
I had to have it for her. It was the same dress she has worn in my fight dreams. It clings to her body as she stands up in the center of the crowd -- a beacon for me to spot before I KO my faceless opponent. She jokingly called me her muse one afternoon when she received a payment for advertising on her website. But she had no idea how much my boxing had improved, and how much my focus had returned to what matters to me. And tonight, she would be there, wearing that same dress, when I won against the number 7 ranked in my weight class at the Tri-State fights.
Alana’s jaw is practically on the floor as she pulls the tissue apart and the dress comes in full view. She runs her hand gently over the delicate lace of the bodice and the gold beading that hangs gently at the satin waist sash. “Liam…” she says to me in hushed tones. “This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” I watch as she pulls back the tag to check the size. Her big blue eyes practically double in size when she notices the designer. “Liam!” she calls out again.
“I want you to wear this tonight at the fight. Everyone will have their eyes on you when you walk into the arena with me.”
Alana suddenly places the dress back into the box and places the lid on. She gently turns and tucks the box next to the flowers and buckles her seatbelt. I grab her hand before she can turn the keys in the ignition. “Whoa. Alana? What is up? Why are you acting like this?”
She stares back at me with her arm outstretched. I try to read her, but her expression is blank, if not pained. Something is holding her back from accepting my gift. “I-- I-- I need to tell you something,” she says quietly, placing the keys back in her lap. “It’s about the fight tonight.”
“What? We have a deal, remember? You go, I fight and win, and we go back home together with money in the bank. What could be better?”
Alana doesn’t seem convinced. Yet, she reaches over and ruffles the hair on the back of my head gently and then tugs at the ends ti
ll I fall over the console between us for a quick kiss. “You’re right,” she says hesitantly, “I’m sorry. I’m just… thinking about my dad today. He’s getting moved to the general floor today.” She smiles, but it’s not the toothy grin I’m used to.
The rest of the day is more of the same. Despite being down to only 1/4th the diamond supply, she can’t muster up any excitement. She continues to check her laptop over and over again, and I watch as she messes up orders and can’t focus on counting the few bucks coming in on this unusually cold day. As it gets nearer the time to quit for the day, she beings to look even more nervous and agitated.
“I’ll see you after the match, alright?” I say as I kiss her forehead before heading out towards the parking lot of the Beat Gym where I’ve left my cycle. “Wear that green dress for me, please. It’s good luck.”
“You won’t need it,” she says as she turns the truck back on and waits for me to close the door. I get one last look at her staring off out the opposite side window, her teeth biting down onto her bottom lip, and her hand placed at the corner of her forehead. She’s never looked this way before, never this hesitant and dull. There has to be something I’m missing.
