Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  As she shrugged into the hoodie, which looked about ten times too big on her, she said, "But will you please leave? I mean…" She cleared her throat. "I don't want to be seen with you."

  A low scoff escaped my lips. Message received.

  But it's not like I wanted to be seen with Anna Burke, anyway. Yeah, she was hot, even for a junior. But she wasn't my type and never would be.

  Rich girls, they weren't my thing. I didn't work my ass off at some gas station to blow my wad on fancy dinners for chicks who were more trouble than they were worth.

  And Anna Burke was definitely trouble.

  As I stalked back to the truck, I wondered if Anna realized that the hoodie was the only winter coat I had, which meant that if she refused to give it back, I'd be stuck buying a new one.

  Yeah, I had a job. But I wasn't saving up for clothes. I was saving up for an escape. The moment I turned eighteen, I'd be out of Sugar Falls so fast, they'd be lucky to see my shadow.

  And I'd be taking that hoodie with me.

  It was a good plan, right?

  Not in the end.

  Just twelve hours later, that stupid hoodie was the least of my concerns as I found myself needing an escape of a different kind.

  Thanks to who?

  Anna Fucking Burke.

  Chapter 8

  Anna

  I'd just slid into my usual desk in geometry class when Mackenzie turned around to ask, "Hey, did you hear?"

  Mackenzie was blonde, bubbly, and very well dressed. She thought she was my best friend. She wasn't. I had no friends, not really.

  Friends knew each other's secrets, but mine were buried so deep, I wouldn't be digging them up for anyone, especially Mackenzie who loved nothing more than juicy gossip.

  From the gleam in her eyes, the nugget she'd be sharing now was extra-juicy.

  In reply to her question, I shook my head. "No. What?"

  She leaned closer and said in a hushed voice, "The police were here, just now."

  I frowned. "Here? You mean at the school?"

  "Oh yeah." She smiled. "And guess what."

  "What?"

  "You know John Archer?"

  Oh, God. I felt myself swallow. "Uh, who?"

  "John Archer," she repeated. "You know, the hottie with the attitude?" She licked her lips. "Not that I wouldn't mind a taste of him, if you know what I mean."

  I did know. Mackenzie had "tasted" half of the football team, along with the mascot – or rather, the guy who wore the costume. But he wasn't the guy I was thinking of now.

  "Uh, yeah," I stammered. "John – what about him?"

  "Well…" She laughed. "Just now, he was literally dragged out of calculus."

  I was staring now. Calculus? Funny, I didn't realize that John took advanced math. But this wasn't the thing that made my heart sink to my toes. It was the thought of him in trouble.

  Yeah, I knew he could be an ass, but last night, he'd actually been pretty nice. He'd done me a favor. And other than some teasing, he'd been surprisingly decent about it, too.

  Even now, I had his hoodie in the trunk of my car. After school, I was planning to return it, along with an apology for being so rude last night.

  But now, he'd been arrested?

  My thoughts were churning so hard that it took me a moment to ask the obvious question. "Arrested for what?"

  "I don’t know." Mackenzie's eyes were gleaming. "But it must've been good, because it's like they had the whole S.W.A.T team here or something."

  I really didn't like the sound of that. "Do you think it's drugs?"

  She gave a pretty little shrug. "Maybe."

  Desperately, I tried to think. Drugs and calculus? They didn't mix. Did they?

  In truth, I wouldn't know – and not because I wasn't taking calculus. Rather, it was because drugs weren't part of my life.

  Oh sure, some of my classmates dabbled in this and that, but not me, not ever. In a house like mine, I had to keep my wits fully intact, and getting stoned wouldn’t help, especially when my stepdad was in one of his moods.

  And now, Mackenzie was saying, "Wanna know what I think?"

  "What?"

  "I think he raped someone."

  I rolled my eyes. "Oh, stop." If John were that kind of guy, he'd had himself a nice, easy target last night. But all he'd given me was his coat and a little bit of grief.

  Mackenzie was looking insulted now. "I'm serious."

  I sighed. "All right, fine. What makes you say that?"

  "Because, you know Brad? He was in the parking lot when they shoved him into the police car. And apparently, John kept saying, "She's a freaking liar." Mackenzie lowered her voice. "Except he didn't say 'freaking.'"

  At the image, I almost wanted to cry.

  Last night, I'd spent almost two hours in that stupid ditch. Without John's coat, I might've frozen to death. Or more likely, I would've had to get up and keep walking for warmth.

  But walking would've boosted the odds of being seen.

  I hadn't wanted to be seen – especially by someone who would've blabbed to my mom, or even worse, to Gordon, my godawful stepdad.

  For the last few years, I'd been working hard to keep a low profile. I didn't date. I didn't cause trouble. And, unlike John, I sure as heck didn't get shoved into police cars.

  Selfishly, there was a teeny part of me that was stupidly glad that no one had seen the two of us together last night. I felt sorry for him. Really, I did. But the last thing I needed now was that kind of attention.

  Gordon would flip.

  And my mom? She'd be no help at all.

  As usual.

  As the day progressed, I tried not to think about it. And yet it was all I could think about. In spite of my intentions to not get involved, I started to wonder if there might be something I could do to help.

  After all, he'd helped me, right?

  But it wasn't until the end of the school day, when I opened the trunk of my car, that I began to see things in a scary new light.

  Chapter 9

  Anna

  I burst in through the bedroom door to say, "I'm missing a hoodie. Have you seen it?"

  My kid sister, Becka, who was sprawled across her lacy white bedspread, looked up. She'd been sketching in her notebook. She set it aside to ask, "You mean your pink one?"

  I shook my head. "It wasn't pink. It was more…" I tried to think. "…grayish. And, uh, oversized."

  "How oversized?"

  Big enough to fit John Archer, who had to be at least six-foot-two and built like a brick, well, something.

  But I didn't dare say it. So instead, I shrugged and replied, "Really oversized." Forcing some pep into my voice, I added, "That's the new look, you know."

  Becka was three years younger than I was. She was still in junior high, and normally I'd never burden her with my problems. But she was the only person I could ask without raising suspicion.

  I forced a smile. "So? Have you seen it?"

  She shook her head. "Nope. Sorry."

  My stomach sank. Late last night, after sneaking in through the side door of the garage, I'd put the hoodie straight into the trunk of my car, where it wouldn't be seen by anyone, well, until I returned it to John Archer, that is. And I'd been planning to do that in secret.

  But like an idiot, I hadn't checked this morning to make sure that the hoodie was still there.

  Then again, I hadn't had a reason to.

  Or so I thought.

  Now, standing just inside the door to Becka's bedroom, I glanced over my shoulder toward the garage. Had Gordon seen me put the hoodie in the trunk? He definitely had a thing for hidden cameras, but I didn't know they extended to the garage area.

  Or maybe he'd been watching from some hidden vantage point? Like from the back seat of one of his own vehicles?

  Knowing Gordon, I could almost see it.

  Becka's voice interrupted my thoughts. "You're not gonna barf, are you?"

  I gave a little jump. "What? No. Of course no
t."

  She gave me a dubious look. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I’m sure." Sort of.

  But the truth was, I was feeling a little sick to my stomach. Last night, I'd left the house for one stupid reason – to get away from Gordon and his little games. He'd been drunk – or maybe high on whatever. As far as the specifics, I didn't know, and I didn't care.

  All I knew was that when he had that look in his eye, things tended to get very uncomfortable. Usually, I could deal with it, but last night, mom and Becka had been away on some overnight school field trip, and I'd been terrified at the thought of being alone with the guy that I was supposed to call Dad.

  Oh sure, sneaking out had been a risk, but I'd done this sort of thing before. By the time morning came, he was usually back to his old self – creepy, but manageable. Plus, he had this convenient habit of forgetting much of whatever happened the night before.

  That's what I'd been counting on, especially when he'd refused to let me spend the night at Mackenzie's.

  There was a time not too long ago when I might've had Mackenzie over to spend the night at my place instead, to help keep him at a distance. But I gave that up last summer when I discovered the nanny cam in the bedroom.

  My bedroom.

  Oh sure, I'd yanked it out and tossed it in the trash. I'd even complained to my mom. But all she said was that Gordon was overprotective, and maybe I should appreciate having a dad who cared enough to keep an eye on me.

  I shuddered at the thought.

  And, cliché or not, he wasn't even my real dad.

  It was sad, really. Other than his money, Gordon was no prize. But it wasn't until I'd actually "blossomed" as he put it, that I started to seriously avoid him.

  These days, he watched me way too closely. And I wasn't stupid enough to believe, as my mom did, that it was for my own protection. What it was for, I didn't want to speculate.

  And yet, I did.

  All the time.

  Now, I gave Becka what I hoped was an encouraging smile. "I'm fine. It was just one of those days, that's all. You know, at school."

  At this, her eyes brightened. "Oh yeah, I heard."

  I frowned. "Heard what?"

  "About that John Archer guy."

  "How did you know?"

  "I heard dad talking about it."

  Dad? She meant Gordon, of course. Reluctantly, I asked, "What did he say?"

  "That he – I mean John – got caught giving beer to someone who wasn't old enough."

  I blinked. "Wait, what?"

  "He works at one of dad's gas stations."

  That was news to me. "He does?"

  "Oh yeah. Well, that's what dad said anyway."

  My head was swimming now. "When?"

  "Today," she said. "Just before you got home. I heard him and mom talking." She sat up and gave me a perplexed look. "But wait, I figured you knew."

  "Me? Why would I know?" I paused. "You mean, because John and I go to the same school?"

  "No, because he sold it to you."

  I almost staggered under the weight of her words. "What?"

  "Yeah," she said. "I figured that's why you looked all barfy."

  "Well, it's not," I said. "And there has to be a mistake. He didn't sell me anything."

  Becka looked unconvinced. "That's not what dad said. He said the manager caught him doing it."

  "But he couldn’t've," I protested. "I wasn't even at a gas station."

  Becka smiled. "I heard he's really cute."

  "Who? John?"

  "Oh yeah. Dad was all mad, wondering if he was your boyfriend or something."

  And this was the problem dealing with little sisters. I loved Becka. Really, I did. But how could she not realize what a huge deal this was?

  When I spoke, my voice came out sharper than I intended. "And you just thought to tell me this?"

  "Why would I have to tell you?" she said. "You already knew, right?"

  But already, I was turning away. I had no idea what was going on, but somehow, I had to make it right.

  Except in the end, I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried.

  Probably, I only made it worse.

  Chapter 10

  Flynn – Current Year

  Normally, I was a fast eater, but not tonight. Tonight, I took my sweet time, savoring the waffle, bite by bite. It was surprisingly good – not as good as the ones made by my favorite place on the coast, but hey, I still knew a good thing when I had it.

  Strawberry Supreme – that's the kind Anna had delivered to my table when I'd told her to surprise me. The waffle itself wasn't strawberry. It was vanilla, I guess – a big Belgian thing. But it was topped with fresh strawberries, strawberry sauce, and a shit-ton of whipped cream.

  I'd just swallowed the last bite when Anna stomped up and slapped the bill onto my table, face-down.

  As she turned to go, I said, "Aren't you supposed to ask if I want anything else?"

  She stopped and turned around. With a smile that was more of a grimace, she gritted out, "Can I get you anything else?"

  By now, it was an hour past closing time, and I was the only customer remaining. I'd been the only customer for thirty minutes now. Even Betsy had gone – after getting two more selfies and my autograph, supposedly for the kids.

  I leaned back in the booth and gave Anna a long, speculative look. "If I said, 'yes,' what would you say?"

  She frowned. "What?"

  "Let's say I wanted some bacon, would you bring it?"

  "That depends," she said. "Do you like it microwaved?"

  I wasn't picky. Bacon was bacon. But I wasn't going to let her off that easy. "Not anymore, I don't."

  She crossed her arms. "Well, there ya go."

  I didn't know what that meant, and it wasn't worth asking. I wasn't here for bacon. I was here for her.

  The whole time I'd been eating, I'd been watching her from the corner of my eye. She'd mopped the floor, refilled the condiments on every table, and then she'd waited with obvious impatience for me to finish eating and get the hell out.

  I almost smiled. I was finished, all right, but I wasn't going anywhere, not yet.

  I gestured to the opposite seat of my booth. "Sit."

  "I can't sit," she said. "I'm working."

  "Bullshit."

  "What?"

  "Everything that needed doing, you've already done."

  "Yeah," she said. "Everything except going home."

  Now, I did smile. There was a time when Anna's home had been a riverfront mansion with a four-car garage and a guest house bigger than the waffle joint.

  And where did she live now? In a cheap two-bedroom apartment over the laundromat. She was living with her mom, her sister, and a boat-load of debt – more than six figures total.

  Oh yeah, I'd done my homework.

  Her rent was overdue, and her mom still thought she was queen of the city. As far as the sister, she was taking classes part-time at a state university located an hour south. Like most kids with no money, the sister commuted back and forth, when she wasn't working a menial service job of her own.

  To Anna, I repeated, "Sit." And when she didn't, I added, "The sooner you sit, the sooner I'll leave."

  With a sound of impatience, she finally slid into the booth across from me and asked, "Is this gonna take long? Because Michael really does have class in the morning."

  "Michael?"

  "The cook."

  I shrugged. "So tell him to go."

  "He can't go, not 'til I do. It's restaurant policy."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Yeah. The closers leave at the same time – you know, for safety reasons."

  If I cared for Anna's wellbeing, which I didn't, I would've thought this policy was a good thing, smart even. But now, it was hitch in my plans.

  I hadn't forgotten what it was like to be a regular working stiff, dicked around by people with something to prove.

  "All right," I said, "Finish up. We'll talk outside."

  H
er brow wrinkled. "Finish up?"

  "Yeah, finish closing, or whatever you need to do to get out of here."

  Anna gave a loud sigh. "Look, I know you hate me. And I don't blame you, honest. But I’m having a hard time figuring out what exactly you want from me." She looked around the sorry little restaurant and asked, "I mean, isn't this revenge enough?"

  I leaned further back and gave it some thought. Revenge or no revenge, I had to admit that, yeah, it was pretty nice to see her getting a taste of the other side – my side, or at least what had been my side, back before I'd made it big.

  Now I studied her from across the table. She was a year younger than me, which put her at twenty-six. She didn't look much different than she had back in high school, even if she was looking a little rough around the edges.

  Her eyes were shadowed with dark circles. Her fingernails were chipped. And there was a small bandage on her thumb, like she'd cut it or was covering a blister.

  As far as the specifics, I didn't know, and I didn't care.

  What I cared about was the fact she was still good-looking enough for what I had in mind.

  I mean, yeah, she'd need a manicure along with better clothes, but that would be nothing in the big scheme of things.

  I told her, "I'm here to make you an offer."

  Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of offer?"

  "A job."

  "What kind of job?"

  I jerked my head toward the parking lot. "I'll be in my car. You'll know it when you see it."

  "So?"

  "So meet me when you're done, and I'll fill you in on the details."

  "Forget it," she said. "You can tell me now."

  I gave her a look. "I thought you said Michael had to go."

  "He does," she said, "but if you think I'm gonna go out to your car—"

  "Don't worry, you will."

  "I'm not worried," she snapped. "I'm just saying, don't be so sure."

  Except I was. Anna reeked of desperation. I knew the smell firsthand. I also knew that her job at the waffle house wasn't cutting it and that if she didn't pony up the rent by Tuesday, she and her mom – and yeah, the little sister too – would be out on their asses quicker than you could say, bring me some fucking bacon.

  But all I said was, "Oh, I'm sure." And with that, I stood and tossed a twenty on the table. "Keep the change."