Bad Boy Boxset

by JD Hawkins

  Once again his reply is quick, and I ignore Louise’s sideways glance to read it.

  After you, it could only disappoint.

  I try not to smile, try not to feel fluttering in my chest, heat in my gut. I try to think of the message as cliché, trite, another bar-crawling, skirt-chasing guy’s pithy one-liner, but I can’t. Owen is acting like he’s still into me, like he still wants me, like he can’t forget what happened. This isn’t right, isn’t what I expected, isn’t at all how things should be going…

  “So…Owen, huh?” Louise says, noticing how much I’m struggling to keep my blushing cheeks hidden. “You guys seem to have gotten close.”

  I roll my eyes in self-defense. “We’ve always been close, Louise. I mean, and we’re co-workers now, you know? So of course we’re close,” I say, evenly. “We sit next to each other at work. We’re in each other’s faces all the time. It’s not a thing.”

  “But you’ve hang out at his place all the time, right?”

  “What? No…okay, sure, I’ve dropped by there to pick something up…you know, like you do. But it’s not like I go over there just to see him,” I splutter, stumbling over myself. Not because of Louise’s tone, but because of my own confusion. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well you seemed to know what kind of furniture he likes. Seemed to have a pretty good idea of it, as a matter of fact. And here you are, freshly single and blushing up a storm and for some reason you can’t seem to say his name without smiling.”

  “Yes I can!” I squeal.

  “Prove it,” she says with a smirk. “Say ‘Owen.’”

  But I can’t. Every time I try, I find my lips curving up into a smile, no matter how hard I try to force my mouth into a straight line.

  “Ha! I knew it!” she crows.

  “Christ, Louise,” I say, shaking my head a little at her. “You’re only supposed to pretend to play detectives.”

  Louise laughs, and I laugh too. We reach her car and when she leans back on the hood I know she wants the whole story. To be honest, I want to tell it to her, and the only reason I’m reluctant is that I’m scared that saying it out loud might make it even more confusing than it already is in my head, make it even more impossible for me to pretend it never happened. Plus, Louise has a habit of always saying exactly what she thinks, with complete, brutal honesty, so her opinion could either be extremely helpful or utterly soul-crushing.

  “Come on, Margo. Spit it out,” Louise says, pointing a Columbo finger in the air. “I want names, dates, places.”

  I nod as if admitting defeat and ease myself back onto the car beside her.

  “Basically,” I begin, feeling like I’m at confession, “we sort of, accidentally, had kind of a one-night stand.”

  “Whoa!” Louise exclaims, face like she’s riding a rollercoaster for a second, before pulling back and frowning. “I don’t know why I’m surprised—that’s pretty much what I figured, but…still…that’s a surprise. How? I mean, what happened?”

  I take a deep breath and clear my throat before I continue. “We went out for drinks—like we usually do, no big deal—just to sit and talk. I was pretty all over the place. What with Carl being such a dick, and the phone interview, and then the whole cat video thing. I just needed to get my head straight. I guess Owen was kinda pent-up too about this project he wants to get off the ground at work. He doesn’t show it—of course—but I can tell he really wants it, and he’s been in kind of a tense mood all week.

  “Anyway, we both got really drunk, so I couldn’t drive home. Owen invited me back to his place and…” I trail off and shrug, trying to act nonchalant even though I can feel my cheeks burning as the scene replays itself in my mind.

  She gasps with delight. “He made the move on you?”

  I tilt my head as I think about it, trying to remember, but my memories are too drunk, too loaded with emotion to recall clearly in hindsight.

  “I guess it just happened. From both of us. It wasn’t like he just came onto me and I let it happen. I wanted it to.”

  Louise puts a hand on my thigh and gives me her serious face, to emphasize how important the next question is. “Was it good? How was he? Are the rumors true?”

  “Yes. It was good…really good…” I start, but I’m smiling so hard again that I have to cover my face as Louise bursts into giggles. “He was…he likes to take control.”

  I leave it at that and don’t mention the blindfold, the spanking, or how hard he made me come—because I love my little sister dearly and I don’t want to scar her for life by putting those pictures in her head.

  Louise sucks breath through her teeth, then exhales slowly.

  “You lucky s.o.b…” she says so softly it sounds like she’s thinking out loud. “Oh my god. You guys are gonna make such a great couple!”

  “No!” I say suddenly, as if the suggestion might make it a reality. “We’re not a couple. It was a mistake, and we’re just going to have to move on from it. It’ll be hard, but we have to.”

  Louise looks at me like she’s trying to judge whether I’m stupid or telling a bad joke.

  “Margo, get real. You were just texting him with the kind of smile you only get on your face when you’re eating street tacos or getting all swoony over a guy—and I’m willing to bet he wasn’t talking about Mexican food. That certainly didn’t look like the expression of a girl talking to a platonic work friend.”

  I push myself off the car to stand in front of her, pacing a little as I shake my head.

  “No. It can’t happen. I won’t let it happen. The whole reason I didn’t hook you two up was that I know how much of a player Owen is.” I turn to her quickly as if remembering a killer point. “Listen: this all happened yesterday, and last night he was already on a date with another girl.”

  “Ouch!”

  I shrug as if the point has been made.

  “I mean, he kinda had to for something he was doing at work—it’s complicated. But the point is, does that sound like the action of a guy you would actually want to date?”

  “Guess not…what a jackass.”

  “And then you add in all this other stuff, like the fact that Carl is determined not to let me have a clean break, and the fact that I’m so close to nabbing my dream job in New York, and the whole ‘online celebrity’ thing I’m dealing with and it’s just…there’s no way me and Owen could work together.”

  “Not even as fuck buddies? No-strings attached fun? Could that work?”

  “No! Ugh! Just…no! We’ve been friends for eight years. I’m not trading that for some kind of bootycall situation that can’t end well for either of us. Besides, I know all the sordid little things he thinks about women. I’ve seen him go through girl after girl—like they’re disposable. I mean, the weirdest thing about him is that he’s actually a great friend—if you ignore all that other stuff. The whole reason we got drunk in the first place was because he was trying to lift me up after what happened.”

  “You can still be friends,” Louise says. “That’s why they call them fuck ‘buddies.’”

  I shake my head. “Honestly, I think even ‘fuck buddy’ is too big of a commitment for Owen. This was a one time deal. I’m not opening myself up to another relationship disaster.”

  Louise nods sympathetically, and when I look at her I can see how much of a shame she thinks it is.

  I smile at the silliness of it and break the sad vibe by saying, “I’m hungry again.”

  Louise breaks into a grin. “Me too. Those donuts were just an appetizer. They were totally miniature!”

  “Oh yeah. Practically bite-sized,” I agree. “And I’ve wanted tacos since you mentioned them.”

  “Fine by me,” Louise says, as she stands up off the car. I turn to go to the passenger side but Louise stops me, looking into my eyes for a moment before asking sincerely, “Can I ask one more thing?”

  “Sure.”

  Like a good actress, Louise allows a dramatic pause to build up the tension before her
question.

  “If you didn’t work together, didn’t have to sit next to him all day, and if you weren’t dealing with this breakup, and the job thing right now. And if he was…I don’t know, more into the idea of a relationship. Would you date him then? Would you give him a shot? If he was down?”

  I look at the ground, brush my hair behind my ear, and then sigh long and deep as if I have to think about the answer, even though it seems immediately obvious, as loud and clear as a siren in my mind.

  “Yeah,” I say, looking back up at Louise. “Yeah, I think I would. We have a lot of fun together, and he’s a really brilliant writer. And he’s…” I think about the way he brings me coffee in the mornings, the concern on his face after my breakup with Carl, the number of times he’s dialed an Uber for me after an over-margarita’d company party or business lunch. “He’s sweet. I’ve known him for forever and I can honestly say he’s always been there for me.”

  Louise cocks an eyebrow. “Not to mention hot? And amazing in bed?”

  “I mean, that doesn’t hurt.”

  After another soap-opera pause Louise says, “Maybe you shouldn’t let him go so easily then.”

  “Believe me, sis, letting him go isn’t easy at all. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t for the best.”

  7

  Owen

  I turn up to the office late on Monday, though I’ve got a cappuccino and a cinnamon latte for Margo to show for it. It’ll be the first time seeing her since she was lying naked on my bed with flushed skin and my handprints on her ass.

  I’ve been thinking about her all weekend, and I’m still not sure how things are gonna go from here. On Sunday I lifted weights with Manny and listened to him talk about the chicks he met on Saturday night when I stayed home, feigning interest when all I really wanted to do was check in with Margo. After the gym I went home and ran around my neighborhood until there wasn’t a muscle in my body that didn’t ache, until I was too tired to lift a TV remote, but my mind didn’t stop until I flicked through her online pictures and gave my body the satisfaction it craved. Even then I lapsed and texted her, old instincts and the safety of a smartphone screen taking over and making me flirt with her in the messages.

  Whatever. I’m just gonna give her her coffee, a smile, a little small talk, and get on with it. It’s not like I don’t have enough work to take my mind off things, and besides, I’ve dealt with way worse. You don’t fuck around as much as I have without learning to deal with a little drama. So a single one-night stand with an old friend should be a piece of cake—especially when that friend is someone as awesome as Margo.

  And in the end, that’s what this is all about; it’s why this is so difficult, and why it matters so much that we move on. Margo’s a friend, a fucking great one. I could probably deal with the other stuff. Fucking a co-worker, not fucking somebody you want so bad, any number of other minor inconveniences—but what I can’t deal with is the idea that I might lose Margo as somebody I can just fucking talk to.

  That’s what I’m going with, anyway. Besides, this thing was likely just a post-breakup rebound for her. A temporary lapse in good judgment. I’m completely cool with that.

  The office is already jumping when the elevator doors open and I step outside. I move swiftly through the clustered desks and rushing employees, holding the coffees aloft while I swing my hips through the gaps like a Brazilian soccer player.

  “Owen!”

  I turn around toward the voice, coming from a desk I just passed.

  “Hey Tom. No time—I just got in.”

  “Melissa needs to see you her office, stat,” Tom says, shooting me a sympathetic expression. “Hope you’re not in deep shit, dude.”

  I groan internally.

  “Got it,” I reply, continuing on.

  At least I’ll have something to talk about with Margo, I think, already speculating on what this meeting with my boss could be about. The vlog, probably. The one I fucked up by sending only a few minutes’ worth of material for. I was supposed to make another vlog sample with the architect date on Saturday, but ended up with nothing to show for it. And now I have to talk my way out of that failure and into another promise I might not be able to keep. I told Melissa I could date any day of the week. I told her I could produce as much content as she wanted out of a date, even a boring one. Especially a boring one. But here I am on Monday, empty handed and with no excuses.

  When I get to my desk to drop off my things first, I find something else to speculate about: Margo’s not there. Her computer’s off, and there’s no handbag under the table. I put her coffee on the desk, frowning with confusion. Unlike me, Margo’s always here on time.

  I catch the eyes of Sofia, who sits on the other side of our section, and she pulls off her headphones.

  “Hey Sofia, do you know where Margo is?”

  “Sorry, no idea. I just got in myself,” she shrugs, before putting her headphones back on.

  I take a long draw of tongue-burning cappuccino and decide to make for Melissa’s office—one mystery at a time.

  She’s got the blinds down over her office windows, so when I get there I knock quickly and wait for her to call me in. When she does I open the door, step inside, and try not to express how staggered I am.

  Margo’s there. Sitting in the couch area of Melissa’s office, with the boss herself in the leather seat like a psychiatrist.

  “Owen, nice to see you made it in today,” Melissa says, with a killer-shark smile. “Take a seat.”

  I glance at Margo quickly, and she manages to fire a quick ‘I’m-as-confused-as-you’ shrug at me while Melissa’s turned away.

  They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but they don’t tell you your career flashes before your eyes when see your career’s over. In the four seconds it takes me to walk over to the couch and sit beside Margo, I figure it all out. We’re getting fired.

  They must have found out that Margo and I fucked on Saturday, and there’s probably some policy in our contracts against it. So they’re firing us. I’m gonna lose this job, and when I do, I’m gonna lose everything it gave me. All the purpose, all the direction, all the discipline. Within a week I’ll be shacking up with rich heiresses in the hills, drowsily picking my way through sleeping, naked supermodels in the morning while I look for my pants like a beleaguered war hero separated from his regiment. Back to a diet of cocktails, drugs, and pussy, a schedule of parties, after-parties, and hangover breakfasts. Stalking streets and crowds like a lone wolf looking for a few minutes of relief before he starts the hunt all over again. Until all that’s left is a pathetic old man with nothing to show for it but a ridiculously young blonde on his arm who’s only in it for the convertible ride…just like my father.

  I’m not going back to that. I can’t. I’ll move. Start a new life. The East Coast. Colombia. Asia. Anywhere but back there.

  I’m already thinking about how much tickets might cost as I lean back on the couch, so lost in my own head I only half-notice that Margo’s wearing her deliciously skimpy cut-off jean shorts. And fuck, poor Margo. Have I just ruined her entire career, too?

  “So Owen,” Melissa says, voice as slow as honey, “I checked out the vlog sample you sent me again.”

  “Yeah, about that,” I say, leaning forward, already on the defensive. “I messed up by only doing one, I was going to film a second for you—there was a whole bunch of stuff that came up this weekend, right? I haven’t had a weekend like that in—” I feel Margo’s foot kick me hard in the shin just as Melissa cuts me off.

  “I haven’t finished,” Melissa says, her voice low, her smile kind, but it still stops me like a whip crack. I’ve always figured Melissa would be a great dominatrix in another life—and sometimes I genuinely wonder if she is in this one. “It was good,” she says, a little balm on the wound. “Maybe you could outline the idea again now, in more detail—so Margo can hear it.”

  I look at Margo, whose face is blank and innocent. She already knows a
ll about the vlog, I’ve talked to her about it a hundred times. We’ve spent whole lunch breaks discussing it—but when it comes to Melissa, the best thing to do is play along.

  “So…it’s kind of like the articles I’ve been writing—only more entertaining. The idea’s simple: I find dates, go out on them—we film the dates themselves, edit out the boring parts later—and then afterward I talk about how it went. Maybe the girls could talk too, if they’d be entertaining on camera. It’s basic, but there’s loads of room to play with the format. We could make it about using different apps and sites—the experiences of using them, maybe some kind of rating system. I can give advice and answer questions from viewers, just like I do online with the articles. We could talk about different kinds of dates; fancy dinner dates, movie dates, daytime, nighttime, casual hook-ups—”

  Melissa smiles and holds up a hand to stop me. She turns to face Margo.

  “What do you think of the idea?”

  Margo jolts back ever so slightly, glances at me quickly, her eyes big and a little nervous.

  “Um…I…I think it’s an awesome idea. Really fantastic,” she says, getting comfortable with the question as she comes to my defense. “You know, Owen’s already got a decent following on our site, he’s a recognizable personality for a lot of our audience. I think they’d really like to follow his journey a bit more. Hear his thoughts, see him in action, and get a sense of where he’s at on a week-to-week basis. The articles are informative and sometimes really funny, but I think seeing him on camera as the dates are progressing would have a lot more entertainment value, and I’m sure Owen’s followers would be thrilled with the new video format.” I can hear her desire to sell the idea to Melissa in her voice, and I try not to smile with appreciation. “I mean, how do the articles do, in terms of the number of likes and shares and comments? That seems like a good way to measure how successful it would be.”

  Margo looks at me curiously, inviting me to answer. It’s a softball. She knows I get a ton of views every week, and she’s setting me up to knock it out of the park—but I almost miss the cue because of how much I want to show her my gratitude.