Bad Boy Boxset

by JD Hawkins

  I quirk a brow at him. “As quickly as you do?”

  He looks down and clears his throat. “As quickly as I used to.”

  I pull back and exhale deeply.

  Owen continues, “Regardless, I’d much rather go out with you this weekend.”

  “I think you should see your father. When was the last time you saw him?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno. A few months ago? What’s it matter?”

  “A few months ago? Come on, Owen. He’s your dad!”

  Owen sighs and hangs his head again, hand now brushing his cheek, pushing back his hair as if soothing the thoughts in his head. “He’s an embarrassment,” he says. “Even I cringe when I’m around him. The way he keeps meeting these girls, the way his whole life revolves around attention and…trust me, it’s just bad.”

  “Look,” I say, putting a hand on his leg under the table, “why don’t we just kill two birds with one stone? I can come with you. Deflect some of the tension, act as a buffer.”

  Owen’s expression is one of confused surprise. “You’d do that for me? Do you realize what you’d be putting yourself through? What I’d be putting you through?”

  “It’s what friends are for, right?” I say, emphasizing the word ‘friends.’ “And if it all goes south, I’ll pretend I’m getting a migraine so you can have an excuse to leave and bring me home.”

  Owen snorts. “You know, that might actually work. Way to be an evil genius, Margo.”

  We laugh together, and when we stop Owen’s looking at me in that intense way of his, as if he’s taking in everything about me, pride and desire flaring in his eyes.

  “I’ll definitely owe you one for this,” he says slowly. “So start thinking about how you want me to make it up to you.”

  I let myself melt a little in the heat of his gaze, and when we both turn our attention back to the trivia, I decide not to mention New York yet, not to let myself consider just how difficult it’s gonna be to give him up.

  17

  Owen

  Even Margo’s colorful summer dress, those long legs glistening in the sun, even that thin fabric falling over her breasts, her hips, her ass like trailing water, can’t take me out of my bad mood as I bring the car to a stop in the parking lot.

  I kill the engine and feel Margo’s cool hand on my arm.

  “Owen,” she says, gently. “You’re scowling like you wanna kill someone.”

  I look at her and immediately realize she’s right, letting the tension between my brows disappear for a second.

  “I’m just realizing what a bad idea this was,” I say.

  “Come on—you have to see your dad sometime.”

  “But I didn’t have to drag you along with me.”

  “I wanted to come, remember? Besides, it’s just one meal. A couple of hours at most. And after that…” she says, her hand trailing down my arm to my crotch, gently teasing the bulge with the back of her fingers as she leans in. “You can get to work on showing me just how much you appreciate my support.”

  I nod to let her know that plan’s fine by me. I don’t tell her just how deep my scowl runs, just how many things are dragging my mood into the dirt now. It’s bad enough to watch your own father act like a caricature, bad enough to see the man who was supposed to guide you, teach you, give you the right kind of platform in life chase and fawn over women half his age like a horny teenager. It’s even worse to share that embarrassment with a close friend, someone who’s potentially more than that.

  I should have told Margo she didn’t need to come—no matter how much she insisted. I should have bailed on our date and gone to see my dad alone. Or better yet, bailed on him and spent the time with Margo instead. The closer we came to this moment, the more it sunk in, the more I just wanted to take a sick day from life.

  “Listen,” I say, once we’re out of the car and walking slowly to the ritzy Italian restaurant, “maybe we should go over a couple of things before you meet him.”

  “Ok,” Margo says, compliant. “Just tell me what I need to know. I’ll reserve all judgment.”

  “Firstly, this Nancy girl is probably going to be, like, our age—if not younger. And even then, she’ll have the mentality of a spring-breaker.”

  Margo nods and says, “Ok. Check.”

  “Secondly, my dad is probably going to spend most of the dinner talking about how much he loves her, and how perfect they are for each other—there will probably be a lot of PDA too. So my advice? Don’t order anything creamy or difficult to digest—‘cause with all the romantic bullshit you’re probably gonna be close to barfing anyway.”

  Margo laughs and reaches out to take my arm, stopping me in front of the restaurant.

  “Owen,” she says, as I turn to face her. She tugs at a loose strand of her hair for a moment and looks away, as if debating what she’s about to say. “I know this is hard for you, and I’m not saying it won’t be awful, but…it always seems worse when it’s your own parent. You know?”

  “Sure.” I nod. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

  Margo shakes her head and laughs, and I take her arm and lead her inside.

  We walk under an entrance canopy covered with olive vines and toward the maître‘d stand. After giving him our names he leads us between the couples dining at linen-covered, candlelit tables and out to the outdoor patio in the back of the restaurant, a view that looks out onto a grassy knoll that juts out into the dark blue Pacific. It’s a nice place, but I’d still rather be anywhere else. The fact that it’s still early and the other patio tables are empty fills me with a little confidence, though—my dad can get loud, and though I’m not exactly a wallflower, I prefer not cringing in front of an audience.

  “Son!” he calls out, standing up from a table at the edge of the balcony.

  “Hey Dad,” I say, as he pulls me into a one-way embrace.

  He stands back and looks at me as if he’s about to tell me I’ve grown since he last saw me.

  “This is Margo,” I say, pulling back.

  “Well!” he says, looking at Margo with a giant grin on his face. “You are beautiful!”

  I look at Margo, wincing apologetically, but she’s actually smiling at my dad as he leans in for an airkiss.

  “This is Nancy,” he says, as the woman steps aside from her chair behind him. “My own beautiful girl.”

  “Oh, Ron! Stop it,” The woman purrs in a lovely southern drawl, slapping him playfully on the shoulder before shaking both of our hands gently. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  For a moment I’m speechless, but Margo comes to my rescue.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. Both of you.” She smiles big enough for both of us and tugs me into my seat, then shoves a water glass into my hand, clearly noticing my shock. I drink the water, stalling for time.

  This is not what I expected. Nancy’s not what I expected. At all.

  For a start, she looks to be within ten years of my dad’s age. She’s also dressed quite elegantly in a dark dress that doesn’t show the kind of bikini cleavage or thigh-high skirt length more typical of the women my dad usually brings to dinners like this. Far from the usual nasal, bratty voices I’m used to his girlfriends having, she’s got a throaty, southern twang—the sound of a woman who’s actually lived a life, lived it her own way, and lived it well enough not to be bitter about it.

  “That’s my son,” my dad says proudly to Nancy, as he pours wine into our glasses, casting a gigantic smile around the table like a spotlight. “I told you he’d be late.”

  “Oh, give him a break, Ron,” Nancy smiles back. “Owen probably needed extra time to get ready, trying to look half as nice as his girlfriend does.”

  I clear my throat and look at Margo, half-ready to correct her use of the word ‘girlfriend,’ but Margo only laughs appreciatively as she sips her wine. I guess we’re playing it like that.

  My dad leans back in his seat, still smiling like a baby in front of a dangled toy, and says, “So Margo—nice
name, by the way, suits you—you work with Owen?”

  “I do,” Margo says. “But we’ve known each other for a while. Since college, actually.”

  “Oh, how sweet!” Nancy says, looking at us appreciatively.

  My dad frowns. “How come this is the first time we’re meeting this lovely girl, Son?”

  Deadpan, I say, “I don’t know. I guess I needed to prepare her.”

  It’s the kind of comment my dad would get in an instant, the kind of thing that would make him shoot me a glare, a ‘don’t make this difficult’ look. Except Nancy laughs. Big, loud, and deep, the kind of laugh that fills a room, and my dad joins in. I look at Margo, but she’s smiling happily too.

  “How did you two meet?” Margo asks, curiously.

  “Oh, it’s a long story,” my dad says.

  “No it isn’t,” Nancy chides. “He’s just being bashful.”

  My dad? Bashful? But when I look at him, I can almost believe it.

  “Ok,” he says to Nancy breezily. “You tell it then.”

  “Alright,” Nancy says, their exchange as easy and rhythmic as if it were scripted. “I was down in L.A. for a book fair. Our library was in desperate need of some new stock.”

  “Library?” I say quickly.

  “Yes. Where I work.”

  My jaw drops. “You’re a librarian?”

  Nancy smiles again. “Hard to believe? Oh, I know what you’re thinking. I’m too loud for a library. Ha! I know, honey, everybody says that. I can be quiet as a mouse when I want, though.”

  My dad looks at her with an admiration and warmth that confuses me even further, until we’re interrupted by the waiter bringing menus. Once we’ve ordered, he urges Nancy to continue.

  “So…where was I?”

  “The book fair,” Margo reminds her.

  Nancy beams. “Yes! The book fair. And I’m there, you know, placing some book orders. Lots of romance novels. Let me tell you,” Nancy says, leaning in and putting her hand on my arm, “Southern girls just love their romance. Anyway, there I am with catalogs and order forms and about eight boxes of books, and I’m searching for a cart to carry them all out to the truck, when this handsome, charming man appears out of nowhere, and offers to help me carry them.”

  “That’s me,” my dad says, happily, and I cover my grimace with my hand.

  “Next thing I know I’m transferring to a library here, moving out to L.A., and…well, now I’m here!” Nancy says, ending her sentence with another laugh.

  Margo nods and smiles sweetly.

  “How long ago was that?” I ask in a heavy voice.

  “Moving down here?” Nancy asks.

  “Meeting,” I say.

  “Oh, I don’t know…when was it, Ron?”

  “Lemme think, two? Three months?”

  I frown at my dad, then at Nancy, waiting for a note of recognition, the slightest acceptance that what they’re saying is fucking ridiculous. Two months. He upended this nice woman’s life based on two months, and knowing his track record, their relationship is already rapidly reaching its sell-by date.

  “Ah! Here’s the food!” my dad says, and I decide to concentrate on eating it as quickly as possible. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

  We carry on eating, the carbonara I ordered tasting like ash in my mouth even though I know it must be good by the way Margo keeps sneaking bites of the pancetta. While she and Nancy talk books, my dad offering praise for both of them, I keep quiet, growing more and more frustrated, to the point where I’m not even sure why anymore. I know I’m acting like a fucking child, and I should just be happy for my dad and Nancy, but I just can’t get myself there.

  During a lull in the conversation, after the dinner plates have been cleared away, tiramisu and a couple of coffees on the table, I notice Nancy lean in to my dad, nudging him and whispering. Something about it makes me tense up.

  My dad clears his throat to get our attention.

  “I’ve got something to announce—we’ve got something to announce,” he says with confident excitement. I feel a burning in the pit of my stomach.

  Margo and I look at each other and put our coffee cups down, and she grabs my hand under the table.

  “Well…” my dad says slowly, looking at Nancy and smiling. “We’ve thought about it long and hard, and…we both really want this. So…we’re engaged.”

  “Congratulations!” Margo says happily, squeezing my hand.

  “Thank you!” Nancy says, as my dad smiles at both of them. “I didn’t want a ring but Ron insisted—we’re just waiting for it to get sized at the jeweler’s. Here, I have a picture.” She pulls her phone out and Margo leans across the table to look. I watch the three of them coo over the photos, and each other, feeling like the world has gone crazy all around me.

  “Engaged?” I say, once the yelps and exclamations of happiness quiet down. “Three months ago you didn’t know each other, and now you’re engaged.”

  “Oh, Owen,” Margo chides me, running her thumb over the back of my hand in soothing strokes. “I think it’s wonderful.”

  Nancy blushes and grins. “It’s amazing how quickly love can strike, isn’t it?”

  “You think you’re in love with each other?” I scoff, and feel Margo’s hand suddenly clench mine hard, as if to shut me up.

  “Son,” my dad says sternly, glaring at me.

  “What?” I say, looking at Margo. “Am I crazy here? Or is this ridiculous? I’ve had injuries that lasted longer than this relationship. Why not see if the whole ‘living together’ thing works out, first?”

  “We’re not getting married for a few months yet,” Nancy says, almost apologetically.

  “Really?” I say. “Oh, well that’s fine then. ‘Cause three months is quite short, but six months is definitely enough time to base a life-long commitment on.”

  “Owen.” My dad’s voice is steel, but before he can continue, Nancy clears her throat.

  “Excuse me.” She sets her napkin aside and stands up. “I’m just going to visit the powder room and freshen up. Margo?”

  “Yes,” Margo says, pulling her hand away from mine as if it’s scalded her. “I should go too.”

  My dad and I glare at each other while the women leave. I shake my head at him.

  “Listen to me,” he says once they’re out of earshot, as if I’m fourteen again and he has any authority left after what he’s just done. “That was way out of line. You need to apologize when they get back.”

  “Apologize? To who? To this stranger you gave a ring to?”

  “She’s not a stranger.”

  “Yes she is! This is the first time I’m meeting her and you’re telling me you’re engaged? How far gone are you that you think that’s even normal? You want my advice? Sign a fucking pre-nup.”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” my dad growls suddenly, slamming a hand on the table so that the plates and cups jump noisily.

  I sit back in my chair and look away, out at the ocean beyond the balcony, in hopes that the deep blue will somehow pacify the frustration gathering within me. “I’m nobody. Just the son who’s watched you hurt women over and over again his entire life. Just the son who’s seen this happen too many times to smile and go along with it anymore.”

  I glance at my dad one more time, then push my chair back and stand up.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “I’m getting out of here. I’ll see you in a couple of months. Maybe Nancy too, if she’s still around by then, though I somehow doubt it.”

  “Owen!” he calls out, but I’ve already turned away, I’m already walking back through the restaurant. “Owen!”

  I stop at the maître’d stand to pay the check on my way out, and I’m just about to turn into the corridor that leads to the women’s restroom when I catch sight of Margo and Nancy standing in the narrow hallway. I don’t know why, maybe it’s the idea of having to talk with Nancy, maybe it’s the tone of Nancy’s voice, or maybe it’
s just the sheer confusion of my own thoughts compelling me not to engage, but I hold back. I stop myself and step out of view, leaning up against the wall, a few feet away from them just around the corner.

  “…understand, honey. It’s a lot for him to take,” Nancy says in that unmistakable southern drawl.

  “Yeah…” Margo sighs in response. “I’m still sorry he acted that way.”

  I lean a bit closer, suddenly ashamed that Margo’s standing there doing damage control on my behalf, but I can’t hear Nancy’s response. They share a quiet laugh and I take advantage of the opportunity to clear my throat and step into view.

  “Hey Margo, come on, we’re leaving.”

  “What?” Margo says, stopping suddenly.

  “Nancy,” I say, “it was nice meeting you, but we need to go. Tell my father I’ve settled our bill already.”

  Margo shrugs in confusion, looks at Nancy, hugs her goodbye, and then joins me as we walk out of the restaurant and cross the parking lot to my car.

  “Owen,” Margo says, as she paces beside me. “You acted like a huge jerk back there. I know things got a little tense, and I understand your reservations, but come on.”

  I stop and look at her, mind dense with too many thoughts to answer, body too tense from too much vexation to continue on. I want to do the only thing that makes sense anymore, the only thing that feels right. I want to clench her body close to mine, tilt her chin up, and kiss her. But I can’t get past the disappointment on her face, and in the end I just drive her home.

  18

  Margo

  Today’s the day, I tell myself as I enter the TrendBlend offices. Today’s the day I make my decision. I’ve kept Cassandra at the New York Month waiting a few days already, and if I keep her waiting any longer, she’ll be the one making the choice for me. So today I’m going to call her up and let her know exactly what I want to do about the job offer.

  The problem is, I still haven’t made up my mind. And what’s muddling this even further is my conflicted feelings about Owen. After the double date from hell last night, I never heard from him, and I’m still really pissed about his behavior. I’d never seen that side of him before.