Take Me: BBW Virgin Bad Boy Romance

by Lulu Pratt

  I threw an arm around her waist, and pulled her close to me. She nestled into me, and I thought I could stay happily in that position from then until eternity.

  However, we didn’t remain like that for long. After all, according to Poppy, she wanted to have a quick word with her sister in person and we were already late. So with her in the lead, we bustled out to the car, an old sedan, and clambered in, Poppy in the driver’s seat and me in the passenger.

  “We always seem to be getting in and out of cars,” I joked.

  “And on and off airplanes,” she added. “Don’t forget those.”

  I laughed. She really was funny, once she let her guard down. “Maybe one day, we can just stay in a single spot. How’s that sound?”

  “You mean… together?”

  I looked at her sideways, trying to judge how this had been received.

  “Yes,” I acknowledged. “Together.”

  Her chest rose and fell, but she said nothing, instead turning on the radio to some country music that I didn’t recognize. I’m not sure there’s any country music I would recognize. My first instinct at her lack of response was frustration, or hurt, but then I remembered that she’d thought I’d chosen money, fame and a shitty woman over her. Give Poppy time, my brain reminded me.

  We pulled to a stop in front of a simple church. For one reason or another, I’d expected the kind of churches I now saw on TV, those ‘mega-churches’ with bleached-teeth, orange-skinned pastors whose hair was shellacked and whose words were so often slimy. Instead, what I found was a simple, wooden structure, with a slanted roof that peaked in the middle. Beneath this eve was a tall, silver cross. Not an imposing one, but rather, a piece of elegant decoration. There were two symmetrical flower patches near the door, which I felt certain were tended by elderly community members.

  In short, it looked exactly like the kind of place where Poppy would fit right in. The building was honest, unembellished, friendly. Whatever my feelings were about organized religion, I appreciated that Poppy found a home here.

  “My sister,” she explained, as we walked to the slightly ajar front doors, “is the pastor.”

  “I know,” I admitted. “I met her earlier.”

  “Oh right,” Poppy muttered under her breath. “Yeah, she and I are gonna have a little talk about that later.”

  I pushed open one of the doors, holding it for Poppy, and argued, “It wasn’t April’s fault. She thought she was helping.”

  “She was being nosy.”

  “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  Poppy sighed extravagantly. “Let me tell her what’s happening and we’ll take it from there, okay?”

  I chuckled and said, “Lead the way, shepherd.”

  Chapter 26

  POPPY

  BEING IN a church with Finn felt eerily right. Or maybe that’s because I was picturing the two of us, standing at the end of the aisle, and exchanging some pretty loaded words.

  Knock it off, I told myself, trying to tamp down my eagerness. Just because you’re going on a walk together and he’s meeting people who mean a lot to you doesn’t mean you’re gettin’ hitched.

  That was true enough, but can’t a girl just have a li’l daydream every now and then?

  How quickly I’d changed. A few hours ago I’d wanted him skinned alive, and now I was planning our vows. Oh, the heart is a cruel and quick mistress.

  I escorted Finn past the teak pews, around the altar and to the back, where the community gathering space was and April’s offices were located. It wasn’t big – hardly enough to even hold the ten people normally in attendance at these meetings – but then, neither was our town. We numbered maybe five thousand, tops, and there were still half a dozen churches in the surrounding area.

  “Okay, here’s where the magic happens,” I joked as I led him into the room.

  We passed through the doorway and I was greeted by the usual suspects, folks I’d known my whole life, gathered around a table, with coffee and cookies on a nearby tray. To the casual observer, it probably looked as much like an AA meeting as anything else. Having worked in a number of government rehab programs, I was intimately familiar with the setup of the average recovery program.

  At the head of the table was April, in her white pastoral linens with her Bible splayed open in front of her, looking at me with satisfaction and not even a decent trace of shame.

  “Hey,” I said, greeting those gathered around the table. To April, more pointedly, “Hello, Benedict Arnold.”

  “Well, howdy,” she replied. “I see you two have sorted things out. Unless you’re here to just bring this young man to God?”

  Finn coughed uncomfortably at my side. I pointed a finger in April’s direction.

  “We’re gonna talk about this later,” I informed her, my tone broaching no argument. “But for now… for now, I wanted to let you know that I am going for a walk with Finn and I’ll be back later.”

  I smiled, but I didn’t want my sister to think that she could interfere in my life without knowing that I was the one in charge of my destiny.

  She smiled broadly. “I thought you might feel that way.”

  Oh, that Judas! I turned to the rest of the group, who were looking on in curiosity.

  “Everybody, this is Finn Maguire,” I explained, as he gave them all a little wave. “He’s my… friend.” It’d be too challenging to untangle his place in my life when even I didn’t rightly know. I wanted to go on, to say that he was more than my friend, he was the first man I’d ever slept with and I thought I might have big feelings for him.

  Instead, we went outside walked along the river. He held my hand and we chatted about everything and nothing. I learned that his concert was U2 and he found out that I re-read Pride and Prejudice every year. He’d got his first tattoo at the age of seventeen at a party, which was now covered over with a tattoo of Harley Quinn and I’d gone to all forty-eight contiguous states by the time I was eighteen.

  The conversation was spirited and thoughtful, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I especially liked that Finn listened intently. That, to me, was as much a demonstration of affection as roses and chocolate.

  We walked back to the church as the wind was kicking up. We waited outside the room to chat to April afterwards and spoke to a few of the people coming out of the room – but we were interrupted by Neal, a fellow Bible Study member who was about as Georgian as they come.

  “Howdy, Poppy,” he said, tipping his hat at me. “And nice to meet you, Mr. Maguire.”

  Finn thrust out his hand. “Likewise.”

  The men shook, and Neal continued, “Poppy here’s a great girl, maybe the best. She tell you what she did to me?”

  I blushed. “Oh, Neal, leave off–”

  But Finn took the bait. “No, she didn’t,” he said, “and I’d very much like to know.”

  Neal hitched his thumbs through his belt loops. “Well, our little Poppy helped me out, over at the New Orleans Rehab Facility. Got me back on the straight and narrow, you know? Just about saved my life, I’d reckon.”

  I turned to Finn, expecting that he would nod, maybe say something pleasant in return, but instead I saw that he’d gone cold, his muscles tensed and his neck thick with veins.

  “Where did you say you were?” he asked Neal in a low voice.

  “New Orleans Rehab Facility. It’s a state-run rehabilitation for–”

  “I know what it is,” Finn said darkly, before pivoting back to me. “Poppy, can we go speak?”

  His voice scared me, but his eyes scared me more – they were fiery, like two coals fresh from the flames.

  “Sure thing,” I agreed.

  I wished Neal a quick goodbye, and then followed Finn. I nearly had to chase him, he was moving so fast. We ended up in the less well-lit section of the church’s back area.

  The moment we were alone, he whirled around.

  “What the hell were you doing in New Orleans?” he demanded.

  His tone was s
hocking, but I still attempted a reply. “I was working at–”

  “I know,” he snapped. “But why there?”

  I shrugged, confused by where this could possibly be going. “I’ve volunteered at plenty of rehabs, Finn, including ones out of state. I’ve told you that.”

  He shook his head, such a vicious movement I thought he might throw his neck out.

  “You said you worked for government programs,” he corrected. “Not rehabs.”

  I exhaled, getting annoyed with this interrogation. “They’re the same thing, our government offers – never mind. What’s this all about?”

  The color was gone from his face, and the muscles in his cheek were jumping like crazy.

  “You know the name Catherine McDougal?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  I thought for a moment, and then it came to me. “Yes, actually,” I replied. “She was a former patient I worked with, a recovering addict, out of New Orleans. A lovely woman, very kind, once the methadone kicked in.”

  Finn’s face was collapsing in on itself, closing up, each feature receding behind a wall.

  “Why do you ask?” I managed to stutter.

  There was a long silence, during which all I could hear was my heart racing. Moments ago, we’d been bonding, now, Finn looked disgusted by the very sight of me.

  At last, he said through gritted teeth, “Catherine McDougal is my fucking mother. Was.”

  I heard a ringing in my ears, as though I’d just been socked over the head.

  “I’m so sorry, Finn,” I raced to say. “I’m sorry about her passing–”

  “She was awful,” he spat out, his lips pulling back into a sneer. “A monster. She abused drugs my whole life, left me to the foster system. Abandoned me. She’s the reason I can’t trust anyone, the reason I didn’t tell you about Chrissy or the harassment. She’s fucked me up fifty ways to Friday, and you’re sorry?”

  I tripped over my words. “She was troubled, sure, but that was mostly the drugs talking, Finn. There’s a person beneath the drugs.”

  He shook his head, as if in disbelief. “I can’t believe you.”

  “Your mother wasn’t a saint,” I agreed, “but she wanted to be better than she had been. They all do. Addiction is a disease.”

  Finn laughed, a sickening noise that made me reel back.

  “You’re defending her. My God,” he murmured, raking a hand back through his long hair. “We’re done, Poppy. It’s over.”

  “Wait–”

  “No. There’s nothing more to say.”

  Before I could get out another word, Finn was pushing past me, bee-lining for the front door. I chased after him, saw the light flood the church as he shoved the door open, but it was too late.

  By the time I’d gotten outside, Finn had flagged down a truck, and was climbing into the cab.

  He didn’t spare me so much as a backwards glance.

  Chapter 27

  FINN

  I DIDN’T know where I was going, didn’t know what I was doing. I had no plan, other than: run.

  I’d hopped into the car of some other Bible group member who’d ducked out a few minutes early. Lucky, I thought, then reconsidered. No, it was just small, karmic retribution for the massive joke the universe had just played on me.

  “Where you goin’?” the man asked.

  I thought for a moment, then responded, “The airport.”

  “You ain’t got no luggage,” he pointed out.

  I’d left it all at April’s house, expecting to pick it up when I reunited with Poppy. Now, all I had was my wallet, keys, phone and a book in my back pocket.

  “Leaving it behind for now,” I decided. “I’ll arrange something. I’m not going back.”

  He nodded. “Okay, then. You with Poppy now? She’s a good kid.”

  I shook my head slowly, staring out the window. The skies were darkening with rain.

  “No,” I said, my voice low. “We’re not together.”

  The remainder of the drive was silent, which suited me just fine. He pulled to a stop on the curb of the local airport, a tiny number with only the occasional flight. Didn’t matter – I’d stay in the terminal as long as need be to catch the next flight to New York. There was nothing here now for me, anyway.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, jumping out of the truck and racing inside.

  I found the nearest ticketing stand, and within minutes, was purchasing a flight back to New York.

  As it turned out, I had another stroke of good luck – the flight was due to depart in less than an hour. I made it through security in moments, and grabbed a black coffee from a nearby stand. In no time, I was on the plane, flying back to the only home I’d ever really known.

  Once we touched solid ground, I turned my phone’s airplane mode off, and was greeted by a slew of texts and missed calls from Poppy. I didn’t even bother to read them, let alone respond.

  We were over.

  There was no way I could be with a woman who thought my mother had been an honorable person. It was just out of the fucking question. My life had been destroyed by Catherine. Her evil ways had forced us to leave my homeland and come to a foreign country, one whose foster system had taken me in and spat me out. Poppy’s relentless belief that everyone had both good and bad in them, that there were redeeming qualities in us all… God, it was just so goddamn naïve.

  Seeing as how I had no baggage, I walked immediately from the gate down to the taxi stand, where I flagged the first black limo and climbed inside, giving them an address and then pulling out my book. I got through one paragraph, then reread that same paragraph some five or so times before simply giving up. I’d only managed a page on the plane before I found myself staring out the window. My mind was too much amiss to concentrate on James Baldwin’s intricate prose.

  The driver was as aggressive as any New York taxi, and soon enough, we’d pulled up to the Regency offices. I thanked the man, gave him a generous tip, and got out, striding through the front doors and making my way to the familiar back stairs.

  Three flights later, I was in the Regency offices. Or at least, a small part of them. I waved to the front desk attendant, who recognized me on sight, and walked into the exec wing. Had the desk attendant thought for a moment, she might’ve realized that I had no appointment booked, and tried to politely stop me with an offer of coffee or tea, but like many women, she gave me special treatment.

  I scanned the names on the doors, until I located the one I’d been looking for: Mike Vigh.

  It didn’t really matter if I met with him or any other of the creative team leaders, but I wasn’t in the mood to barge into one office after another and explain the story to a new set of ears.

  So I pushed into Mike’s room, not even bothering to knock. As I’d predicted, he was stationed behind his sleek desk – these guys never left their offices – chatting animatedly with someone on a Bluetooth headset.

  “Boy, Josh, y’know, you’re just a fuckin’ crackup,” he guffawed into the headset, laying it on a bit too thick. “We gotta get drinks, have your people reach out to my–”

  Finally, he caught sight of me, and his eyes widened, his false animation dropping like a veil.

  Into the receiver, he grunted blankly, “Lemme call you back later.”

  Mike tore off the headset, sat down at his desk, and stretched his legs onto the table before at last saying:

  “Finn Maguire. Is there something I can help you with? If I recall, you’re supposed to be in Georgia. In fact, I believe we paid for you to be in Georgia. So why, pray tell, are you in my fuckin’ office?”

  I stared at him, my gaze stone. These guys always thought they could play so tough.

  “Poppy Reeve,” I replied, my voice dark with anger.

  Mike raised a gel-covered eyebrow. “What’s the problem? She not coming back? Is she telling some news outlets about the Chrissy thing? Cuz, Maguire, I swear to God, if you cocked this up–”

  “I don’t think she’
ll tell,” I told him, stopping what I was sure would have been a colorful stream of curse words. “Get in touch with her, because I’m not gonna be your go-between any more. We’re no longer – we aren’t on speaking terms.”

  Mike snorted, and replied, “What’s that supposed to mean? You find someone hotter to bang? You always have been the little heartbreaker.”

  Jesus, this guy was a prick, but I had something to say.

  “It just means I won’t work with her anymore,” I clarified. “The rest is my business, so don’t worry about it. But what I really came here to tell you is, book me for as many Regency shoots as possible. All of them. I want my calendar dead full of shoots.”

  Mike chuckled, “So you really are trying to fuck hotter chicks. Lingerie models are as good a place as any to start, I guess.”

  No, I wanted to tell him. I’m trying to forget everything Poppy told me about myself – that I could be more than this job, that money isn’t the world. I am running from her, and you are nothing more than my getaway car.

  Aloud, I said, “Something like that.”

  He stood up from behind his desk, crossed to me and clapped a hand on my arm.

  “Good man,” Mike said. “I heard from your assistant you’ve been getting feisty on sets, wanting to do more ‘avant-garde’ shooting. Been hearing that for a few months, actually. That gonna be a problem?”

  “No sir. Never again.” I wouldn’t open my fucking mouth about how much I hated these repetitive, dull shoots. It was easier to stay here, in my comfort zone, than to go outside it and be burned the way I’d been burned that morning by Poppy.

  “Excellent.” He smiled broadly but with thin lips, the way I’d imagine the serpent smiling at Eve in the garden. Apparently, even now, Poppy had done a job on me.

  Mike went on, “As it so happens, we had a photographer drop out of a shoot today. Creative types, blah blah bah. Anyways, can you step in? I’d consider it a show of good faith on your end, a way to say you’re serious about this whole ‘full calendar’ thing.”