I walk through the lobby doors and am smacked with a cold gust of wind just in time to douse my burning, dirty thoughts. I take a deep breath and bundle in my hands in my coat pocket. It's not raining tonight, but the wind is unseasonably cold for summer. Another gust blows through, and sends my hair flying everywhere.
"God damn it!" I hear a voice yell. I stop walking to clear my hair out of my face so I can see. Once I have it semi-under control I see Todd crouched down, messing around with some part of his motorcycle. I consider walking past him without a second glance, but...what if he needs help? What if he needs AAA or...a ride or something? I do owe him for helping me out, and buying me a drink...
"Piece of shit!"
I politely walk up to him.
Without turning around he says, "Do you mind? You're standing in my light." I look behind me, and I am, in fact, blocking the light from the sconce on the outside of the hotel wall.
"Oh, sorry." I step aside, allowing the light to hit his bike once more. He tenses, and turns slowly to me.
"Not you again. You're a bad omen. Go away." He waves his hand, and turns back to mess with his bike.
"Why are you such a jerk? I came to ask if you need help."
"I'm a jerk? I'm not the ungrateful one." He fidgets with some parts.
"Todd, you don't have to act all macho trying to fix your bike. I can give you a ride or I can call AAA for you. You can get it towed to the mechanic tomorrow." I shove my hands in my pockets even though my hair is blowing around crazily. I didn't bring a hair tie so there's not much I can do about it at this point. He stands up, and walks until he's towering over me, our chests almost touching. I want to take a step back, but I'm too scared to move. The look in his eyes is dark, glaring, and definitely not inviting. I'm frozen.
"Sweet cheeks, I am the mechanic."
My head tells me he’s an asshole but my body says something completely different. His scent and proximity have my lady parts screaming, and my mouth watering. He stalks off back to his bike, and puts his hands on his hips. He looks up at the sky, and mumbles something. I'm still too enchanted to move. He looks back at me, and walks up to me again just as close as he was before. Another gust of wind comes through sending my hair up and right into his face. "Ugh." He starts waving his hands around to get it out of his face. My hands reach up to get my hair under control, but before I can tame it he uses both of his hands, and manages in one swoop to get all of my hair pinned behind my neck with his hands. I gasp at the sudden firm hold he has of my head. He's so close I can feel him breathing. We stare at each other for a moment, and then he breaks the silence by eloquently saying, "Your hair is annoying."
So much for the semi-romantic moment I thought we were having. I should have known better. Even if we were having a moment, Todd only wants one thing from women, and it is not a relationship. "Gee, thanks," I shoot back sarcastically.
"Stop talking," he rudely instructs. My eyebrows pinch together in anger. I have half the mind to slap him and walk away, but the way our chests are touching and the way his woodsy smell is engulfing me overwhelms me with an entrancing desire. The way his strong hands and arms are around my head is turning me on like I’ve never been turned on before. I don't think I've ever been so aroused in all my life.
"Listen, it's dark. It's windy. I can't see shit, and I don't have any of the tools I need to fix what I think is wrong with my bike so I would appreciate it, sweet cheeks, if you could give me a ride home," he says calmly and deliberately. "Seeing as how I saved your life, I'm hoping you'll say yes."
"Yes," I answer slapping his arms away from me. The magic trance ended as soon as he called me that stupid pet name. "And don't call me sweet cheeks." I step aside, and continue walking up the street to my car without checking to see if he's behind me. He makes up the few paces quickly so he's next to me. Once we get to my car, I walk around to the driver's side and unlock the doors.
"Wow, this car looks like it’s been through some shit," I hear him say before I close my door. He follows suit. "What is this Honda––a '92, '94? Sweet cheeks, if this is your car, you need to get you a new one."
"Says the auto mechanic who can't fix his own bike," I huff in annoyance. "And it's a ’96 Civic, just so you know."
He holds up his hands. "Oh, '96, my bad, sweet cheeks. And I told you, it's dark, windy and I don't have what I need on me to fix it right now."
"Stop calling me that!" On the third try, the car finally starts, and he just shakes his head.
"What am I supposed to call you? You never told me your name."
"You never asked!" I'm getting more annoyed every time he opens his mouth. His perfectly plump, manly lips...I shake my head and sigh. "Amelia. My name is Amelia Baldwin." I pull away from curb where I was parallel parked, and head off up the street.
"What's the deal with this?" He asks, ignoring my introduction. He flicks the rosary hanging from my rearview mirror. For some reason embarrassment floods me.
"Oh–um–it's–" I stammer.
"It's a rosary. I know it's a rosary. I went to Catholic school too, remember?"
My embarrassment turns to annoyance. I roll my eyes. "I know that," I respond lamely. "My parents are..." I pause trying to find a way to tell him how my parents are without sounding like an adult that does everything that her parents tell her to do. Except I am that adult, so I come clean. "My parents are very Catholic. We all have rosaries in our car. Except Josh, of course, because he's only fourteen," I start to ramble. "They would freak out if they ever saw me driving without it."
He raises his eyebrows at me. "Do you always do what your parents tell you to do?"
I sigh. "Yes." I hate admitting it, but what's the point in hiding it from him? He can see right through me. "I don't know why though. Stupid Josh is fourteen and he can date, but if I ever dated they'd throw me in a nunnery."
"Wait––you've never dated? Anyone? Ever?"
Oh crap.
I've said too much. Stupid wine making me more open than usual. My cheeks are flaming hot. "Ummm..." I have no idea what to say.
"Seriously, Amelia?" I look at him, and he's on the verge of laughing.
"Oh, shut up!" I start punching his arm as best as I can while still driving.
"Ouch! That hurts!" He yells between fits of hysterics. He's leaning toward his window, trying to escape my reach.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up! You're worse than Josh!" I'm still pummeling him when I look over to see him literally crying he's laughing so hard. I look back to the road, and swerve a few times on accident.
"Woah, woah, woah! Okay, enough hitting. Just work on not driving like a maniac or killing us both, please," he instructs, wiping the tears from his eyes, but still smiling.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I shout.
"You heard me. You hit like a girl, too, by the way." He chuckles, and it makes me even angrier. He starts poking me all over my side causing me to shriek.
He teases me one too many times. "I hit like a girl?" I shout while he relentlessly pokes me all over. "Stop!" I harden my fist, and hit him in the arm as hard as I can, but when I do the car jerks to the right drastically, and neither one of us has time to even scream before the crashing of metal reaches our ears.
We're both jerked forward. The force of the seatbelt knocks the wind out of me. The airbag ejects, harshly whipping me in the face. We’re both pulled back hard. The passenger side airbag doesn't eject but Todd's seatbelt locks so he doesn't hit his head on the dash or go through the windshield, our heads smashing against our seats. It's not until everything has stopped moving and is silent before I can breathe again. I gasp for air at the same time Todd does.
"Holy shit," he states, dumbstruck. He looks over at me, and I can see the panic run through his eyes. "Holy shit, Amelia, are you okay?"
I'm not. My chest really hurts, and it's hard to breathe. My face is burning. "No," I croak out.
"Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening. I'll get you out." He ta
kes off his seatbelt, moves forward to get out of the car but groans loudly, and grabs his chest. He falls back on the seat. "Fuck, that hurts. I think I cracked a rib or four. Just give me a second."
I give him a tiny nod that he probably can't even see. He takes a deep breath, grunts, and lets out a string of expletives until he's successfully standing outside the car. I reach down and unbuckle my belt without looking down because the airbag is still blocking me. I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. He manages the walk over and opens my car door.
"I'm going to pull you out, and carry you to the tree you just brutally hit so you can rest against it, okay?" He doesn't wait for my response. He leans down, and stretches his arms out for me. I start to wrap my arms around his neck, grimacing just from lifting my arms, but as soon as we try to move he yells. "Fuck! It fucking hurts." He releases me and slides down back against the side of the car. "I can't get you out. I'm going to call for an ambulance. You need to go to the doctor." I continue to stare while the tears continue to flow silently out of me. "You're in shock. It's going to be okay, Amelia. Just try and breathe. I know it fucking hurts."
He calls 911, and we sit in silence until the ambulance arrives.
Todd and I are lying on hospital beds next to each other waiting to be seen by the doctor. A nurse has already come in and wrapped up both of our chests. We are both looking highly fashionable in matching hospital gowns. Todd and I have barely spoken to each other. Waiting here in this bed has forced all the events to replay in my head and come crashing down on me. The shock has finally worn off.
"Oh my God. My parents are going to kill me," I mutter.
"What?" Todd asks, looking over at me. The floodgates open and I start sobbing.
"They're g-going to k-kill me! And my c-car!" The sobbing hurts terribly, but I can't stop. Between the mental and physical pain, it's all just too much for me to handle. "My car is wr-wrecked! I hate you! This is all your f-fault!"
"Look, I know you're upset right now, and you're in pain. Trust me, sweet cheeks, so am I. Your parents are not going to kill you, and I will fix your car, okay? Everything is going to be fine. Stop crying. I can tell it's hurting you."
"You d-don't understand! They'll know I wasn't w-with my friend like I told them. They'll know I was drinking illegally. They'll know I was with you doing G-god knows what. They're going to hate me for killing my car. I c-can't afford a new one!"
"I'll fix your car," he offers again.
"You d-don't even know if it can be fixed!"
He attempts to sigh but a loud groan comes out instead.
7
–– Todd ––
"Okay, you're right," I confirm. "I don't know if your car can be fixed, but I can certainly take a look and do my best." I look over to her, and the sight hurts my stomach. Her long, light brown hair is tangled and in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and draped over her shoulder. They hooked her up to an IV to help keep her hydrated, and medicated. Her face is shiny from where they spread burn cream down her left cheek. She might have a scar from it, and that’s what I feel the most shitty about. She has flawless skin. You can tell she spends a lot of time inside, because she doesn't have any hint of a tan. No surprise there, she probably spends a lot of time in a darkroom developing film at that boring job of hers.
She sniffs and wipes her wet eyes, careful not to touch her burn. She struggles to sit up, groans loudly, and a sob falls out.
"What are you doing?" I ask her.
"I have to pee really bad." She manages to swing her legs over the bed, and hold on to the IV stand to get on her feet.
"Do you want me to call the nurse?"
"No." She starts to walk slowly to the bathroom with an unpleasant face. I close my eyes, and lean back into the stiff hospital pillow. I can't believe I made this happen.
When she walks out of the bathroom in our room I can see her ass in her pristine, white, cotton undies. I'm not going to lie, it turns me on a little. I laugh when she catches me staring, and she buzzes the nurse to ask for another gown because, "It's difficult to be lady-like in this hospital gown."
Once she gets her second gown on and lies back down, the pain dissipates from her eyes, and is replaced with obvious panic. "So? Can you help me?" Her big, watering, brown eyes look over at me with a glimmer of hope cutting through the sorrow. I sigh then grimace.
"As far as the parent thing goes, I can't help you. You're just going to have to tell them the truth. I mean..." I groan in frustration. "...Whatever." I quit trying to calm her down, because I have no idea what it's like to have parents that care, much less have parents that care too much. I look over at her, and she looks like she just figured out the solution to all her problems with a brilliant idea. It terrifies me.
"You," she says with that look on her face still, but she continues staring straight ahead.
"Oh god. What did I do now?" I shrug and wince a little. She got an IV for some meds. All I got was a Vicodin and a slap on the shoulder.
"You," she repeats. She looks at me sweetly. I think that's what her "sweet face" looks like. I haven't ever seen it on her so I'm not quite sure. "I need you."
"Most women do," I reply casually, and turn back to stare at the wall in front of me.
The nurse pokes her head and informs us, "Miss Baldwin, I contacted your parents, like you asked, and they're on their way."
"Thank you," Amelia responds kindly.
The bitter girl is being nice and it's starting to worry me. "Why have you turned nice all of a sudden?"
She turns to me, confused. "I'm always nice. Just not to you. But that's all about to change."
"Good. I would appreciate that," I state confidently, but still scared.
"I need you to be my boyfriend," she spews out quickly.
My jaw drops, and my eyebrows shoot to the sky. "I'm sorry, but it sounded like you just asked me to be your boyfriend. No," I add quickly, "you didn't even ask. You told me. The drugs they gave you must be making you go bat-shit, because we don't even like each other, remember?"
"No."
"No? What do you mean, no?" I want so badly to cross my arms in defiance, but I know it will hurt too much.
"Look, my parents will be here soon. They're going to find out everything, and let's face it, you're the one that got me into this mess, and you're going to be the one to help me clean it up by doing me a favor."
"You're the one that was driving! This is your fault, not mine."
"No, if you weren't distracting me then this accident wouldn't have happened and you know it. My car is totaled–"
"Almost, maybe totaled." I point my finger at her, correcting her.
"Shut up and listen."
"Miss Bossy Pants," I mutter.
"I heard that." She glowers at me, and I roll my eyes. "My parents wouldn't let me date in high school, and when I went to college I was too afraid to go out with anyone, because I was always afraid of what my parents would think or say. I was at the bar tonight to try to find someone to date to get back at my parents for their double standard. My little brother Josh is fourteen, and just started dating someone and they're not just allowing it, but they're proud of him. Now I'm twenty years old, and they have finally given me their blessing to have a boyfriend." She pauses to roll her eyes. I continue to stare, partly uninterested in wherever this is going. "I want to get back at them, like I said, and if they get one look at you they will freak out. So, since this is all your fault, pretend to be my boyfriend for a few weeks. After you, they won’t dare be judgmental about any of the boys I decide to date. They'll just be happy I'm not dating you anymore. It'll get their feet warm, so to speak. Plus, if you do this, I won't tell them it's all your fault. I'll take all the blame, and you won't have to be responsible for any of the damage to the car or any of my parents’ repercussions."
I shake my head trying to wrap my mind around everything she just said. "Repercussions? Like they’ll sue me? Sweet cheeks, I'm broke. And what do you mean, 'they'll be ha
ppy with anyone after I date you?'" She immediately turns pink.
"I just mean that, you know, you're a "bad boy" type. You wear a leather jacket, drive a motorcycle, didn't go to college, and look like...this,” she explains gesturing up and down my body, getting flustered. You're everything they don't want me around."
"Gee, thanks," I say sarcastically through a scowl. I don't want to date her. I don't want to fake date her either. But deep down...this accident is completely my fault. I provoked her. She was doing me a favor by driving me home, and I harassed her verbally and physically, and now her car is wrapped around a tree, and we're in the hospital. I’m almost certain her car isn't fixable, and I'll be damned if I'm buying someone a new damn car. I don't even want to know how much her insurance will go up because of it. Her parents aren't ever here yet, but they already scare the shit out of me, because they're crazy-strict, religious, and capable of who-knows-what. I close my eyes and groan. I hate feeling guilty. It’s such a burden, feeling like I owe someone something. I don't want anything––especially not something this big––hanging over my head.
Yeah, maybe I need to do this. Get it out of the way so I can pretend none of this ever happened.... " For the record, I do not want to do this. I think it's a really bad idea, not to mention that I’m a notorious...non-dater, but..." I pause, looking at her pathetically sad eyes, "I'll do it."
Her eyes open wide in disbelief. If I knew she was expecting me to say no, I would have said no.
"Really?!" She practically squeals, and I already regret this decision.
Maybe the guilt would've been better.
She groans in pain, and leans her head back against the pillow.
Or maybe not.
"Don't get excited, okay? Remember: this is fake. Now...let's set some ground rules like, how long this is supposed to last."
Wrong Place, Right Time Page 4