Bad Idea- The Complete Collection

by Nicole French

  So I’m surprised when my phone buzzes on my desk around six, just when I’m getting ready for work. We just talked last night for over an hour. Sometimes it feels like Layla has a sixth sense for when I need her most.

  I pick up the phone. Fuck distance. I need to hear her voice.

  “Hey, baby,” I answer with a grin. “Twice in two days. Lucky me.”

  I can practically hear her smiling through the phone, and fuck, it feels good. I shouldn’t call her baby. I know that. But she’ll always be that to me, and I think she knows it too, because she doesn’t tell me to stop anymore.

  “Hey,” she says. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for work.”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  It’s a familiar game we play. I usually ask her what she’s wearing whenever I call, partly because I’m hoping she’ll say nothing, and partly because I just want to imagine her.

  I look at myself in the mirror. “Same black monkey suit as always. Black shirt, black tie tonight. I’m feeling dangerous.”

  “Oh?”

  I smile into the mirror. We might be three thousand miles apart, but I can still read my girl like a book. She’s imagining me right now, and she likes what she sees, so I make a mental note to take this shirt and tie with me to New York later this week. I kind of look like Zorro in this shit, but it’s not a bad look.

  “What about you?” I ask. “It’s Saturday night. What are you wearing?”

  “Um...” she drifts off. “Black pants, a blue shirt, and my black boots. The girls and I are about to go out to meet Jamie’s boyfriend and his friends. They’re business students.”

  I shove the growl that rises automatically back down my throat. Meeting up with a bunch of dudes sounds like a great recipe for meeting a new boyfriend. I can just see these fuckers now with their shiny leather shoes and their striped shirts and gelled hair, buying Layla and her friends drinks and expecting more afterward. I want to fly across the country tonight and punch every one of them in their entitled fuckin’ faces.

  Whoa, there. Calm the fuck down, hot shot.

  “Good, good,” I lie. “I hope you have fun.”

  “Are you okay? You sound kind of sad.”

  I snort. This girl can read me like a book too—she always could.

  “I—I’m just nervous,” I admit as I sit down on the bed. “I...yeah. I’ve got this test thing coming up.”

  “What test?”

  I’m not going to tell her what it’s for. As much as I’d love Layla in my corner, cheering me on, it would be unfair to her. I know her. She’d get her hopes up like crazy, imagining I’m going to be moving back to the city next year.

  But it can’t hurt to tell her a little right? I could seriously use her optimism. So I tell a white lie.

  “Uh, it’s for a first responder thing.” It’s not a total lie. Firefighters are a type of first responders.

  “What, like an EMT?”

  “Yeah,” I say, deciding to go with it. “Like an EMT. I decided...well, yeah. I’m sick of this club shit. And I want to do something different with my life. But first I have to take the entrance exam for the program, so I’m studying for that.”

  “What?!” Her enthusiasm blasts through my phone’s tinny speakers. “Nico, that’s amazing!”

  My face practically splits in half when I hear the excitement in her voice. This is what I needed. Not the doubt dripping off Jessie or the worry that my brother projects even though he sent me the test announcement to begin with. Everyone needs someone in their life who really believes in them, and for me, Layla is that person. I never want to lose that.

  “God, I wish I could see you right now,” she says. “I just want to tackle you. I want to give you the biggest hug to wish you good luck. You can do this, Nico. You’re so smart. If you’re putting your mind to it, I know you’ll kick that exam’s ass!”

  Fuck. It’s so easy to forget what this feels like when you’ve never really had it before. How many people have had this kind of faith in me? I could count them on one hand. Layla gives it so freely, and it feels so crazy good. I close my eyes as she keeps going, not really listening to all of the praise she gives, but just absorbing her enthusiasm, letting her belief in me sink in. Hoping I can take that with me after we hang up.

  “I want to see you,” I blurt out, interrupting her from her onslaught. “I’m—shit, I should have told you before. But I’m going to be in town for Thanksgiving next week. Do you—are you—you’re not going to be around, are you?”

  Shit. Of course she’s not, you idiot. And fuck me, if I’d really thought about this before, I would have arranged my trip so I was in LA when she got here. Because in all likelihood, this is where Layla is going to be spending her breaks. Her mom lives here now. And I just fucked up my next chance to see her.

  “Actually, yeah, I will.”

  The words are a fresh breeze. My eyes pop open. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. My mom is going to Cabo or something with my grandparents. She wanted me to come too, but I just...I didn’t want to.”

  She trails off, and I can hear the sadness in her voice. I know the last few months have been hard for her. She doesn’t hear from her dad much these days, and her mom sends money but never calls. I don’t get the feeling that Layla’s family was ever that affectionate. Her dad is a typical, domineering Latino father, but it doesn’t sound like either of her parents balanced that sternness with warmth. Which is crazy, because when I’m around their daughter, all I want to do is hug her. Okay, and other things too. But it’s impossible not to love her.

  Despite the sadness in her voice, I can barely hide the excitement in mine. “So, that means I get to see you this week?” Okay, I can’t actually hide it at all. And I don’t give a fuck.

  There’s a swift intake of breath, and I can practically see Layla squirming on her bed. Is it the same kind as last year, with the makeshift curtains she hangs around a twin mattress? The one where we used to get it on like rabbits, not giving a shit that her roommate was snoring maybe ten feet away?

  The thought of it, snores and all, actually gets me more excited.

  “Yes,” she breathes, and I’m practically bowled over by another wave of anticipation. Suddenly, I don’t give a fuck that I’m really going to New York to take that test. I’m just excited I get to see my girl.

  “Layla?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know we promised not to talk about it…but are you seeing someone right now, baby?”

  She hesitates, and my heart stops in my chest. No. Please, no. I’ll take whatever I can get from her. But goddamn I really need her to be single right now.

  “Not really,” she says slowly. “Nothing...nothing serious.”

  I exhale, long and loud. “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Good,” I repeat. “Because when I see you, I want to kiss you, baby. And I really fuckin’ hope you’ll let me.”

  She doesn’t answer at first. Then, a few seconds later, there’s a giggle. It’s not a yes, but it’s on the right track.

  Chapter Ten

  Layla

  I’m sitting on the couch, trying to find something, anything to do with myself. I hate waiting like this more than anything else—waiting for the stupid phone to ring, waiting for the seconds to tick by, waiting for the moment—whatever is going to happen in it—to occur.

  It’s been like this for days, ever since that phone call on Saturday night. Quinn’s been yelling at me all week to calm the fuck down because I’m so jumpy. But I can’t help it. I’m pretty much beside myself with anticipation over seeing him. Seeing Nico.

  My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I leap for it, practically falling over my feet to get it. Behind me, there’s a snort: Quinn, studying in the kitchen. But I’m too annoyed to respond, because the number on the front is not the one I’ve been waiting for.

  “Not him?” she asks dryly.

  I shake my head. “No.�
��

  It’s Giancarlo, the Argentinian student I met at Fat Black’s. He calls a lot, at least two or three times a week. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I don’t. Most of the time I send him to voicemail––the guy is a little intense, and I’m not really in the headspace for dealing with a new relationship. But the guy is nothing if not persistent.

  I’d never say this to my roommates, but it kind of feels good to be pursued like this. Sometimes, usually when I just can’t deal anymore with listening to Jamie and Dev cuddling on the couch, or Quinn’s bitching gets to be too much for me, I pick up the phone.

  Giancarlo and I have met up maybe three times since that first night, and it’s usually led to something similar; a lot of drinking and me waking up in his apartment uptown. But every morning I feel weird as I do the walk of shame back to the subway, avoiding the catcallers and practically sprinting past Nico’s old block, where his brother now lives.

  I silence the call. Giancarlo is the least of my concerns right now. I go back to freaking out about what’s going to happen when Nico shows up.

  Will he be happy to see me?

  Will he act like it’s no big deal?

  Will he act like the last six months haven’t happened?

  Do I want him to?

  Quinn looks up from her books. “Can you find something to do over there, babe? You’re making me nervous.”

  I look down at the foot that is currently shaking and tuck it under my skirt. “Sorry.”

  Quinn tugs off her glasses and sets them on the counter. She shuts her book, gets up, then hands me a piece of mail over the back of the couch. It’s a familiar envelope, one that makes me relieved and sad at the same time.

  “Check from your mom?” she asks.

  I rip open the envelope and nod. “Yep.”

  It’s the same check I’ve started getting every month. Mom doesn’t pick up the phone either when I call. She’s usually busy at the country club, perfectly happy living at her parents’ house. And after September, the checks started to arrive like clockwork every few weeks just as her phone calls became less and less frequent. This time there’s not even a note—just cold, hard cash represented by Mom’s soft script, all of it a way to mitigate her own pain and guilt.

  Still, it’s better than my dad, who hasn’t called in months. I never thought I’d wish for the day my dad went back to being grossly overbearing, but his silence hurts worse than his sharp words ever did. If it’s a choice between them, I’d rather be scolded and yelled at. I’d rather fight than be abandoned.

  “When’s he supposed to be here?” Quinn interrupts as she puts on her coat.

  I glance at the clock that’s next to the kitchen. “Any minute.”

  A phone buzzes, and I practically jump three feet in the air to check if it’s mine. It’s not.

  “Sorry. That’s my cue, jumpy,” Quinn says as she checks her phone. “That was Shams and Jamie. We’re going out so you crazy kids can have some privacy.”

  “Quinn, you don’t have to leave.” My reply is weak, and we both know it. There is nothing I’d like more than an empty apartment, even though a part of me knows it would probably be smarter to have a chaperone.

  She smirks and pats me on the head like a baby. “You’re so cute, Lay. Like a little kid waiting to get up on Christmas morning.”

  “Yeah, except this package might break my heart again,” I grumble.

  Quinn looks on sympathetically. “He was an ass,” she states simply. “He left you and immediately shacked up with another chick. Don’t let him forget it, and you’ll be fine.”

  We’re both remembering the day the girls arrived back from summer and found me curled up in my bed. They took me to the nearest diner and plied me with hot chocolate and home fries while I cried my eyes out. It was so much worse than when he’d left.

  But it’s different now. I know things aren’t ever going to be serious between us. They can’t, not when he lives so far away. But it feels good to have him in my life again, so much better than when he wasn’t. I’d rather have him as a friend than as nothing at all.

  With another warning look, Quinn grabs her purse and coat and heads out.

  “Don’t forget,” she calls. “Total. Ass.”

  The door slams behind her, and I’m left in the worst possible position: alone with my thoughts. Trepidation. Fear. Excitement. Happiness that I will get to see the man I fell so hard for. The man I still love, if I’m being completely honest. Anger. Betrayal. Sadness. Mourning. All of it.

  My phone buzzes again. There’s that stupid 323 number. Suddenly paralyzed, I watch it light up, then finally pick it up on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, baby! I’m outside your building.”

  His deep voice erases the cacophony in my head, leaving only one feeling. The excitement bubbles up in my chest before I can stop it. Despite my desire to stay cool, I’m already grinning.

  “I’ll be right down,” I say and hang up before he can answer, suddenly unable to move fast enough. I put on the first shoes I can find—a pair of bright blue stilettos I wore over the weekend. They don’t exactly go with my outfit, a black skirt and graphic t-shirt, but I don’t care. I just need to get downstairs.

  I fly down the two flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator. The sandals pinch my toes, but I can’t feel a thing. His energy is magnetic, pulling me close though I can’t see him.

  I burst outside, where it’s sprinkling with a chilly November rain, a layer of clouds low over the city. Broadway is jammed even more than normal at this time of the day, full of honking cars trying to make their way around the square. It takes me two seconds of scanning the traffic before I spot him across the street, exiting from the Union Square subway station. He’s all in black: black jeans, black sneakers, his familiar black leather jacket, and a tight black beanie that covers his short black curls. Nico locates me, and his face lights up with that hundred-watt smile I dream about almost every night.

  “Layla!” he calls, weaving through the traffic toward me as quickly as he can. But I’m faster.

  I skip across the pavement, out to where he stands in between the cars, and tackle him. It’s pure impulse; my body couldn’t have done anything different as I squeeze him with everything I have, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, arms clasped around his neck. He holds me just as tightly, so tight I can barely breathe.

  Our noses touch, and before I can even start to think about standing on my own again, he’s kissing me, fast and hard, and I’m kissing him back, with all the urgency and wanting and loneliness that I’ve been carrying around in the pit of my heart since we said goodbye. Our tongues meet, our hands grapple, and it’s not until a chorus of horns blasts that we finally break away with hoarse breaths.

  Nico walks us back to the sidewalk and deposits me on the ground, though his arms don’t leave my waist. He kisses me again and again, but can’t stop grinning that silly grin that I know is mirrored on my face. I can’t help it. I don’t care about anything else that’s happened between us. I’m just so fucking glad to see him.

  “Fuck, it’s good to see you,” he says in between joyful kisses.

  He grins again, and it lights up the otherwise cloudy day. He laughs, and I laugh along with him. He pulls me into another tight embrace and swings me around the sidewalk, almost causing my feet to smack passersby. I couldn’t care less, lost in my laughter and joy.

  “Thanks,” he says after he sets me down.

  “For what?”

  Another crooked smile spears me. “For letting me kiss you.”

  “Oh.” A blush rises up my neck. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t ever going to say no. “Come on,” I say as I take his hand. “No one’s home.”

  With a different light in his eyes, Nico follows me into the building. While we sneak excited looks at each other, I sign him in with the security desk, then lead him up the stairs to my floor.

  We practically jog the whole way up. Nico’s grasping at
my waist from behind, like he can’t stand not to touch me. I know the feeling. Every few feet I turn around and grin at him, just to make sure he’s really here. I don’t know why he’s so freaking happy right now—it can’t just be because of me or because of Thanksgiving. But I don’t care. Right now, we get to be together.

  Once we make it inside the apartment, I turn to give him the requisite “this is my new place” speech, but I’m not even able to get a word out before Nico snakes a hand around my waist and pulls me in for another kiss, the kind that would get us both arrested if we did it on the street. The apartment disappears as his hands are suddenly everywhere—my waist, my back, my ass with a grip that will probably leave bruises.

  Nico groans into my mouth as his hands find their target. “Bed,” he mutters before diving into my mouth again. “Now.”

  I can’t answer, just manage to walk us toward the bedroom I share with Quinn. A different color flashes in my mind with every step I take as we fumble at each other’s clothing, too fast to even remove anything properly. There’s no time for words; our mouths are everywhere. My knees buckle when I hit the edge of my bed, and I fall into the pillows with Nico on top of me. My wandering hands have managed to remove his beanie at least, and my fingers thread into his thick hair, which has grown long enough in the last three months that I can really grab it.

  Nico grunts against my lips, reaching down to shove the hem of my skirt to my hips, rip off my underwear, and undo his pants. I’m slick, ready; I was ready hours ago. Days. In less than a second, he’s ripped open a condom and is inside me with a shock that stretches me and makes me shout as he buries himself deep and moans into my neck. My hands find the taut curves of his ass and squeeze.

  “Nico!” His name erupts from my throat. This wasn’t what I was expecting, and yet, it’s like nothing else was ever going to happen.

  He huffs my name back, thrusting furiously into me, hurtling both of us toward that edge. It doesn’t take long for both of us to come. The friction between our bodies, even fully clothed but for where our bodies join, is too much.