McCoy: A Bad Boy Romance

by Michelle Amy

  “You know the owner?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we go way back. He’s a good guy.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  I stood and waited as Jack collected his jacket. The girl with the blue pixie cut, Claire, caught my eye and gave me a curious stare. Then she placed her hand over her heart and did a convincing charade of being struck in the heart by cupid. I covered my mouth to stop myself from laughing. She continued to enact several goofy depictions of love. At the end, she also mouthed the words ‘be careful’, to which I was reminded of our conversation the other night.

  When she turned around to leave Claire walked face first into a tall man. I watched her stumble, and he caught and steadied her. I couldn’t make out much of him through the throng of people trying to push their way to the door. As Claire wove around him I caught a glimpse of blonde hair, blue eyes, and a familiar gray tie with a soft striped pattern.

  I could recognize that tie anywhere.

  Jack was shrugging into his jacket and asking me a question. I couldn’t hear him. I stretched up on to my tiptoes to try to get a better look at the blonde man on the other side of the bar. He was standing still and he was facing me, as if he was waiting for someone.

  Then he slowly turned and put his back to me. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He looked over his shoulder, almost right at me, and I caught a glimpse of stubble on his square jaw. I could see a faint smile on his lips even though I only had half a profile of his features.

  He disappeared as quickly as he appeared. I swallowed a lump that had formed in my throat and released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  Jack’s gentle touch on my elbow made me flinch. “Are you alright” He asked.

  His voice sounded far away. I forced myself to nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

  “Do you want to go find them?”

  “No,” I sputtered, “no, it’s okay. Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Five

  Jack guided me to his car with his hand on my lower back. He drove a sleek black looking car. I had no idea what make it was and I was too shy to ask. So I remained quiet and he opened the passenger door for me. I slid inside and marvelled at the luxurious interior. When he started the car the dash lights came to life and the stereo started playing music.

  We sat in the car for what seemed to be a couple of minutes while we playfully made conversation.

  “So, are we going to sit in your car all night?” I asked, as we still hadn’t decided on a place.

  “Your bad-boy-meter is getting even lower. I was expecting grandeur. I was expecting candles and Frank Sinatra and maybe plush rugs laid out in front of a fireplace, and you’d be wearing lace-”

  “I’d be wearing lace?” His face contorted into a grin and we both laughed.

  “Yes, you’d be wearing lace. And we could feed each other chocolate dipped strawberries. And sip champagne. And then eat more strawberries.”

  “I am ill prepared to be spending time with the likes of you,” he breathed. “If I have to wear lace to get you on a plush rug in front of a fireplace, it would all be worth it. You wouldn’t know what hit you.”

  I looked over at him. He had long since started the car but we were still in the parking stall. His eyes were fixed on me and one hand rested lightly on the top of his steering wheel.

  “I don’t actually listen to Sinatra, and I don’t expect something like that I was just messing-”

  “I know.” Jack said.

  I bit my lip and tried to ignore the fluttering sensation that had swept through me once again. Jack had made me completely forget that I thought I saw Chris moments earlier at the bar. His quick wit and charm had chased away the lingering feeling of fear in my gut and assured me that everything was going to be okay.

  He leaned towards me and the smell of his pine and sandalwood cologne filled my nose. I inhaled a deep breath of him and leaned in as well. His console dug into my hip and my seatbelt cut deep between my breasts. I continued to lean in until our faces were inches apart and I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  His hand left the steering wheel and came slowly to the side of my neck. His fingers became buried in my hair and I couldn’t fight it when my eyes closed.

  Then his lips were pressed against mine. My breath was stripped from me as my lips parted and he explored me. It was urgent yet gentle. It was primal yet sophisticated and I couldn’t resist falling deeper in the kiss. I forgot about my hip digging into the console. I forgot about the seatbelt and the awkward way I was twisted. I was completely in the moment with him, letting his hand cup my neck and his fingers clutch my hair. His other hand grazed my collar bone and goosebumps came to life on my skin.

  Before I knew what I was doing I was slipping my hands into the opening of his collar. I knew as soon as he had walked into the bar that those three buttons being left undone would be the unravelling of me. His skin was warm beneath my fingers. I could feel the muscle beneath his skin and I explored his chest with wandering hands. He was a rugged landscape and it was all I could do not to rip his shirt off right then and there.

  But I had to slow down. I could hear Brooke’s voice in the back of my mind yelling ‘danger’. I could see her standing with one hand on her hip holding up a stop sign like an overworked and underpaid traffic controller.

  I broke away and sank back into the leather seat. My hands were shaking, my breath was short, and there was a feeling in my lower stomach that was burning for him to touch me again.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathed, “too fast. Moving too fast.”

  He was trying to compose himself as well. I could hear his ragged breathing and he was rubbing his palms on his jeans.

  “I’m sorry, you must think I’m such a sl-”

  “It’s fine,” he said, affording me reassurance by looking over at me and giving me a lopsided smile. “The best things are worth waiting for, right?

  “Is it?”

  He nodded. “It sure is. I’ll take you home and we can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

  I appreciated the way he said it; somehow he made me feel like I wasn’t disappointing him, even though I could feel that he didn’t really want the night to end. He dropped me off in front of my building and didn’t drive away until he saw that I was safely in the lobby. That was something Chris never would have done. He would have peeled away down the street as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, leaving nothing but the smell of burning rubber and car exhaust in his wake.

  Chapter Six

  Brooke was in a sour mood the following afternoon, and she didn’t hide her resentment of the fact that I was throwing myself into another relationship. She barely afforded me the luxury of conversation throughout the day. She met most of my attempts at trying to get her to talk with blank stares and eye rolls, all of which I knew I deserved. But I wanted to tell her about what had happened last night- not the date. I wanted to tell her that I thought I saw Chris.

  She was laying on her bed with a book on her lap when I knocked on her doorframe. She looked up at me over her reading glasses and didn’t say anything, so I let myself in.

  “I know you’re unhappy with me,” I started, ignoring her dramatic head nod, “but I need to talk to you about something.”

  She remained silent and expressionless.

  “Last night, when the house lights came on, I could have sworn I saw Christopher at the Red Rose.”

  Brooke raised an eyebrow.

  “Now, I know it was probably my imagination. I know it’s unlikely. I know how hard it would be for him to find us. But still. It scared the hell out of me.”

  Brooke bit her bottom lip. “It couldn’t have been him.”

  “I know but... how can I be sure?”

  “Do you think he’d show up and not confront you?”

  That was a valid question. Chris wasn’t the kind of guy to get that close and then not say anything to me. He was the kind of guy to meet m
e head on. “That’s true, I guess,” I admitted.

  “And if it was him, and he shows up again, you can call the police. You have a restraining order.”

  “I know, but-”

  “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about, Alice. I’m sure he’s back in New York with his head up his ass doing the same old shit he was always doing. He’s not smart enough to find you, let’s be real. The guy is a useless waste of space.”

  Her words and her honesty helped ease my mind. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” She looked back down at her book. “Still going on your date tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  Brooke nodded and pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. “Have fun.”

  I understood that she was upset. I also understood that she was a moody girl in general, and I trusted that she would forgive me. Eventually.

  Brooke spent the rest of the afternoon punishing me with the silent treatment and shooting me angry looks when she thought I wouldn’t notice. I could practically feel her shooting daggers at me with her eyeballs, and by the time Jack arrived to pick me up, I was worried for his safety.

  When he knocked on the front door after I buzzed him up from the lobby I ran to answer it before Brooke beat me there. He was, yet again, impeccably dressed. He wore a tan suit over a black dress shirt. This time there was no tie, and he had only left two of the buttons of the collar undone instead of three. I thanked him in my head for this. He tucked his hands into his pant pockets as he leaned forward to get a peek inside. “Was that your roommate over the intercom? She’s serious about this whole not dating thing, hey?”

  “You have no idea. Come in, I just need to grab my coat.”

  As he came in Brooke made another pass from my bedroom to the living room, carrying an armful of my clothes. She dropped them all on to the couch and I groaned inwardly at the prospect of having to refold everything. She eyed Jack suspiciously. “First date and he shows up empty handed. Yep. This one will definitely break your track record.”

  “Brooke!” I said, my voice taking on a scolding tone of it’s own. “Mind your own business.”

  Jack stared down at his empty hands. “She’s right. I should have brought something. I had the intention of bringing flowers, but that felt too overdone. Then I thought maybe a bottle of wine, but you’re surrounded by alcohol at your work so I thought that wouldn’t be special enough. Then there was chocolates, what girl doesn’t like chocolates? But I have no idea what you’d like so… here I am. Empty handed.”

  I smiled. “Empty handed is good. No pressure. You know?”

  He cast a wary glance over at Brooke, who was watching him with a smug look on her face. “I don’t know,” he said smiling, “I feel a lot of pressure right now.”

  We continued to banter playfully in the car as he drove me to a small night cafe called Vixen’s. The front of it was pretty plain. It had one stained glass window below the neon red Vixen’s sign. Jack held the door open for me and I stepped into a room that smelled like nutmeg and citrus. Little tables were scattered around the small cafe. Each had one pillar candle burning on it and a little cup of water with something red floating in it. As Jack lead me to a table close to the window I realized it was a single red rose petal floating on the surface. I sat down and looked around some more.

  There was a small stage where a beautiful young woman sat with a guitar across her lap. She was adjusting the microphone height and preparing to play a set. The bar itself was against the far wall and all the staff wore black from head to toe.

  Our waitress came to our table and took our orders, and it wasn’t long before we were both sipping on a glass of shiraz. As I let the earthy flavors tickle my tongue I watched Jack flip through the drink menu.

  He was talking to me about how this was one of his favorite places to come for drinks. He liked the atmosphere and the vibes here. They always hosted local artists, and he had only discovered the place because an old friend had a gig here. Since that show he had always dropped by once a month to enjoy a drink. I didn’t answer much, I simply stared at him. I watched him run his hand through his dark and somewhat untamable mane of hair. I watched him adjust his watch on his wrist. I watched him rub a thumb along the stubble on his jaw.

  He looked up at me suddenly and his green eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “You alright?” He asked.

  “Oh, yes. I’m good. This place is perfect.” Perfect for watching him. I was beginning to become obsessed with him.

  He nodded. “It is. There are a lot of little places like this all through Chicago. But this one sticks with a person. Don’t know why.”

  I knew why. The gentle melody the girl on stage was singing was the perfect accompaniment to the wine we sipped and the view I had. He was perfect. He was too perfect.

  “Alright,” I said, resting my elbows on the table and putting my chin in my hands. “Time to come clean. What’s wrong with you?” The definition of insanity was doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. If I truly believed that Jack was different than all the others, I had to know more.

  His eyebrows scrunched together and he leaned back in his chair. “What?”

  “Fess up. There’s no way this is the whole package. You drink wine. You look the way you look. You drive a nice car. I mean, what’s the big one?”

  “Uh-”

  “First thing that comes to mind, go.”

  I liked how he looked when he was flustered. He fidgeted with his watch a bit again and he went to touch his hair, but stopped himself. I saw the muscles work in his jaw as he sifted through several things I was sure he wanted to say. “Well,” he said slowly, “there are several things. I don’t like chocolate. I hate horror movies. I’m the youngest of seven siblings; all brothers. I’ve never been on an airplane.” He pursed his lips as he searched for more.

  “None of those are good enough.” I said. “Let me help you. I have a bad history of dating the wrong men, and that’s why my roommate is so overprotective of me. I have baggage about my family, mostly my mom. I’m emotional at times…

  He stared at me for a moment before he started to laugh. “Okay. I see.” His thumb rubbed his jaw again and he stared at the candle between us as he thought. “I haven’t talked to my dad since I was seventeen. I have really bad road rage. And I mean, really bad. A guy cut me off one time and I got out of my car and started screaming at him in the middle of the street at a red light. Incredibly humiliating. And, of course, it’s on youtube. I could show you.”

  I laughed into my glass of wine. “I would love to see it some time.”

  He was on a roll now. “I’ll show you later. I hate musicals. Truly, there is nothing worse. When I was a kid I wanted to be a police officer. Then I got a speeding ticket a week after getting my license and had it out with the cop. It ended pretty badly. I spent a night in juvie.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. My parents had the option, to send me there for a night or not. And they opted to put me there.”

  “Is that why you haven’t talked to your dad?”

  He nodded. The mood had shifted to something a bit more subdued. Maybe I had pushed too far. I reached out a hand and rested in on top of his. I ran my finger over his knuckles. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  He did the single shoulder shrug again as he finished the last mouthful of his wine. “Yeah, well, it seemed as though I didn’t have much of a choice. Why do you have baggage with your mom?”

  I blinked. “Oh.”

  “Isn’t that how this works? You ask questions, I open up, then you follow suit? Otherwise, I wouldn’t consider this good conversation and you’re dropping the ball on pampering me.” He leaned back in his chair and turned his wineglass around a couple times on the table. His confidence dared me to challenge him. He knew he had just played his trump card. Even though it was a direct challenge aimed at me, I recognized it as him just playing the same game that I had started
.

  “I suppose you’re right. You deserve more.” I hadn’t talked about my mother with anyone except Brooke. Chris had known that things didn’t end well, and that her death had hit me hard when I received the call from a cousin I’d never met before. That call came in four years ago. “We didn’t have the best relationship. I spent most of my time as a kid at friend’s houses. Brooke’s parents place, mostly.”

  “Once a crazy roommate, always a crazy roommate.”

  I smiled even though I didn’t mean it. “Yeah. She’s been there through it all. She’s so damn stable too. Never gets herself into trouble. Always plays it straight. And then there’s me, always jumping in head first and needing her to come to the rescue when I’m drowning. And she always comes. Like with my mom. After her and my dad divorced when I was nine, she went on a dating spree. And by dating spree I mean it was like she was competing in the Olympics or something. There was a new guy every weekend, and my house started to feel like it wasn’t mine anymore. There was always beer everywhere. And broken dishes. And laundry was never done. And the fridge was always empty.”

  He was looking at me with the same expression Brooke gave me when I knew she was hurting for me. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t judgement. I wasn’t sure what it was. It was just… there. I skipped some of the more traumatic stories and just gave him the punchline. “Eventually, I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

  His expression hardened and I put my hands up to ease his mind. “I couldn’t take the drinking, the lack of food, attention, and care. One night when my mom came home late, I mustered up the courage to tell her how I felt; she simply laughed and left as quickly as she came in. So I packed up my stuff and showed up on Brooke’s porch.” I could remember standing on that dinky, blue paint chipped porch with my mascara leaking down my face and my hands clutching two garbage bags full of my stuff. I was always toting my stuff everywhere. Brooke’s dad had opened the door and as soon as he saw me he took my bags and pulled me in for a hug. And I cried for at least five solid minutes, standing in their entranceway clinging to his waist and covering his polo shirt in tears.