Wanted: A Bad Boy Romance by Maya Hawk

card or letter
while I was locked up.
    Fuck all the friends who
scrambled like sheep the second I landed myself in hot water.  
    I don’t need anyone, and I sure
as hell don’t need that noise.
    ***
    Can’t. Sleep.
    I’ve tossed and turned for hours
on this lumpy mattress.
    But it’s not
the bed , it’s my mind . It won’t shut off. You’d
think a guy would be used to being alone with his thoughts by now. I roll to my
side, tucking the pillow in half and jamming it under my head.
    The room is hot. With one
solitary window, I don’t get the privilege of having a cross breeze.
    Since there’s no point in tossing
and turning the rest of the night, I rise up and grab bottled water from the
fridge and take a seat by the window. The clock reads just past closing time,
and only a couple cars remain in the parking lot of the Hammerhead.
    Streetlights fade, taking their
turns in alternate patterns. A squad car does a slow crawl down Bevin Street;
his due diligence I guess. My eyelids are heavy. I know my body’s tired, but my
mind is wired.
    A shadowy figure in the narrow
alley between The Hammerhead and a donut shop draws my eye. He moves slowly,
his back against the brick façade of the building. Taking careful side steps,
he peeks his head around the corner.
    The heavy door of the bar flies
open a minute later and a scrawny man in a ball cap stumbles out, almost losing his balance. He steadies his hand against the nearby window
to regain his balance before fishing in his coat pockets for his keys.
    My blood boils. The fuckhead can
hardly walk straight but he’s clearly going to drive home. I pull in a deep
breath to calm my heated nerves before rising up and hunching outside my
window.
    I’m two seconds from shouting at
the moron until he swaggers past the alley and the guy standing in the shadows
emerges. Their strides are identical, paces matched. The drunk doesn’t notice
the guy three steps behind him. The gap between them closes, my heart races.
    This is the guy.
    The guy on the
news that KJ told me about.
    Holy shit.
    A car flies by. The guy following
the drunk doesn’t miss a step. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t veer away. He’s brazen.
Unafraid. Determined.
    “Hey!” I yell in my deepest
baritone, backing away from the window, out of sight. Standing in the dark of
my apartment, I watch the second guy back off and veer toward another alley. He
walks under a streetlamp just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his jacket: a
canvas utility jacket covered in a camouflage pattern. The guy is lankier than
Kyle. KJ was wrong. There’s no way that’s fucking Kyle.
    The drunk glances around in
search of my voice, staggering forward when he gives up. The shadowy figure is
gone, probably lurking out of sight as the drunk starts his car.
    I squint to read the plates. I
can only make out a couple letters and a number. Going to need to get some
binoculars with my next check. All I see is it’s a white Honda. Four doors.
Older.
    The call to the police takes a
minute. I’m sure they’ll never find the Honda. He’s probably long gone by now,
but at least I did my part. I can go to bed tonight knowing I did what I could.
    My bed calls to me, my mind
settling down for the night. Before I drone off, I make a mental note to tell
KJ about the guy who is most certainly not Kyle.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN
– JORDANA

 
    “Where’s Titan?” I ask at dinner
Friday night. “Haven’t seen him lately. Is he putting in overtime at the shop?”
    Mom glances at Lewis who sets his
fork aside. The clinking of the metal on china fills the quiet space between
the three of us.
    “He found a place,” Lewis says,
chewing his filet mignon.
    “He moved out, sweetie.” Mom
places her hand over mine.
    Seriously? He didn’t even say
goodbye.
    My ears burn, and I try my
hardest to maintain my cool around them. I can’t believe I spread my legs for
Titan and he bolted out of here without saying goodbye. It’s not like we were
friends or