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“Some people thought they could fuck with me.” His tone, laughing, belied his words. That’s Crankshaft; he never lets anything get him down.
My eyes slide back over to Becca, and down to her ass. God, that’s a real nice skirt she has on her. Black but it’s shiny too, like there are sparkles in the fabric … what little fabric there is. I remembered back to the van ride over, and how she’d talked about sex so openly, and it had been all I could do not to pull the van over and fuck her senseless. Keeping my hands off her as I listened to her go on and on and on about having needs and wanting to be fucked...
Torture. Pure torture.
“So, can I have my keys to my Ford minivan?” she asks, holding her hand out toward me. I reluctantly fish them out of my pocket. I really didn’t want to hand them over. That’d take away any reason I had to be around her, to listen to her ...
To fuck her.
She snags the keys from my hand. “I’m already shitastically late to work, but I called my boss, Mr. Williford, out in the hallway and told him that I’d be late coming in. Told him I’d been kidnapped by a biker. He was appropriately appalled. Truth is, that was more fun than I usually have in a month. If you hadn’t thrown my door open this morning and asked to … take over my van,” she says with a wink at me, “I would’ve been stuck looking over liability documents for an upcoming event at the Barclay’s Arena, and I promise you, nothing will make my eyes cross faster than to stare at liability documents for hours on end.”
She starts to turn away, and I say impulsively, “That sounds awful.”
She stops mid-turn and looks back at me. “Yeah, it really kind of is.” She chuckles without humor. “When I went to law school, I thought I’d be making a difference in the world. I thought I’d be defending the good guys, beating the bad ones. I thought…” She waved her hand in the air, brushing it all away. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, because it isn’t what happened. My life is so boring, it’d put a librarian to sleep. At least they have overdue fines to charge people. I just read fine print all day.”
“Do you want to stay kidnapped?” I blurt out. I can sense my prez shift on the bed, but I ignore him. I’m not ready to let her go yet. I need to keep her by my side a little longer.
Just for the day, or something.
“You mean, like a little vaycay, but as a kidnap victim for a biker gang?” She laughs and I know it’s ridiculous and I open up my mouth to take it back, to say I was just kidding, of course, no one would actually do that, and then she says, “I’d love it. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but I would. Anything to get away from my life for a little while.
“I’d need to go back to my apartment and get my charger and some clothes, though. Is that okay?”
“Sure, sure,” I say, my heart swelling with surprise at her answer. I can’t believe she’s actually going for it.
“Here are my keys back. I can’t be kidnapped if I’m the one driving, right?”
“Of course, right.”
Like I kidnap a lot of people on a regular basis or something. I don’t want to ruin my badass rep, but Becca’s the first person I’ve ever kidnapped, and I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had a choice.
Becca shakes Crankshaft’s hand, kissing him on the cheek as she does so. “Good to meet you, sir,” she says and practically bounces from the room. He looks at me, eyes wide, and says, “You have a handful with her, Harlan.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” I agree drily. “You should hear her talk about…” I trail off, realizing that I didn’t want to tell my prez about Becca’s comments about sex. That’s a first for me. I usually tell him everything. I clear my throat. “Well anyway, I’m off.”
“Have fun,” he says with a wink and a naughty grin. I roll my eyes and head for the door. It’s time to kidnap Becca.
Again.
5
Becca
We head toward my apartment—Tye’s apartment—on the Upper East Side. I don’t know why I’m already mentally referring to it as his, since we’ve lived together in it for the last three months, but … it’s never really felt like mine. Not even before he lost his job and started spending his nights drinking and getting high.
How much longer do I put up with that?
I don’t know. I was never one who’d been blessed with boatloads of patience, but breaking up also seemed like a lot of work. Did I really care that much? Apathy stole over me at the thought.
I call into work and get my boss on the phone. “Listen, I thought they were going to let me go,” I say casually, “but it turns out, they need me a little longer. As their hostage.”
I wait for his screeching and panic to subside—he doesn’t really care about me, he just doesn’t want to have to do my work for me—and then when he finally winds down, I say, “I’ll call you later,” then end the call. Actually…I think about it a bit. They may be able to track my movements with my cell phone, and my boss just might call this into the police. My latest work is so boring, my boss would involve the police rather than be forced to actually do it himself.
I shut my phone down completely and slide it into my purse. Now, no tracking available.
I feel a little happier already.
We head up the elevator and down the hallway to my apartment, with me doing my best not to breathe too deeply around Harlan. Or at least obviously. He smells so damn good. It’s hard to keep my hands to myself, but I just barely manage. He said he’d kidnap me for the day, not fuck me. There is a difference, sadly enough.
