“I said therapist, not a girlfriend,” Leo spits back. “Apparently, the latter found you herself.”
I take a bite of my food while Leo turns up the music. Eating in the car with music and beer might sound weird, but for us, it’s a typical night out. None of us is big on partying and clubs, but this right here... This is perfect. Just us, good food, good music, and booze. I check my phone again. Rachel hasn’t seen the last few messages. I guess it’s more of good food, good music, booze, and a bitch who ignores me.Great.Don’t worry, little criminal, you can’t ignore me forever. I will find a way to get your attention.
“She really caught your interest, didn’t she?” My best friend always knows what’s up.
“She did,” I admit. She has been on my mind since the moment I laid eyes on her, before she called for me to help her with the box and pushed me into the white van. If she hadn’t done that, I would have probably tried to talk to her myself. She is beautiful. Her long black hair caught my attention first, but when she called for me, it was those beautiful blue eyes that felt like they were stealing parts of my soul. I have never seen such big, beautiful blue eyes that hold so much energy. It’s like her soul is mirrored in them. I’ve heard people say the eyes are a window to someone’s soul, but this is the first time I have witnessed this to be a fact. Her eyes are exactly that—a window to her soul, a peek into her energy. They are what the saying was made for. It wasn’t until I saw her again in her bedroom that I noticed her body; that’s how much her eyes caught my attention. But that doesn’t mean the rest of her isn’t as beautiful. She is tall for a woman and curvy in a way that makes her perfect. She is at a normal body weight, just not thin, with curves that highlight her figure.
It’s safe to say that the moment Leo rescued me, I had to find a way to see her again. Maybe putting Ryan on the task wasn’t the smartest choice, but I didn’t exactly have time to ask for a number while my best friend was practically dragging me out of her house. If it were up to him, he would have probably dragged me by my hair with how upset he was with my little stunt. I will admit the video was a little dramatic, but what else was I supposed to do?
This was a great opportunity for content. The video of my kidnapping has already received thousands of views. Of course, most people think it was staged, but still. Views are views. It will do wonders for my social media accounts, and that will help the bar. Leo might be mad about it, but he will welcome the fame if it benefits our business.
“What are you planning?” Leo asks, reminding me I have been silent for way too long.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Kai, I have known you since we were seventeen,” Leo reminds me how long we have been friends, as if it would be easy to forget. The guy is there every hour of the day, except apparently when I’m getting kidnapped. We work together. We live together. We hang out every other minute of the day, and we have been hanging out every free minute of our lives since we met at the age of seventeen. He is more of a brother than a friend.
“I am aware.” Leo grabs the empty bag and food wrappers and exits the car to toss them in the bin. When he returns, I smile at him, praying he has forgotten what we were talking about, but he hasn’t.
“Please tell me you are not going to do anything stupid,” he begs.
“Define stupid.” I smile innocently, as I am already planning to do something stupid.
“I don’t know...paying her back for the kidnapping somehow, for example.” Leo tries to sound calm, but knowing my friend, his brain has conjured five different ways I will end up in prison for trying to get back at her for kidnapping me. In his mind, he probably thinks I am a little mad about it, but in reality, I think it was kind of hot that she did.
“No, of course not,” I lie again, but this time he doesn’t argue. He starts the car, and I turn the volume higher, letting the music fill the silence between us as we drive home. I check my phone again, but Rachel hasn’t replied. She hasn’t even seen my last messages. That simply won’t do. I need her to want me, and I have the perfect idea of how to make it happen.
‘Little criminal, our story begins now,’I think to myself, smiling as my eyes focus on the road.
Chapter 3
Rachel
“AM I DEAD?” I MUMBLEbut quickly realize no one is here to answer my question. I feel dead. I pat myself down, as if I am trying to find a well-hidden weapon. Nope, all parts of me are here, or at least it feels like it. I hold my head with both hands, trying to ease the pain, but it is pointless. It feels like a big elephant is trapped in there, trying to get out. It’s pushing its big elephant body from side to side against my fragile skull, desperate to come out, and I am one moment away from banging my head against a wall to release it. I am going to die from a hangover. I will be one of those cases of stupid death through alcohol intake and bad decisions. As if the possibility of going to prison isn’t enough.
I try to stand, hoping to get a better sense of what had happened last night, but instead, I question my entire existence as my eyes take in the state of my living room. Everything is spinning. The room is brighter than usual; empty wine bottles are on the coffee table in front of me. The aroma of coffee fills the house, and music comes from the kitchen. I force myself to walk there one step at a time, trying to steady myself by holding on to the couch, the armchair, and the wall.
When I arrive at the kitchen, it’s even brighter. Who decided to bring the sun inside my house? And that music—it sounds likeit’s playing from inside my head. I bet the elephant is dancing to it. Noah stands in front of the stove, flipping pancakes, and the smell alone makes me want to vomit. It’s too early for food. It’s too early to be alive. Someone should kill me. I will pay them.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Noah chirps in a very hyper mood, and I think about how nice it would be to press his head on the hot pan and see if I can make a Noah-shaped pancake. Why is he so hyper? How does this man never get a hangover when we have been drinking the same amount all night? I am over here half-dead in zombie mode, pulling myself from room to room like the ghost of my past, and Noah is cooking breakfast like this is the best moment to be alive, with that stupid grin on his face that I want to punch off him. He is ridiculous. I get it, dude; you are a god. You never get a damn hangover, but us mortals who do would like you to pretend at least once that you are dying with us and not mock our inability to process alcohol like it’s water.
“Coffee,” I manage to say as I sit at the kitchen table. It’s probably more of a bark than a word, but that’s the best I can do. I can barely balance myself on the chair, and the room has now chosen to start tilting to the side instead of spinning. At least pick a mode; are we on a bumpy carnival ride, or are we in a boat?Make up your damn mind, room. I have enough problems as it is.I am not sure if tilting is better or not. Noah places a coffee mug full of fresh coffee and a plate of pancakes in front of me. I push the plate away because even the idea of food makes me want to puke up all the alcohol I drank last night. I take the mug in my hand as if it’s going to solve all my problems. I stare at the black liquid. It looks like my soul but smells better. I inhale the delicious aroma of the dark roast, and my brain slowly starts to wake up. The image of the guy with the blue hair tied to a chair in my bedroom flashes before my eyes, and I am suddenly wide awake. I am missing information.
“What the hell happened last night?” I ask frantically before I take a sip of my coffee. That’s good coffee right there. It might even have the power to actually solve the mess that is my life—you know, if I hooked it up to an IV and let it enter my veins like a blood infusion, replacing my actual blood with it and letting it make all the decisions from now on. A me pumped full of caffeine would probably make better decisions than the me pumped full of wine.
“Do you mean after you kidnapped a guy?” Noah smirks and takes a seat on the other side of the table with a coffee of his own. He pulls the plate that had been made for me and dives in, devouring my food while I try to piece things together. I remember the guy. I remember the kidnapping. I remember a tall, broody guy coming to rescue him. Everything is blank after that.
“What happened when the tall guy came to get him?” I ask again, this time guiding him to the last point I remember.
“Okay, you didn’t lose your mind then,” Noah smiles. “I was kind of hoping you had a mental breakdown and weren’t yourself when you kidnapped that guy.” Yes, buddy, we get it. You disapprove of my new hobby. Get in line.I am not too happy with the results either.
“I get it,” I say with annoyance as I take another sip of the coffee. “I fucked up.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Noah laughs. I am starting to think again about how cute a Noah pancake would look right now as his laughter pierces my brain.Why is he so loud?Man, I am dying over here; get the fucking memo.
“That doesn’t really answer my question, though,” I remind him.
“Okay, fine.” Noah finally decides to cooperate with me. “Leo came to the rescue for the biker, then we went to the living room, had a few bottles of wine, and you passed out in the armchair. Iwent home, slept for a couple of hours, took a shower, and came back to make you breakfast because we have a twelve-hour shift to attend in an hour, and I am a good friend.” He gives me a toothy smile, highlighting the fact that he feels fine while I feel like I died, went to hell, and someone forgot to inform me. Noah, good fucking friends don’t rub the fact that you’re a mess in your face. They ignore it. They let you be the mess you are and hype you up while you’re trying your best. But then again, best friends do exactly what Noah is doing. So, he may be right.He is a good friend.