Chelsea Fine - Perfect Kind Of Trouble

“Maybe, but I really think—”

“And the handcuffs! Why?” he says with dark eyes, pissed. “Why did he ever think this would be a good idea?” He jiggles our handcuffs somewhat aggressively.

I narrow my eyes. “Why are you in such a bad mood?”

He glowers at me. “No reason.”

“Then quit bitching and help me figure this clue out,” I snap.

His sour attitude doesn’t make any sense. If he wants outs, I already offered to cut off the cuffs. And if he’s scared I’m going to get clingy, he can relax since I told him last night wasn’t any big deal. I eye him for a moment. Maybe something else is going on here? Maybe something happened between him and his dad to set him off? I’m so confused.

Forty-five minutes and two mini dust tornados later, we still have no idea what “through the trenches” means. And now we’re covered in dirt that clings to our faces and limbs thanks to the sticky sweat glistening on our skin.

Another gust of wind blows more dust into my hair and eyes and I swat it away angrily. Daren swats at the dirty wind, accidentally meets my eyes, and quickly looks away with a scowl as he wipes his brow.

Now I’m convinced his sour attitude is because of what happened between us. The bastard can’t even look me in the eye.

“Maybe he meant a different kind of trench. Like a war trench,” Daren suggests.

I scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure he wants us to trek through a battlefield and go digging through some war trenches.”

He juts his chin. “Do you have any better ideas? Because all you’ve done for the past twenty minutes is complain. It’s hot. I’m tired.” He scowls. “What is your deal?”

“What is your deal?” I say. “You’re the one who’s been in a pissy mood all morning and hasn’t spoken to me since we left your dad.”

He snaps, “Why do you keep bringing up my personal shit? It’s none of your damn business. Can’t you just forget about my life for one fucking second?”

I scoff. “Not a problem. Consider yourself forgotten.”

He scoffs back. “I already have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pull back, struggling to decode his expression. I shift my jaw. “Is this about last night?”

“Nope. Last night was no big deal and nothing happened,” he says with contempt. “Nothing that mattered, anyway.”

His words cut deep—deeper than I’d like to admit—and he doesn’t even look remorseful.

My mouth falls open. “What a shitty thing to say.”

“Shittier than you using me to get your daddy’s money?”

“What?” I shake my head in disbelief. “If anyone is being used it’s me. You’re just using me to get the money—and maybe get lucky along the way,” I snap.

He looks like I just slapped him. And in a way I guess I did.

His face falls. “Are you for real right now?”

I don’t really think he’s been using me. If anything, I think he just doesn’t know what to do with me. But his words still sting and I’m too hurt to care about his feelings.

I shrug. “Well that’s what you do, isn’t it? You’re an opportunist, trying to get laid at every corner.”

He clenches his jaw and angrily nods. “Yep. Yeah. You’ve got me all figured out. I found out we were going to be handcuffed together and I was like, ‘You know what? This would be a great opportunity for me to get in frigid little Kayla’s pants.’ ” He scoffs. “I’m not the one who was practically begging for it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh please. You spread your legs and practically begged me to do you.”

My throat closes in as I feel all the blood rush to my face. I’m embarrassed and furious, but mostly I’m in pain. My heart aches like he’s stabbed a butcher knife into its core and is mercilessly twisting. All I want to do is hurt him back.

I glare at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.” And just because I’m a horrible person, I add, “I felt sorry for you, that’s all. You’re homeless, for God’s sake. You sleep on the floor and can’t even afford to eat. You have no future and any women who knew the truth about you would run away screaming. Nobody wants you, so I felt bad. It was going to be a pity lay.”

Oh God. I went too far. The look of heartbreak on his face cuts into my lungs, making it hard to breathe as I watch his every fear claw at his self-esteem, stripping him down into the tattered shreds of worthlessness he already thinks he is.

I open my mouth to apologize but he cuts me off before words can form.

“Well good thing it didn’t happen then.” His face turns to stone. “It was just going to be a victory lay for me. Just another notch on my belt. But now? Meh.” He shrugs. “You’re not really worth my time. There’s really nothing to you except some tits and an ass. And I can get that anywhere.”

Pain.

Pure, black pain. That’s what this is.

We’re piercing each other, one sharp arrow of insecurity after another, puncturing holes in our already ruined facades. I’m pissed and hurt, and on the verge of tears. All I want to do is run away from him. Goddamn these fucking handcuffs!

I swallow and try to keep my tears at bay. “You know what?” I say calmly. “I don’t really need the money. We’re stuck and can’t figure out the clue anyway.” I look him over. “I’m done.”

He shifts his jaw and looks me over as well. “Me too.”

More pain.

“Good. Let’s go.” We head back to the car and climb inside. I’m proud of my ability to keep the keys from shaking as I jam them into the ignition and turn.

Nothing.

I try again. The car makes a whirring noise but doesn’t turn over. Again and again. Still nothing.

Daren grunts in frustration. “Here, let me try.” He grabs the keys and tries himself, but the car won’t work.

“The battery’s probably dead,” I say.

Daren mutters, “Fuck.”

We sit in silence for a good full minute.

“What now?” I stare at the steering wheel.

He rubs a hand down his face and exhales. “I don’t know.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere with no food or water.” I pull out my phone. “And no freaking service.”

“I know.”

“We need a plan, Daren.”

“I know! I don’t know what to do… Wait. Yes I do. Get out.”

“What? Why?”

“Just get out of the damn car,” he barks.

I sneer at him but get out anyway.

“Willow Inn is about a mile away,” he says. “If we hike through the forest we can be there in half an hour and Angelo, one of my coworkers, will be able to get these damn things off of us so we can figure out what our next move is. So come on.” He marches past me, leading us into the trees. “Let’s hurry,” he says without looking at me. “I want to get these damn things cut off of us as soon as fucking possible.”

“Me too,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth a little piece of my heart falls away.

I’ve never been in this heavy of a fight with a girl before. I’ve never had a reason to fight like this with a girl before—probably because no girl has ever meant anything to me or mattered in a way that I felt was worth getting hurt over. But this hurts like hell.

Kayla’s words about me being a pity screw… I know she didn’t mean them. I could tell by her quivering lip that she was just trying to lash out at me, but I’ve never been more hurt by words in my life. Except maybe when my mom left and told me her love for me wasn’t enough for her to stay in an unhappy life. That rejection was pretty awful. But Kayla rejecting me is a whole different kind of pain.

I don’t know why she matters so much to me, but she does. And now she’s marching through the trees beside me and all she wants to do is be done with me. She’s even willing to give up the inheritance money to get away from me.

This is what I do. I drive valuable, important women away from me. Women are willing to leave behind great wealth just to flee from me. I could almost laugh out loud.

I’m completely unwanted.

We walk for a little over a half hour—in tense silence—until I see the inn in the distance. At first, I’m relieved. But then I see two figures out back and I bite back a curse.

Levi and Ellen.

Of course Ellen and Levi are out back when I’m trotting up to the inn with a girl chained to my wrist. I swear to God, it’s like I’m trying to ruin my questionable reputation. Or at least keep it intact.

They look like they’re having a deep conversation. Good. Maybe Kayla and I can sneak past them without being noticed. That would be good. Levi and I aren’t exactly pals right now. Or ever.

The last time I saw him, Levi was choking me on Monique’s hood because I’d tried to drive drunk—with his girlfriend, Pixie, as my captive. Needless to say, Levi’s not one of my biggest fans.

His eyes shoot to mine. Ah, hell. I hate the way he’s staring at me, and I hate the way Ellen is now staring at Kayla. And I hate myself for bringing all this on.

“Daren?” Ellen takes a step forward as we near.

“Uh, hi.” I smile sheepishly and start to wave with my cuffed hand, causing Kayla’s wrist to yank up with mine.

She whips her arm down and hisses, “Use your other hand.”

“What the hell…?” Levi stares horrified at me and points to Kayla. “Did you kidnap this girl?”

“What? No!” I say. “Hell, no. You think I wanted to be handcuffed to this girl?”

Kayla glares at me. “Oh. Like I wanted to be chained to you?” She rolls her eyes. “Please.”

“Will someone please explain what’s going on?” Ellen looks around in confusion. “And where you guys came from?”

I sigh. “It’s a long story.”

“It’s a stupid story,” Kayla corrects. She sneers and my anger bubbles up.

I glare at her. “Are you incapable of shutting up for even a second?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snaps back, raising our cuffed wrists. “You’ll have to excuse my bad mood. I’ve been attached to a douche bag for two days.”

“And who are you?” Ellen asks.

She holds out her free hand. “I’m Kayla.”

“Ellen.” Ellen slowly shakes her hand, glancing between the two of us.

Kayla cuts her eyes back to me. “See how I used my non-cuffed hand to do that? It’s not rocket science.”

I narrow my eyes at her before turning back to Ellen. “Is Angelo here?”

Ellen hesitates. “Uh, yeah…”

“Excellent. If anyone can get us out of these things, it’ll be him. Come on.” I pull Kayla by the cuffs to the back door and inside the inn—while she mutters death threats and curse words at me—and walk us through the lobby and into the dining room.

Angelo is behind the bar, right where I thought he’d be, wiping it down with a white rag. His bar is always ridiculously clean, but still the guy insists on polishing its surface day in and day out.

He looks up from his shiny bar top, glances at our cuffed wrists, then goes back to wiping like seeing a guy chained to a girl is an everyday occurrence for him.

“Looks like you two had an interesting day,” he says.

“Something like that,” I say. “You don’t by any chance have a pair of bolt cutters here, do you?”

“At the inn?” Angelo laughs gruffly and shakes his head. “We ain’t got no bolt cutters here.”

I curse under my breath and see Kayla’s shoulders slump from the corner of my eye.

“But if you’re trying to get out of those handcuffs, I might be able to help,” Angelo says, waving at our metal manacles.

“Really?” I say.

He nods at a nearby dining table. “Sit down and put your wrists on the table.”

We do as we’re told and Angelo walks up, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out a leather case. Pulling out a thin tool with a hook on the end, he shoves the case back into his pocket and slips the hook tool into the lock on the cuffs.

I’m not at all surprised that Angelo carries a lock-picking kit in his back pocket. Because why wouldn’t a guy tote a shady tool kit around in his back pocket?

First he pulls the broken bobby pin from the lock, then ten seconds later our cuffs pop open and we’re free. Just like that. Where was Angelo two days ago when I wanted to pull my hair out and pee in private?

“There you go,” Angelo says. He smiles at Kayla. “Sorry you were attached to this schmuck.”

She half-smiles back. “Me too,” she says, but there’s no venom in her voice.

Her eyes meet mine in a sad exchange, both of us feeling remorse but neither of us brave enough to apologize.