Mad Valentine: A Bad Boy Romance (Mad Valentine Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

XVI. Apology

Later that afternoon, I went to my other classes but didn’t hear anything that was being discussed. At the end of each class, I looked at my notebook and saw a blank sheet—I hadn’t taken a single note. I grabbed my things, shoved past the people lingering in the hall, and went straight home. I didn’t even text Maggie with an account of what had happened. I wouldn’t know how to explain to her what I was doing with Victor anyway. I didn’t even know how to explain it to myself.

That evening, after I’d given myself a little “me” time to finish what Victor had started, I lounged around in my bathrobe with a tub of ice cream, watching reruns of
The Daily Show
. With my pent-up sexual frustration released, I was feeling a little better, but I was still crabby and offended. I had just stuck a massive spoonful of ice cream into my mouth when my phone rang. I picked up the phone and looked at the display.

Call from: V. Valentine

I felt a wave of something like pleasure, but it was mixed with confusion and a painful pang, and I tossed the phone aside on the sofa. I continued watching Jon Stewart, trying to lift my spirits by fantasizing about having sex with him.

I’d look into those big, sad eyes and run my hands through that salt-and-pepper hair and then I’d—

The phone rang again.

Call from: V. Valentine

Exasperated, but also tortured with curiosity, I answered.

“What else could
you
possibly want?” was my greeting.

“I’m at your place. Come outside,” was his response.

“What?”

“I want to talk to you, El. Please come outside. Let’s go for a ride.”

“You can’t just show up and tell me what to do,” I said, flabbergasted. This unexpected move had undermined my defenses and all the smartass things I had planned to say to him when I saw him next. “Besides, I’m not even dressed.”

“Well, get some clothes on,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”

Then he hung up. I blinked at my phone for a moment, then tossed it aside and got dressed.

I was fuming and kicking myself for being so compliant when I went outside, dressed in torn jeans and an old pullover sweater. I wasn’t dressing up for him now, after having him reject me
again
, no way. He tells me to go away this afternoon, and now he shows up and demands that I come to him? What a joke! As I walked down the pathway, I coached myself to be aloof and terse and to not give in to any of his sexy wizard demands.

It was a little before sunset, and Victor was sitting in his car with the top down, the sky just barely tinged with orange behind him, looking like a movie poster with his Wayfarers and leather jacket and the engine running. He watched me as I approached the sidewalk.

“What the hell do you want?” I folded my arms and stuck my hip out. I was embarrassed and defensive about what had happened that afternoon and I desperately needed to reclaim some of my power. “Why would you think I’d want to speak to you again?”

“Will you please just get your difficult ass in the car. Please.” It was a statement, not a question.

“
I’m
difficult?” I sputtered, outraged and dumbfounded. I could just wash my hands of this unpredictable lunatic and walk away, I thought. But instead, I sighed, opened the door, and got in the car.

“Thank you,” Victor said. Then he turned his attention to the road as he began to drive.

“I’m taking you to dinner,” he announced.

I stared at him, scandalized.

“What? You’re taking me to fucking dinner? Victor, what is wrong with you? Did you not notice that your ex-girlfriend walked in on us about to do the nasty today and you told me to get lost?”

“I did not tell you to get lost.”

I gaped at him. “You’re crazy! Everything about this is crazy. You overpower me with your sexy beams from day one, befriend me, reject me, then almost make me come in a
classroom
, then tell me to go away when your ex comes around, then basically kidnap me to have
dinner
? How insane exactly are you?”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that crazy,” he muttered.

“Yes! Yes it is!” I cried.

He looked over at me. “Sexy beams?” he said, an amused grin on his face.

“Oh, my god!” I sputtered, throwing my hands in the air.

“Okay, Ellen, calm down. You’re right in every way and I came to talk to you about all that. Just let me talk for a second without interrupting me, all right?”

I crossed my arms and stared out the windshield.

“Good. All right. First, you need to know that I’m really sorry about this afternoon. I just—you were wearing that outfit and—” he let out a frustrated sigh and continued. “I took it too far and I’m very, very sorry. Second, you need to know that Mimi is ancient history.”

“Bullshit,” I snorted.

“Ellen,” he said in a warning tone, peering at me over his Wayfarers.

I sunk deeper into my seat, my arms still crossed. “Fine, whatever, no interruptions,” I grumbled.

“Mimi and I dated for a long time, but she is toxic and I broke up with her. Now I want her to stay out of my life forever. I, uh…I’ve never been good at understanding women,” he said, his voice halting, “but you, Ellen, you’re different. You make sense to me—”

I looked at him with narrowed eyes—I couldn’t let this one go. “Is that your idea of a
compliment
? Women don’t make sense, and I’m special because I do? That’s sexist, you asshole!” I spat out.

Victor sighed and pulled over. The task of driving and talking to me at the same time was obviously too much for him.

Once parked, Victor shifted to face me, putting one arm on the bench seat. “Ellen, I know it sounds fucked up. But, yes, it’s a compliment. For me, maybe it’s the highest compliment.”

I looked at him, my mouth open in a look of disgust. He shook his head and sighed again.

“All right, this is going to sound fucking heavy and weird, and you’re going to get creeped out, but it’s the only way I can explain it without sounding like a dick,” he said. “Just please don’t interrupt me any more.”

I hesitated, then nodded.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. He took off his sunglasses. He seemed nervous. I couldn’t imagine him ever being nervous.

“The thing is, nothing in my life has ever made much sense. Why my dad was a drunk. Why he was so violent. Why my mom passed away. Why I couldn’t make things better. Why I couldn’t control my anger. Why the few good people in my life, like Stu, had bad or careless things done to them. Why things had to be so fucking difficult, all the fucking time. It’s like bad, toxic things were the only normal I knew, okay? So when I meet you in class, and you’re smart as a whip and you make fun of my tattoos—”

I cringed, audibly.

“—I’m like, ‘Okay, this girl is no bullshit.’ It’s like something clicked, and you made sense to me. And then I read your writing, and it was…really
true
. And it made sense to me. And the way you talked to Stu, and the way you
got
him, that made sense to me. Then we go to a bar, and you push that asshole on the dance floor for grabbing your ass—that made sense to me. And today, when you were wearing that skimpy outfit…” He trailed off and his eyes wandered down my body. But he looked away and ran his hand through his hair.

“Well, I will be the first to admit I took it too far. You and me…we seem to have a hard time keeping our hands off each other. But most of all, I’m sorry you had to see Mimi again. I’m sorry I put you in that position. You don’t need to be mixed up with any of her bullshit, ever. Basically, what I’m trying to say is, I’m prone to fucking up and I don’t want to fuck up around you. So please, give me another chance. Let me take you to dinner to say I’m sorry.”

It was the weirdest apology I had ever heard. Or was it more of a confession? Whatever it was, it seemed to come from the heart. The stuff about his mother and father and his anger issues couldn’t have been easy to bring up, especially to someone like me, a good little girl who he’d only known for a few weeks. I felt myself giving in as I studied his face, but he was squirming under my gaze.

“So can we start over and be friends or what?” he said, breaking the silence.

Just then the sun sank completely beneath the horizon and a shiver ran down my spine as his dark brown eyes searched mine.

God, he’s hot.

My heart skipped a little at the thought of being
friends
with Victor Valentine, pin-up bad-boy extraordinaire. And I wondered where it would lead. He was right—we seemed to have some kind of uncontrollable sexual chemistry. Could we really stick to just being wholesome, platonic friends? The memory of his hand between my legs was still fresh and gave me goosebumps.

I gave a little sigh.

Fuck it. Why not?

“All right,” I said finally. “I accept your apology. And yes, we can start over and be friends.”

“Good,” he said with an exhale. He started the car. “I hope you like ribs.” He looked over at me with his crooked grin. I smiled back.

“Friend,” I said, “let me tell you just how much I love ribs.”

As I explained to him how I could put away a full rack for breakfast, my only thought was how on earth I was going to be friends with Victor Valentine when all I could think is how much I wanted his hands on my body.

XVII. Ribs

I quickly learned that Victor had excellent taste in food in addition to coffee. He took me to a spot off the highway just outside of town. It was the kind of place I would have never stopped on my own—it had a slightly dilapidated sign outside that read “Del’s Bar B Q” and a thin strip of fluorescent pink light edging the roof. I was a little apprehensive going in, but Sally, the only waitress, knew Victor and greeted us warmly as we entered.

“Hey, hon!” she cried. “Long time no see!”

“Hey, Sal,” Victor said in his movie-star-who-just-woke-up voice. “What’s good tonight?”

He led the way to a vinyl booth, and Sally followed us with menus.

“You know everything’s good tonight,” said Sally. She looked at me and winked.

“Well, in that case I’ll have the usual, but my friend might want to see a menu.”

“Here you go, hon,” Sally said, handing me a menu. “And the usual for Victor. Anything to drink?”

“Coffee,” said Victor.

“Me too,” I said.

“All right, kids, I’ll be back in a minute.”

When Sally left, Victor turned his eyes on me with a half smile.

“Best ribs in town,” he said.

“Well, let me get a full rack then, and some slaw and fries on the side,” I said, closing the menu.

Victor nodded appreciatively. “Nice choice.”

Sally came back with our coffee, took my order, and bustled away again. Then it was just me, my new friend, and the coffee. We looked at each other over the steaming mugs.

“Hey, what do you call a cow who’s just given birth?”

“Huh?” It took me a second to register that he was telling a joke. “Oh! I don’t know, what?”

“De-calf-inated.” He took a sip of coffee, deadpan.

I blinked several times, baffled. Then I burst out laughing. Victor chuckled too, watching me over the rim of his mug.

“Okay, I have one,” I said, recovering. “It’s not a coffee joke though, it’s a food joke.”

“Go.”

“A mushroom walks into a bar—” I started, but I broke down giggling.

“C’mon. That’s terrible delivery.”

“Okay, okay. A mushroom walks into a bar. The bartender says, ‘Hey, you can’t drink in here.’ The mushroom says, ‘Why not? I’m a fun-gi!’”

I barely made it through the joke before I shrieked with laughter. Victor laughed too.

“Christ, that’s corny,” he said. “I love it.”

“Yeah, that’s one of my favorites. Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you’re into bad jokes.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Our eyes gravitated toward each other, and I felt butterflies in my stomach as I drank in the soft look in his eyes. Suddenly I felt compelled to ask him a question. If we were going to be friends, we needed to know more about each other.

“I can’t believe I don’t already know this, but what are you studying at school?”

“Oh, shit,” he said with a chuckle, “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.” He stretched out and draped his arm over the top of the vinyl booth, making himself comfortable. “I’m majoring in economics but I have the least interest in that subject than almost anything else.” He took a sip of his coffee and added, “I’m also minoring in creative writing. Not that that really matters.”

“That does matter! You’re a great writer. You know that. But why economics? I mean, it sounds like a practical major. What plans do you have for it?”

“Well,” he said, letting out a sigh, “since I don’t envision myself making a living at writing, I’m interested in running my own business. I thought economics could help me with the business side of things.”

“Oh!” I was intrigued. “What kind of a business?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Promise not to judge?” he asked.

“Of course. Unless you’re going to start a sweat shop in a third-world country.”

“Jesus, Ellen,” he said, rolling his eyes. “No. I’m a mechanic. I have a part-time gig at this custom restoration garage. It pays the bills, and I guess you could say I’m pretty good at it. I always fooled around with machinery as a kid, but Stu really helped me find the artistry in it.” He paused for a sip of coffee, then continued, “You know my car?”

“Yeah.”

“You know how surprised Maggie was to see it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s because 1962 El Dorados these days take a lot of fixing up to run. I guess you could say I brought that car back to life.”

I sat back, impressed. I never had and probably never would have a technical or mechanical bone in my body. It was a type of talent that I just didn’t possess, and it was impressive—and sexy—that Victor had this ability. I pictured him under the hood of a car, a wrench in his hand, a streak of grease on his tanned face, his brows knit in concentration. His blue mechanic’s overalls would be tied around his waist, his arm muscles rippling under his tattoos, and his tanned skin glistening with sweat under a clingy, white tank-top…I began to feel hot and I forced myself to focus on the conversation.
Shit. I shouldn’t be imagining this about a friend.

“That’s amazing,” I said. My face felt warm. “So you want to start your own shop?”

“Yeah. I’d love to get into the specialty stuff—vintage cars that you can’t get the parts for, custom designs, that kind of thing. That’s when you get to be creative. That’s the stuff that excites me.” A pause. “Not as much as writing, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Just then, Sally arrived with two enormous platters of ribs. Wide-eyed, I ogled the steaming meat, and Victor laughed as he opened his paper napkin.

“Dig in, friend,” he said with a wink.

God, he’s fucking gorgeous.

The ribs really were some of the best I’d ever tasted. The barbecue sauce was vinegar-based and tangy, just the way I liked it. It was almost enough to distract me from thoughts of Victor half naked in a garage. But a few bites in, Victor turned the tables on me.

“So what about you? What are your plans after Merritt?”

“Well,” I said, swallowing, “I’d like to work for a big-name magazine. Of course I’d take any job at any magazine, but ideally, I’d like to write about people. I understand big issues better when I look at them through a personal struggle, or by studying someone’s unique perspective. I guess to me, in my worldview, people are what matter. They make the world go round, and they make issues matter.”

I realized I had said a lot at once and I hoped to God I wasn’t blathering.

“I agree,” he said with a smile. “Plus, you’re good at it.”

This pleased me. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said with a shrug.

“Ellen, you’re excellent. You’re great at writing about people, capturing their voices, understanding their motives. You’re the best I’ve ever read.”

He wasn’t kidding. His serious eyes looked directly into mine, and he gave me an encouraging smile. I blushed under his approving gaze and murmured, “Thanks.” And suddenly, I had this realization:

Victor gets me. More than Maggie, or Archie, or even my parents. He reads my work and he knows how to appreciate it. He actually hears what I’m trying to say. He. Gets. Me.

With this realization blooming inside of me, I looked at Victor in a new light. This tattooed, dark-eyed, mysterious man wasn’t just eye candy. And he wasn’t just plain fucked up. He was a kindred spirit. I smiled back at him, my heart warming to a novel thought.
Maybe we really can be friends.

“What magazines are you interested in applying to?”

I took another delicious bite before listing out my top picks. “
Vanity Fair
,
The New Yorker
,
The Atlantic
,
Harper’s
,
New York Magazine
, and
Esquire
. But I’m not sure I have a snowball’s chance in hell at any of those, so basically anything that has an opening. Most publications are in New York.”

I noticed Victor tense a little. “New York?”

“Mm-hmm,” I intoned over a mouthful of ribs.

“You want to move to New York?”

“I do. I’m going to try to get an internship—or, if I’m lucky, a job—there. It’s really where you have to go if you want a career in publishing.”

“Huh.” Victor’s eyes drifted down to his plate and stayed on his plate. He seemed distracted.

“Victor? What’s up?”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. But then he looked back up and flashed me his heartbreaker smile. “Nothing. Didn’t I tell you these were good ribs?”

*

We walked out of Del’s Bar B Q slowly, reveling in the afterglow of a delicious meal. As we breathed in the crisp night air, I stole a secret glance at Victor’s chiseled profile for the umpteenth time that night. His hair, which was usually combed neatly back, looked a bit tousled. I fought back the urge to run my hand through it.

“Man, I wish I hadn’t quit smoking,” he said. “There’s nothing like a smoke after a good meal.” A toothpick hung out of the corner of his mouth, resting on his lower lip. I imagined bringing my mouth to his and nibbling on that lip.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly turning to me.

“What?” Jarred from my thoughts, I tried to look casual, like I hadn’t been staring at his mouth.

“That was nice.” He looked down at me with a half-wistful, half-serious expression. “Thank you for agreeing to be my friend. I know I probably don’t deserve it.”

“What? Come on, that’s not true. And thank
you
for taking me out. Next time it’s on me.” I had tried to split the bill with him, but again, as at the coffee shop weeks before, he had subdued me with his hypnotic eyes and forced me to allow him to pay.

“I wish we could go get a drink,” he said, scratching the back of his head, “but I promised to see Stu tonight. We’re having a few beers. It’s kind of a thing we do sometimes.”

“Of course. Go do your thing,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder. Just then I remembered something about Stu. “Oh, hey! I forgot to tell you. My editor at the paper read my draft of Stu’s profile. He liked it and said they might consider it as the annual feature for The Merritt Daily’s Person of the Year! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you earlier. Duh!” I smacked my head lightly.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! I mean, it’s not for sure yet, but I think it’s got a chance. The paper’s Person of the Year committee is actually just a bunch of journalism kids who’re busy doing other crap, and they always just pick the person with the best story, and Stu’s got a wonderful story—” I gasped mid-sentence. Victor’s arms had enveloped me and picked me up off the ground as he laughed out loud. When he set me back down, he gazed at me with his arms still around me.

“That’s amazing,” he said. “Stu is probably the best man I know and he works his ass off for his students. But he’s completely underappreciated. If he gets Person of the Year, it would mean a lot to me. And it’d mean a lot to him too.”

“Well, I’m glad,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. I was hyperaware of his arms still holding me. “I’m glad I could make you happy.”

“You do.”

We stood like that for a moment more, but he gradually loosened his arms, slid his hands down my arms, and let his fingers linger on mine. His gaze was intense and I felt I had to say something to break the spell.

“You know, I do owe you for dinner. Why don’t you come by my house this week and I’ll cook something?”

“Ellen Castell,” he said with a sly grin, “you can cook?”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up. But I can probably make pasta or something without fucking it up. Are you free Thursday night?”

“I’ll make myself free.” As he said this, he flashed me his sexiest smile and I got weak in the knees.

Christ, is that how he smiles at all of his friends?!

“Fine. Great. Now take me home before you’re late to your man date.”

“Yes, ma’am.”