Devon Hartford - Reckless

That was silly. I smiled at my own lunacy.

My apartment was deathly silent and suddenly seemed cavernous. I’d never felt so alone in my entire life, as if their parental support had evaporated over the course of that brief call.

Forever.

When the phone rang, I jumped. It was the ringer for my parents.

Of course they were calling back. They were probably furious. I’d never disobeyed them this blatantly before. I half-expected them to call 911 and have the cops send over a car to round me up and take me downtown for Disobeying a Parent’s Orders.

The phone continued to ring. Each time, the shrill sound stabbed my brain and I had to fight my deeply conditioned urge to answer. It took everything I had not to. The funny thing was, my parents weren’t even in the room, yet I felt nineteen years of parenting compelling me to answer.

My hand reached out…

Who the heck was moving my arm? I was being remote-controlled!

No!

I wouldn’t do it!

Fortunately, my phone went to voicemail after the fourth ring. I heaved a sigh of relief. I felt like I’d narrowly escaped with my life.

I was afraid if they called back a second time, I might answer. Against my will. And if I did that, I feared I might very well cave to their orders. After nineteen years, they had that much power over me, for good or bad.

I covered my face with my hands and sobbed.

I wanted to throw up.

I ran to the bathroom and my burrito missiled right out of my stomach.

I needed Christos. He was the only one who could set my heart at ease. After brushing the barf out of my mouth with my toothbrush, I walked into my living room and reached for my phone to call him.

I nearly had a heart attack when it rang in my hands.

CHRISTOS

I sat in my grandfather’s studio, kicked back in an old office chair, a fresh glass of whiskey in one hand, my phone in the other.

I was nicely buzzed.

Maybe a bit drunk.

The thing about being a cocky bastard was that I could appreciate I was a cocky bastard. I enjoyed it. I hadn’t always been one. I’d had to earn it.

The proof was in my phone.

I scrolled through dozens of unanswered messages from as many hot women, all of which had come in on my phone in the last twelve hours. By hot, I didn’t mean Nebraska hot. I meant L.A. hot. Hollywood hot. There was a difference.

The messages:

Tiffany: What do I have to do to get you to paint me nude again? If it’s not the money, tell me. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything.

Paisley: Adonis! When are we going to go blading (and other things) again?

Skylar: I need you Adonis. It’s been months. Why haven’t you called? Remember Onyx? I’ll never forget it…

I’d forgotten it. Who the hell was Skylar, again?

Mercedes: I’m in town, Adonis. I’m staying at the Hotel Del until Saturday. My room number is…

Tiffany: Please, Christos. Anything you want. Do I have to spell it out for you? S-E-X. Oops, I meant, A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G  ;-)

That one was kind of funny. Tiffany was a clever girl, despite her personality flaws.

Destiny: I’m having two of my girlfriends over this weekend, Adonis. Do you want to come and party with the three of us? Clothing optional.

There were another twenty or thirty just like these. Yeah, some of them were stripper names, some of whom were actual strippers, but not all. Chicks like that seemed to find me wherever I went.

I thought about the fact that any guy I knew would kill to have their own phone filled up with blatant propositions like mine. The only problem? Those dudes still wouldn’t have been me.

Imagine if I found some Maynard on campus, you know the kind with the thick glasses and 4.0 GPA, and gave him my phone? Imagine the look on Mercedes’s face when Maynard knocked on her door at the Hotel Del later tonight.

He’d tell her, “Christos sent me.”

She’d freak.

I chuckled to myself.

Shit, knowing Mercedes, she’d probably quote Maynard a price. Maynard would be the one with the look of utter confusion on his face. But if he had two-hundred bucks cash on him, Mercedes would give him a dance routine that would spin his head around. She was a Vegas Showgirl and knew how to move. I was sorely tempted to track down the closest guy at SDU who fit the Maynard bill, pay the two-hundred myself, and give him a show from Mercedes he’d never forget.

I was nothing if not generous.

Anyway, now that Samantha was in my life, I could chuckle at the fact that I used to be “that guy,” the one who, three months after becoming exclusive with Samantha, was still getting dozens of requests from hotties who wanted more of my patented cock-doctoring. Hey, it wasn’t my fault those girls were all sick for me.

I had every right to be a cocky bastard.

Without giving it a second thought, I punched buttons on my phone and deleted all of the messages.

That Maynard guy was on his own.

I called Samantha.

“Christos!” she answered.

The biggest, most genuine grin I’d ever grinned widened across my lips. “I missed you, agápi mou.” I sounded only slightly slurry from drinking.

Who needed cocky when you had Samantha? Thank fucking Christ, because I was sick of all that posing that led to having a phone filled with meaningless messages from meaningless women.

“Christos!” she sobbed. “I need you to come over right now! Please!”

The sound of her panic got me freaking out in a heartbeat. “Are you okay? Samantha! Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

“My parents…”

“What? Are they okay? Did they get in an accident? Samantha, what’s wrong? Talk to me?”

“They’re evil…” she sobbed.

Shit. That wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ll be right over,” I said quietly.

I ran outside and hopped in my Camaro. I stuck to the speed limit and came to a full stop at all STOP signs. I knew I was on the edge of legal to be driving and didn’t need a fucking DUI.

Fifteen minutes later, I was running up the stairs at Sam’s apartment. I knocked on the door and she opened it quietly.

She was crying, her mascara running. I’d never seen her looking this miserable. She held out her arms for me like a little girl.

I enfolded her with mine and pulled her into my chest. “Shh, agápi mou. I’m here. Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here.”

She broke into fresh sobs in my arms. I stroked her hair while she cried it out. After a time, she calmed. “Do you want some water?”

She nodded silently.

I filled a glass in her kitchen and led her to the couch. “Sit down, agápi mou.”

She swallowed some water. I noticed the remains of a burrito on her coffee table. It reminded me I was hungry. I might have to eat it later.

“My mom is evil, Christos,” she cried, hitching tears. “She, she said you’re going to, to, to leave me and forget my name.”

“That’s craziness, Samantha,” I chuckled.

“Don’t laugh,” she pleaded.

“Sorry. It’s just, hearing you say that doesn’t make any sense to me because I’m not going anywhere, no matter what your mom says.”

She looked at me with naked fear in her eyes. “I hope so, because I feel like my parents are abandoning me. Without you, I’d feel like I have no one. I couldn’t bear to lose you, Christos. Not even for a second.”

Hearing her words tightened my heart. I hoped to fuck I didn’t turn out to be a liar the day after my trial was over. No matter how badly I wanted to keep my promise to her, I might not be able to.

I spent the night with Samantha in her bed. She curled against me like a frightened child. Did she somehow sense that no matter how strong my arms were, they might not be able to protect her from my past?

Luckily, she went quickly to sleep. She must’ve been exhausted.

I tried to block out my own chaotic thoughts, and get some sleep too. But the reality of my shitstorm life kept battering me awake.

In the morning, I was drained.

CHRISTOS

Samantha slept hard.

I didn’t.

I was jittery all night, kept waking up, and tossed until 8:00 a.m. when I checked my phone. I had a message. A very important one. I couldn’t take the call here.

Russell Merriweather.

He only called when things got worse. It wasn’t like he was going to tell me the District Attorney had decided to give up. Those guys were pit bulls and had their jaws clamped around me good.

I was antsy to hear his message. I treated bad news like Band-Aids. Better to get it over with quick.

But I wasn’t going to make Samantha wake to an empty bed. So I paced the apartment. Sat on the couch for awhile. Pulled the remainder of her burrito out of the fridge where I’d stashed it last night. Downed it in two bites. Drank some water. Twiddled my thumbs.

Fucking-A, this was driving me nuts.

What did Russell need to tell me?

When Sam finally awoke, I was sitting on the edge of her bed, fully dressed. “Sam, I need to go.” I felt like an asshole saying it. She needed me. It was obvious. But I needed to check my message.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s…” I didn’t want to tell her. “I’ve just got some stuff to do. At the studio,” I lied.

Her eyes searched mine. “What is it, Christos? You can tell me.”