The Original Bad Boy

17| Crushed Hearts

"The original bad boy . . . crushes hearts."

17| Crushed Hearts

This one time I got my driver's license.

Mind you, it took me eight tests to pass.

"Get out of the way!" I shout for the umpteenth time.

The black cat along with a few pre-teens runs across the street.

One can already infer how amazing of a driver I am. One must also feel some sympathy for me and my companion as we drove down the packed street, yelling and cursing at people to move out of the way. Arsen's hands rest on top of mine, steering the bike in the straight. His cool cheek slightly brushes against mine and his bloodshot eyes focus on the road like never before.

Trust me, there's nothing romantic about this scenario . . . Okay, maybe except for how my back is pressed against his hard chest or how every time my ponytail gets in his face, he brushes the hair away to the other side, so that his chin could rest on the bare part of my shoulder. There's only a tiny problem with this much proximity.

"I'm never getting drunk again!" Arsen screams in my ear. I flinch. "You're gonna kill me!"

"Shut up!" I yell back as my knuckles turned white. I clutch the handles as if my life depended on it. "Move!" I scream at the late trick-o-treaters. Who even bothers people at midnight? The pre-teens scram across the road like cats and meow at us . . . Wait, not meow, they curse.

"Stop speeding," Arsen says, wide awake. Although he's intoxicated, he knows if he lets me be on my own, we'll die.

"I'm not even doing anything," I retort. "You're controlling everything. Why don't we change seats?"

"I don't have a license."

"What?!" I stare at the side of his face.

"Look at the road!" He snaps.

"Oh dear Jesus, save me," I mumble, following his order. "What did I ever do to deserve friends like you?"

"I ain't your friend."

"Yes, you are," I say, keeping my eyes on the road. Our re-friendship has to start somewhere . . . even if it's on the verge of a crash. Better late than never.

"What makes you say that?" he asks. I can feel his eyes on me, now.

"You hung out with me when none of my other friends did," I say. "In fact, you brought me to a parade and a party, because . . . "

"Because . . . ?"

"Because we're friends," I finish. Are we friends? I don't know for sure, but we aren't enemies either.

"Whatever floats your goat," he says, nonchalantly. I can't help but smile at those words. Arsen indirectly admitted we're friends or at least, there's friendship on my side.

"You know what will really float my goat?"

"What?"

"Take me to Skylar Johnson--"

"No."

"Please." I pout.

"No," he repeats firmly.

"Why are you such an arse?" I retort in annoyance.

"Because I require a payment to be nice." I groan and elbow him in the ribs. Probably the worst mistake of my entire eighteen years of existence. Arsen lets go to hold his stomach and I'm left to fend for the both of us. "Ow," he whimpers. "I already didn't feel so well. Was that necessary?"