The Bad Boy I Wanted

CHAPTER 1

Riley

The light wasn't on in the house, as I pulled into the driveway. Ashley's funky car wasn't there either, so I snatched the nicer spot under a tree, which would provide a cool shade for the car the next morning. I killed the engine and stepped out.

It was half past eight, and after the long day at the supermarket, all I wanted was something to eat and a glass of Lambrusco. I was working at a supermarket, even though it wasn't exactly my passion. I was a teacher during the school year, but now that it was summer I had to supplement my income. It was the thing about me – I was practical. Always doing what was right, even if it wasn't easy.

My roommate, Ashley, wasn't as traditional. After we'd finished college, she tried several desk jobs, but couldn't just sit in one place. So, she waited tables for a while, then worked the bar, and after a few more promotions she became a PR manager for a company that owned clubs and restaurants all over Chicago. It might have been a more exciting job, but she didn't like the hours.That night, as was often the case, Ashley was out in the city, promoting one event or another.

I climbed the two flights of stairs that led to my apartment, and was finally home. I got out of my work clothes and changed into PJs, washing my face in the small bathroom next to my room. It wasn't a huge apartment, but both Ashley and I had our own bathrooms, and I loved mine. It made me feel at home.

As I was making my way to the fridge, my cell phone began ringing. I had to turn around and go back into the bedroom to answer it. I was still really hungry.

"Hey, Riley," the voice on the other end said. "Is this a good time?"

"Hey Dylan! Yeah, I just got home. How are you?"

There was a short pause, as if he was hesitant. Classic Dylan. "I was just in the area, and I got some pepperoni, so..."

"Oh, yes, please!" I said, looking inside the fridge and seeing a lot of ingredients, but no food. "And hurry up!"

Dylan hung up, and I got out a cold bottle of wine and some snacks to go with it.

Once I settled comfortably on the couch, I poured the wine and waited for Dylan, flicking through the Television Shows category on my TV. After a few minutes, I settled on watching the highlights of my favorite club's match, which was my go-to remedy.

The door was unlocked, and halfway into the match (and a glass of wine), I heard Dylan let himself in.

With the glass still in hand, I went to greet him, landing a big hug and grabbing the plastic bags of food he brought.

"You couldn't wait five minutes, Riley?" he asked, looking at me with a smile.

"First of all, it was more like twenty. Second of all, you look good, Dylan. Put on some weight?"

"Oh, fuck off," he said with a thin smile.

"I'm glad to see you."

The truth was, Dylan didn't look good. In fact, he looked worse. He was even paler, if that was even possible, and leaner, his clothes now seemingly oversized and baggy. He looked older.

Dylan stepped out of his shoes and crashed on the couch. There was something odd about him, a look or embarrassment I knew all too well. I didn't say anything at first, simply got the food out of the plastic bags and joined him in front of the TV, salivating.

"Is this for me?" he asked, meaning the wine.

I nodded. "Only half a glass, okay?"

Dylan didn't have to ask my permission, but he was being nice. Back before the treatments began, he would have had no problem downing the whole bottle on his own, but now we had to be cautious. He dropped a white envelope on the table.

I said, "Another bill?"

"Yup. Due next month."

"Right."

There was an awkward pause. I hated the awkwardness. I hated that my brother was sick, and how miserable it made him feel. Made both of us feel. And then there was yet another bill to pay. I could only guess how much longer we could keep it up. It was one of those times I really wished our mother was here to give some advice – she had always been the practical one. Our dad had been more into religion, but prayers weren't working anymore.

I, on the other hand, was doing my best. Dylan had burned through his college savings over the past year, and I had been working overtime for the past few months. It was consuming our lives.

I sipped the wine. It was cold and bittersweet on my lips. Emily and Ethan in the background pulled me out of my thoughts.

"I got it, Dylan, don't worry," I said.

"I'm sorry Riley," he replied, looking at the TV screen.

"Hey, don't turn it into a pity party. You don't have anything to be sorry about." I paused but he didn't respond.

"Let's eat dinner."

We watched the match and talked about nothing in particular, just having a family night, like in the good old days.

Dylan barely touched his food, but emptied my glass rather quickly and relaxed on the couch. He had become withdrawn lately, and I couldn't blame him. The elephant was in the room, and sometimes it was hard to ignore.

"Hey, cheer up, okay?" I said, mostly to myself.

"We'll figure it out, and you'll get better."

He looked at me, as if saying Do you really believe that?

I was used to this look, so I nodded, thinking that perhaps it was the wine giving me optimism.

Either way, I'd take it.

We watched another episode of our favorite show which was on after the football match, as I finished my noodles.

When it ended, I said, "Do you want to stay here tonight? Ashley will be back late, so..."

"Nah. I'll head home, read a book. I don't sleep much, anyway. Thanks for letting me invite myself." He began to get up, slowly, minding his balance.

"I'm here for you, Dylan. You just let me know if you need anything. Keep your phone nearby."

"Always do, don't I?" his phone was in his hand, and I saw the Uber app was open on it.

"Good. I'll try to visit you over the weekend, okay? And I'll take care of that bill, so don't stress about it."

He nodded wistfully, looking aside. "Thank you."

"Don't even mention it." I kissed his cheek and watched him leave.

I wasn't honest with him. I was short on money, and would have to borrow some from Ashley and some other friends, if I wanted to pay that bill

before the end of the month.

Quietly desperate, I sat back down in front of the TV, poured myself another glass and finished Dylan's food. Just like the good old days.

Just moments later, the front door swung open, and Ashley stepped in. She walked straight to the table and landed in the armchair.

"I'm exhausted!" She proclaimed.

"Oh, and I met Dylan downstairs! Asked him if he put on weight."

"Did he tell you to fuck off?"

"He did!"

That put a smile on my lips. Ashley checked out the bottle, and took a sip from my glass.

"Yum!"

"Get another bottle," I suggested, finishing the wine.

At first, Ashley was about to get up, but then I sensed something was amiss. She grabbed the bill from the table.

"Shit! They're still chasing you for treatment payment. What the fuck is insurance for these days? How is he feeling anyway?"

"He's making it."

Now I was feeling the same way my brother had felt. I said, "But the money is bad, Ashley. I don't mean to beg or anything, just letting you know."

"How much?" my friend asked, reaching into her handbag.

I grinned, "In the long run, more than you could possibly have in your wallet, so, please, don't."

Not yet anyway, I wanted to look at my own bank account first, see how dire this all really was.

"Wasn't going to." Instead of a wallet, Ashley produced a bunch of colorful fliers and began sifting through them. "It must be somewhere in here... Got it!"

She handed me a rough piece of paper. There was a carnival mask at the top, with Chicago Buyer's Club written below it. There was a date and a phone number, but little else.

"I got it from a friend. There's this fancy place, where billionaires look for girls to go on dates with, sort of like The Bachelor."

"You're suggesting I prostitute myself?"

"Not at all! It's a legit thing. You go there to hang out, find a guy, have a few drinks. It's a paid gig, I'm told, too, so I thought you could use that..."

"Right. Well, I don't think I could."

Ashley sighed, then shrugged. "Look, you don't have to, but think about it. Give them a call."

"Yeah maybe, I gotta go to the bathroom." I needed a minute. To process. To escape. With that, I left, leaving her alone with my phone, wine, and the flier that could change my life.