Page 7 of Badd Love
"So, Lindsey never came back to her room last night."
"She, uh, slept here with me. Notwithme, with me, but with me." I slapped my forehead. "She was here last night. She's not here now, though."
"Shit. Her phone's going right to voicemail."
“Well, she's had me blocked for months, so I dunno."
"Dammit. I'm worried about her. She's not been herself lately."
I cleared my throat. "Honestly, I'm worried too. She, uh, she had a bit of a breakdown last night, around three."
Raquel was silent for a second. "She…she did?"
“Yeah. Big one. Hyperventilating, crying, the whole nine yards. Wouldn't tell me shit, but what else is new."
"Not good," Raquel said. "Not good at all."
"Where would she go?" I asked.
"That's just thing—I dunno. But we have to find her."
"Let me call my cousin, Jax. He can help."
"He can? How?"
"Well, he's my Uncle Xavier's protegé, which means he's sort of a world-class hacker. He can find her."
"Is hacking even a thing anymore?" she asked.
I laughed. "Y'know, that's a good question. I dunno. I just know he can do just about anything that involves a computer. He can help find her."
"Can you guys meet us at our hotel? We're at the new Old Toby."
"Yeah," I said. "We’ll be there ASAP."
Well…shit.
This isn't good.
CHAPTER 1
Lindsey
Threads of guilt and shame were tangled up in my gut with germinated seeds of hope and deep roots of suspicion and anger. I sat in my window seat—28A—staring out at the glittering sea rippling thirty thousand feet below like a wrinkled blue-gray blanket. Hating myself. Hating Danny more than ever. Hating Dane—unfairly. Hating everything and everyone with the fire of a thousand suns.
There were reasons for my generalized hatred; not all of them weregoodreasons, but they were reasons. One, I was seconds away from starting my period, but it just wouldn't fucking start, and it was making me feel stabby, like a gory version of a stuck sneeze but in my vagina. Sort of; sorry, TMI, I know. Two, I was running away from my problems like a pussy-ass bitch, and I knew it, I just couldn't seem to stop myself.
And by the way, did you know that "pussy" as an insult for cowardice is not, in fact, a reference to the vagina? True story. It's actually a very complicated situation, and not every linguist agrees with this take, but the short story is that calling someone “a pussy” is rooted in the word "pusillanimous," which does, in fact, mean weak or cowardly. I could give you the longer version, which explains the connection between Old Norse "puss"meaning "pouch" or "purse" for the female anatomy, and a truly sexist usage of calling a man a pussy, but that's a long digression, and people tend to get annoyed at my tangents. So there you go: #themoreyouknow.
So yeah, here I am on a plane making its descent toward LA, feeling miserable and angry and full of self-loathing and a whole hell of a lot of self-pity.
The one thing I'm not is tired. You know why? Because I slept better last night than I have in months. Years, maybe. Possibly evenever. And why is that, you ask? Excellent question.
The answer?
Dane Badd.
The sexy bastard did exactly what I asked of him, despite how shittily I've treated him. He found me in his bed, in his hotel room, naked, and he justheld me.
