Locked up with the Badboy.

I take a seat on the floor in front of him, "What?"

He combs a hand through his dark hair and sighs, "This is a maximum security prison, the people here have killed babies, shot up schools , killed multiple partners and run crime rings and you, are saying that I'm mean? "


26. :P

I pull our bike out of the other shrubbery to find that it’s the same bike, only all the pink is gone. Ugly black spray-paint coats it. “Ben How could you?” I call out. “You ruined our- my bike!”

His arms rest themselves on my shoulders, “It’s just camouflage girl,” he flicks on charm and grins as he whispers into my ear, “Come on, don’t be mad. The police, the gangs, they’re on the lookout for a pink motorcycle.”

“We should have made a team decision, and not made if so fugly.” I make a meek attempt at escape, put his arms find my waist, hold me to him. “Come-on it was like ten o’clock at night.”

I spin around, “And why that tone of black too? I swear there must be a hundred million better ones.”

He kisses me, I kiss him back. My hands have nothing to do so I run them down the sides of his chest. It’s not a sexy kiss, but it’s a nice one. There’s a slow clap that makes both of us break and turn.

On the footpath stands Susan, a toothless smile spread across her face. “Didn’t mean to intrude, just bought some ginger crunch for you loovlie kids.”

She hands us an ice-cream container then hobbles off with all her might, the grin still glowing in the morning light.

“What a nice lady,” Ben says, stashing the box under our seat.


At lunch we discover that Susan left us not only with ginger slice, but a hundered dollars in banknotes. Ben laughs like a little kid, “You appreciate money so much more when you’re poor.” While I’m not crazy about ginger slice I’m definitely crazy about getting something good to eat for dinner.

Somewhere between Louisiana and _ our roads merge with a railway line, tracks cross and we ride a few bridges. After that the railway stays with us.

In Warrensville, a town based around pine trees and their large railway station we fuel up and get a bed for the night in a shitty two story motel for loggers. I spend the rest of our money on some decent veges from a produce shop.

“Stir-fry?” I ask bed as I walk through the door.

He drops the piece of ginger crunch he was munching on, “Definitely.”

I chop, he fries, we marinate everything with a bit of brown sugar we find in the cupboard and some ginger scraped off the crunch. “Damn that smells good,” Ben says.

I tuck a strand of hair behind by ear and turn the radio on. An eighties song comes on,“I don’t recognise this one.” I say.

Blue Swede, hooked on a feeling.” Ben gets a faraway look in his eye, “My Mum loved it.” I sit on the bench and watch him stir. The song stops chanting and moves into the melody, I tap my foot and he spins around mime-singing. “Girl you got me thirsty…”

Both of us grinning, he holds out his hands, I take them. We start dancing.

Having hardly danced before apart from a few budget school dances and bars where no-one dances anyway I practically try to annihilate his feet. Fortunately he’s too quick, and stylish. I feel like I’m dancing with an Italian. By the time ‘party rock national anthem’ comes on we’re both at least a little sweaty.

“Okay this is my jam.” Using moves that would probably embarrass my twelve year old self. I shuffle across the room. Ben just tosses pieces of celery at me and laughs until I dare him to join me. Despite his excellence at formal-ish dancing he can’t quite get the actions right. I guess Italians can’t shuffle.

Finally the radio-presenter slows it down a little with; Yellow – coldplay.  And all else forgotten,  my arms run under his and over his shoulders. His find my waist and in the middle of a cramped logging-town kitchen we slow-dance.

Ben’s eyes find mine, and the edges of my mouth curl upward. I don’t know why but I feel a little sad, it’s a good kind of sadness though. His green eyes pour straight into mine, and they’re amazingly intense. I want to say something but my lips won’t work. Instead I place my head to his chest. I can hear his heart beating and the room blurs as I close my eyes. If I could stay like this forever I would.


A/N: Hey crew, I've written a couple of chapters and should upload them tonight. I hope you enjoy the story so far, and will stay with it to the end. I can't thank those that comment enough for helping me to stay focused, stay committed and stay energized. Your comments are like Gatorade for my writing muscles. Love you all.

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