Come Home Bad Boy (14 page)

Charlie

A
cool breeze raced against my cheeks as I crossed the parking lot of the Greene Correctional Facility. It was so frigid, New England weather was much colder than I had ever expected when I uprooted myself from Louisiana.

I stood at the main gate and stared at the massive structure before me. Anticipation began to creep in; today was my next meeting with Owen.

My stomach was in knots with the nerves that flowed through me. I was ready to feel his eyes take me in, I couldn't wait for that. I wanted to hear him speak, feel his voice as it created waves inside me.

I had thought about him repeatedly since our first encounter. I hadn't been able to forget the way he looked, or the way he looked at me.

I wanted more.

Stop, stop this charlie. You have to stop.
I brushed the feeling away, I had to keep my composure.

I'm here as his therapist,
I reminded myself as I exhaled and continued through the doors.

Warden Lynch was standing at the front desk. A short, pudgy man, balding on top. I noticed he carried himself the same way as the prisoners; distended chest, hands resting on his side-arm in its holster. A visual display of his power for all to see.

“Good morning, warden,” I said as I extended my right hand.

“Ms. Laroche.” He nodded, dismissing my gesture. I'd only met him once since I'd arrived here and we'd never had a formal introduction. “How has your time been so far at G.C.F?” He gestured with open arms, as if to show me all the glory of the prison, a king proud of the castle he'd built.

“It's been good so far,” I said as I retracted my hand awkwardly.

“Let me walk you to your office.”

I smiled in agreement as we walked past a window overlooking a massive community room. The criminals congregated there for about an hour a day. I hadn't had the chance yet to see it in action until now.

The room was a circle, guards posted above in a caged walkway. The men were all talking and playing cards or dice. Others were watching the television hanging against the back wall. I could see the separation between the groups. All I could think of was a high school cafeteria, each table a different clique.

As I slowed down to observe, I began to hear the hooting and hollering of the men. I couldn't make out one particular yell from another. It reminded me of a pack of wolves zeroing in on their prey, each howl bringing the attention of another to their call.

The prey was me.

I'd realized in my first week that the warden hadn't expected a female therapist when he'd requested me. Though my name was Charlotte, I went by Charlie, and that had obviously thrown him off. His eyes had flooded with confusion the first time we'd crossed paths.

“Ignore them,” he said, “I'm not sure if you're aware, but you're the only female staff we have. You might experience this kind of reaction often. Just don't let them get under your skin.” He chuckled under his breath as he continued towards my office.

I bristled when he said that. Did he think I didn't have the level of control needed to ignore some slobbering, cat-calling guys? I knew deep down I was qualified for this, and even if the warden doubted me, my work would prove otherwise.

“I won't let some barking animals phase me, sir.” I hoped that might show a little of my humor and strength.

“While you may be here for the rehabilitation process, take note that some of these men are extremely dangerous and will try to take advantage of you. That kind of... interaction between prisoner and staff isn't just forbidden, it's illegal,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “We don't take their behavior lightly, Ms. Laroche, and I expect you will do the same.”

I was off kilter with his statement. Did he think I wasn't taking this serious?
Or that I'd somehow let one of the men touch me?

Helplessly, the memory of Owen—his alluring smirk and flexing arms—entered my mind. Would a man like that try to have his way with me?

Would I let him?

No. I'd never let that happen.
I inhaled sharply, hoping the warden didn't notice.

I cleared my throat. “Of course, I take these things very seriously.”

“Let's hope so,” he mumbled.

Heat inched along my spine. He hoped so? The warden had obviously read my background information for him to request me. He had to be aware of my seven years in the field.

I prided myself on my work. My mom used to refer to me as her 'mother hen.' My affinity for wanting to help had paid off. It brought me here, it gave me the chance to make a difference.

“I understand these men
can
be dangerous,” I said, following at his side. “My purpose is to make sure your prison gives them the ability to learn the control they need. I wouldn't down play the seriousness of that.”

He shot me a sideways look. “You can't always teach an animal to behave. You'd be wise to understand that, even with all of your 'understanding,” Ms. Laroche.”

What an ass,
I thought as we reached the door to my office.

“Any thing you need, Ms. Laroche, just let me know. I'm always around.” He continued down the hall, twirling a small whistle.

What a strange man.
I closed the door behind me, checking the time. It hit me that my meeting with Owen would begin in half an hour. I could feel my palms getting clammy from the idea of sitting across from him again.

I walked into the small bathroom behind my desk. It was a room the size of a closet, barely enough space between my knees and the sink. I wanted to fix my hair and ensure I looked presentable. I didn't want to look like a mess for the appointment.

With my fingers entwined in my hair-tie, I froze.
What am I doing? This is ridiculous. Owen is bad news, and here I am, getting pretty for him.
I dropped my hair, scowling at myself in the mirror.
I'm not letting him get to me today, I can't. I haven't stopped thinking about him since last week and I need to.

No more.

I had to take a stand against this school girl crush.

My job was to get the answers the prison needed to decide Owen's release or not. That was my reason for being here, and that was where my focus needed to stay.

A knock on the door startled me. I left the bathroom just in time to see the heavy door open. My eyes were immediately drawn to the massive figure that filled the space. Owen smirked at me from across the room.

The calmness I had tried to regain disappeared while a barrage of butterflies filled my insides. A voice from behind Owen told him to head over to his seat. His size hid the guard that led him there.

“Welcome back,” I uttered out, my voice stumbling across my tongue as it tried to find its footing.

Owen bowed his head to my greeting as the guard secured him to the table. He seemed less tense, his body moved more fluidly as he sat.

I felt a rush of excitement as I made my way over to him, settling into my chair. I wasn't going to let him fluster me, not this time.

“How's it going?” I asked while I took out my pen and opened my notebook, making the conscious effort to keep control.

“Same as it has been, things don't change much here.” Goosebumps rose across my skin with the richness of his voice.

“Cold?” he asked, his smile broadening as his eyes skimmed my flesh.

“A little, it's chilly out today.” I rubbed my forearms with my hands. I didn't want him to think he was the cause of my skin prickles.

“I wouldn't know, I haven't been outside in a while,” he said with a chuckle as he lifted his hands to show me the chains and cuffs.

I let out a light laugh, it took me by surprise.
Stay on track, get down to business.
“So last time you were here we talked a little about your plans for after all of this, I was thinking about that—” I was trying to direct our conversation when he cut in.

“You were thinking about me, huh? I'm flattered.” His smile touched his eyes. “I thought about you, too.” He winked as he leaned in closer, his chest resting over the table.

I was tempted to lean in towards him. The comment filled me with a warmth, I could feel my cheeks lifting to smile and my breathing become heavier.

He thought about me... No. No. Stop.
I was not going to play these games. Yet the mere idea I could have crossed his mind made me giddy.

Where had my resolve gone?

I was angry with myself for my weakness. I was running this show, not him.

“Alright, let's keep going. Tell me about your past. What was it like for you as a child?” I'd decided to jump into a tough question, throw him off a bit.

He arched an eyebrow. “You're not from around here, I can hear your accent. Where are you from?” He was avoiding what I'd just asked. His forehead wrinkled up, hands shuffling together as he waited for my reply.

I debated giving him an answer. I twirled my pen on its tip against the table, wanting to make sure I did this right.
I can't give too much info on myself, we can't get too familiar, but a little info could really help him open up.

“Louisiana,” I said, “I grew up in a small town south of Baton Rouge. How about you? Have you lived here your whole life?”

“Ah, Louisiana, did you ever go to Mardi Gras? I always thought that would be a cool thing to see,” he asked as he leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah, I've been to Mardi Gras.”

“I bet you had no trouble getting.” He glanced down at my chest, his eyes fixed on my breasts.

The butterflies that were patrolling my stomach burst into flames, the warmth spreading across my body. I brought my hand up to the back of my neck and felt the dampness of sweat.

He wanted to work me up?

Fine.

Two could play this game.

Against my better instincts, I gave him a sly smile. “Well, let's just say my neck hurt for a few days after. My turn now, did you grow up here in Greene?”

“No, I bounced around a bit as a kid. Ended up here about two years before all this shit went down,” he said as he looked around the room.

“Why did you move so much as a child? Was it because of your parents?” I knew he'd had several different residences, but most of the information from when he was under age was sealed. I wasn't allowed access to it.

I was able to get the basics; his father's name, his brother's name, and any arrests either one might've had. One thing that confused me was Owen had no priors before this incident. That was fairly odd considering the background of his other family members.

“I don't know why,” he said. “That's just how it was. Some people move a lot, others don't. It's not really uncommon you know.” He leaned on the table with both arms,  his eyes sliding back to my cleavage.

A piece of me wanted to conceal myself, instead I leaned in and pressed my biceps into my chest, lifting my breasts higher for him to see. Owen's eyes widened, his stare fixed upon the fresh skin emerging from my blouse. A surge of electricity buzzed through me.

It was intoxicating, knowing how much he wanted me.

I want him to run his fingers across my shoulders, down until he feels how hard my nipples are from the wild aura around him. I...
Blinking, clarity hit me hard.
What is wrong with me? God, am I that desperate?

I didn't remember the last time I'd had sex, but I didn't think I was so eager I'd throw caution to the wind and flirt with a damn convict.

I pushed on, struggling to speak calmly. “Tell me about your brother, were you guys close?”

Immediately his body language changed. Owen sat up straight, a sternness on his face. “I'm not going to talk about him, so don't ask me again.” He looked towards the back wall, taking in the clock.

His demeanor had changed so drastically. Obviously, that was a sore spot for him.

Owen whispered, “I could smell your perfume for a while after last time, it stayed with me. I enjoyed that.” He inhaled a deep breath through his nose then exhaled a sigh of pleasure. 

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Owen, we need to talk about you, what happened between you and your—” I was unable to complete my question.

He lifted his fists and slammed them down on the table with such force that my pen rolled off. It landed by his foot. “Don't,” he growled.

I was frozen for a moment, stuck in limbo, unable to move an inch. Forcing myself to move, I bent under the table and reached down for my pen.

Owen did the same.

In that moment, his hand brushed mine. Our eyes met and his finger rubbed my wrist with a soft, sensitive touch. Pleasure rode through my body, tingles shot from head to toe. Quickly I pulled my arm back, abandoning the pen.

He sat up and held out the pen to me. “Sorry, that's just not something I'm going to talk about.”

I wanted to grab his hand, I wanted him to touch me more. That single stroke of his finger was addicting.

Ugh! You can't do this! He's a convict, a murderer! Why am I feeling this? Stop, Charlie! You need to get control. This is insane.

Despite the rage I had just witnessed, I wanted him. I wanted to feel him, feel his hands against my skin. My heart raced uncontrollably inside my chest. Our eyes were locked on each other, neither of us breaking the stare.

He exhaled a deep breath. “Look, there are some things that I can't and won't talk about. My only reason for being here is to get out early, nothing else.”

Nothing else.
Of course, he just wanted his freedom. Still, hearing him say that it was his
only
reason... it cut me a little. Yes, he didn't know me—and I shouldn't want him to desire me—but I couldn't deny some disappointment from his bluntness.

You don't want to be his reason for coming here, Charlie.

Focus.

I considered his reaction again. His face had turned to stone, I'd seen the hurt in his eyes.

Owen's brother had cut him deep.

“Okay,” I said, “he's off the table. What about other family, your dad? Your mom?” I wanted to be cautious with what and how I asked. His reaction unnerved me, but I didn't want him to shut down.