|| @mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur || Beau ||

Anthony (Tony) Woodridge was in over his head. He knew he was, but he’d stubbornly continued anyway. What choice was there now? He’d already stolen the car. It wasn’t like he could just return it now.

He’d been moving a lot recently, dodging telling Emma the truth of what was going on. She was his best friend… only friend really… but she was getting her life together. College and an actual decent boyfriend this time. She didn’t need him being a black hole. He failed at everything he touched… everything but being a ‘bad boy’ a punk and criminal. So fuck it. He couldn’t get a proper job anyway. Emma had tried so hard to get him to see the future as bright, but it just wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

So now here he was. With a car he’d stolen. He’d been proud of the theft, he didn’t know why Uncle Frankie and Fast-Fingers made it sound so hard. He’d disguised himself as a bellhop and just driven off with the gorgeous machine. It had been a dream working on it, switching out anything distinguishable, a new paint job and VIN numbers. He’d tweaked up the engine while he was at it, he adored tinkering with the inner workings. It was like new.

This last bit, though, this was the part he was nervous about. Getting the cash from the buyer. Tony rubbed his hands on his slacks nervously, he was far more comfortable in a worker’s overalls or in his studded leather jacket than the awkwardly sized gray suit he now wore. The material chaffed and the tie strangled him. He yanked on it again and fidgetted with his phone. Double checking the email for the millionth time, yes this was the place, the time rapidly approaching. The car was behind him in its shiny glory, he’d driven it to the meeting but had planned ahead and tucked a bike to leave on nearby. 

Just make the trade, get the cash, get home, win. It was simple! If he could just get his heart to stop racing. God, where was the guy already? He just needed to see that money, to know that this shit hell he’d been living in was about to end. Tony’s foot tapped out a crescendo on the pavement as he checked the email one last time.