“And sometimes it results in your fiancé deciding he'd rather date someone as boring as he is.”
I winced. “Ouch.”
As much as she was trying to point out the past to prevent another disaster, she was wrong. It took a lot of tears to realize I wasn't to blame for what happened. He was the one to forget what integrity meant.
“Just giving you some tough love, honey.” She shrugged. “If he reminds you of that jerk, that's not a good sign.”
Irritation gnawed at my guts. “He doesn't remind me of him. I was only saying I recognized the trait from being around guys like that.”
I had enough company dinners with his work buddies to spy a numbers guy a mile away, and Bear definitely fit the bill.
“Does he want a relationship? A fling?”
“It sounds like he’s open to the real deal.” I glanced back at the drama on-screen and scowled at the all-out catfight. No man was worth coming to blows over.
“That's good. I want you to be happy and safe.”
“Me too. Too bad Brianna can't be either.”
Lee flinched at the television. “I don't know why we watch this shit sometimes.”
I shrugged, wincing as the hair started flying. “No clue, but that girl has a mean right hook.”
“I hope the dude was worth it. Her extensions are done for.”
I hoped Bear would be worth it too, especially if things didn't work out.
Lee would deliver a told-you-so lecture worse than any on-air bitch-slapping.
Jason
After an endless loop of conference calls and customer visits, it was finally the weekend.
The headaches were back, something I thought I left in the past along with the trauma, but nope, they were merely dormant, waiting for the perfect conditions to strike again. They would always be a reminder of the mistakes I made.
Close behind were the nightmares, monsters I dealt with on and off for almost five years. Usually, all I needed was a quick walk to clear my mind, though lately, I had to head to the hotel gym to blow off steam when they started their shit.
The stress was no doubt to blame for the spike in both. I had to keep reminding myself it would all be worth it, a grand prize waiting at the finish line. I would have a national role with only the Board to answer to, one I'd finally be a part of.
There would be no more Marty. No more surprises from Steve. Just power over Croft's entire sales force and the ability to show the company what I was made of.
I powered through an exhausting circuit in the gym after work, draining out any stress clinging to my pores. I sweated it out through sprints and crushed it with deadlifts, repeating the cycle until I could barely walk.
I left my laptop at the office, refusing to look at anything work-related over the weekend for once. It was not my style, but I was doing a lot of strange things and didn't want to be bothered with the bullshit.
A little birdie told me the changes had to do with a Privately pal with perfect tits, and as I discovered, an ass that looked amazing in shorts. When I wasn't sending filthy thoughts, I lusted after her words, anxiously awaiting each zinger.
As I entered the bedroom with a towel hung low on my hips, I stopped at the full-length mirror, snapping a pic of my reflection from the neck down, hiding my tattoo.
The beads of water hit the light just right, and I was satisfied with my one-snap success. I sent it off to Jewels and flopped down on the bed, exhaustion pulling me in. The mattress felt like a cloud, more comfortable than my top of the line mattress at home.
Time was ticking on selling the house in Tampa, however, and the thought made me sick. I toyed with renting it out to hold on, but it would be too much hassle in the long run. I wasn't planning on returning to Tampa, so the sale was a no-brainer.
I searched the market for months, finding the perfect bachelor pad in the form of an ultra-modern home blocks from the bay. Three-thousand square feet of black quartz and crisp lines made me tear up upon my first walk-through. Going from a bungalow in Maine to a luxury home in Florida would do that to any man, especially one who was homeless in the past.
Before Nan and Pops found out about the incubator's drinking, I was shuffled from motel to motel with my brothers, spending weeks sleeping in cars when she drank the money they sent. As far as they knew, she was still staying in the trailer playing mom. She neglected to mention she lost it to foreclosure, funding her drinking with their generosity rather than the mortgage.
I slipped one Easter and told Pops she bought booze with the last check they sent. He confronted her, and she took off with us, beating the hell out of me when she got the chance. All it took was my black eye and a few broken ribs, and the school made sure we didn't go back.
We had the world's best grandparents, taking all three of us boys in and never looking back. The incubator tried to move in too, using every sob story in the book, but as Nan always said, tough titties.
Eventually, she met a trucker and headed west, dying from her poison of choice right after I started at Croft. Nan and Pops were gone by then, and as the oldest child, it was my job to make arrangements.
I vomited when I saw her, not a shred of the former beauty left, her blonde hair stringy, matted, and streaked with blood. She once again had too much; only this time, she fell, and no one was there save her. She lived and died helpless, strong enough to lift a bottle to her lips but not enough to love her boys more than herself.
As much as it killed me to
