She was my competition.
Is.
Was.
Oh, I don’t know!
Maybe she bested me this time.
I can’t even think about it. Dad called me whining about his love life again, blaming Mom for the millionth time and I really need it to stop. Which is worse? Mom leaving with some dude named Kyle, or Dad stalking my hot friends in response, and when that didn’t work, continuing to search in my age range?
Great role models, people.
Thanks for the inspiration.
To.
Never.
Be.
You.
I have my roommate.
Teeka’s pretty much it for me.
And she’s a basket case. But that personality flaw makes home-life interesting, so hey, what the fuck? Better than a snooze-fest who goes to bed at nine and asks me to turn the volume down on my favorite movies. Teeka really falls into the not-normal category. I never know when she’s coming home, what she’s up to, who she’s dating.
As I shove Rocky Road into my gullet, thinking about my Dad, I groan, “Have some dignity!”
This broken leg has finally worn me down. No longer able to worry about his mid-life crisis, my future, and my failed love life, I’ve called in reinforcements.
Jack, can you help me?
If anyone could, it’s him.
Dad should stop coming to me.
Dad should turn to Jack.
I should turn to Jack.
My father’s best friend, Jack Thornton, is a ruggedly stunning, imposing man with shoulders so broad they reach the borders of Georgia. A chin so strong you want to ask if kryptonite truly is his only downfall. There’s nothing feminine about Jack. He is chunks of muscle heaped upon more muscle. Eyes so blue you could disappear in them for days and forget you were lost.
He never hugs me.
I always want him to.
Listen to yourself, Marion. Here you are judging your Dad for wanting younger girls when you’ve wanted Jack ever since you turned fourteen and realized your body wasn’t made for just dancing.
Isn’t that why you called and asked for his help?
I shouldn’t be thinking that. My father wouldn’t be the only one to vomit and then lose his shit. My cheating mom would, too. But her standards leave something to be desired. Ask Kyle.
I’m too hard on her.
She’s pretty awesome.
But Mom, really?
Did he have to ruin Christmas?
That was the last time Jack and I laid eyes on each other. He came after Kyle bombarded us with bullshit, to support my dad. I was eighteen, and it became apparent that he wouldn’t look at me. Even when I talked, Jack would rub the back of his neck at the top of his tribal tattoos, his masculine necklaces quietly rattling as he stared at the ground, his palm, my father, or anywhere but at me.
Something in my gut whispered that he was attracted to me, and couldn’t allow himself to be. It was the first time he’d acted that way, and I wondered if it was because I had recently turned legal, and he saw me in an inappropriately new light.
I’m a November baby.
Scorpio all the way.
Just.
Like.
Jack.
They say we’re the most sexual sign of the Zodiac. I wanted to know what would happen when you put two of us together. I had a feeling that for the first time, he wanted to know, too.
Back when I was a tween, Mom encouraged me to call him ‘Uncle Jack,’ but he shot that down immediately: “Marion knows we’re not related, Lorraine. We don’t have to give me some fake title for her to love me.”
So true.
I needed no excuse to love him.
He had this smooth way about him that made everything seem effortless — the swagger in his slow walk, the dismount of his Harley during summertime, how he rose out of his Tesla like he was bored. Simple things done by Jack, became art.
I even caught Mom staring.
No surprise there.
And those eyes.
Oh my God!
Those piercing blue magnificent eyes that looked at me like he knew things he’d never tell me. Whenever Jack came over for dinner, or just to hang out and have a couple beers with my dad while they watched football on a Sunday, I would sit on the floor near his feet because it made me feel good to be there.
Jack and Dad would be deep in conversation about things I never cared about, and then Jack would reach over and pat my head, shining those magnificent eyes in my direction.
With him, I could relax.
With my warring parents…
Not so much.
A text comes through and I slog over to where I left my phone on our messy coffee table, this brand new cast hindering my speed. As I spot Jack’s name shining back at me, my chest pumps fresh oxygen into it with a huge gasp.
I’m almost to you, Mar.
“You’re almost to me?” I whisper.
Now here’s the thing about me. I might dance on my toes and wear fluffy dresses under beautiful lighting, but I am made of steel nails fermented into more steel.
I’ve had to be.
Life is a bitch unless you’re a bigger one.
I wrote that. I even put it on a t-shirt. I get stopped all the time by women laughing and asking me where I got it.
That’s why it feels weird that these five glowing words have melted my icy blood and have it sprinting. The only time I ever feel like this is when ambition is in play.
But ever since this damned broken leg, I haven’t been my normal self.
My roommate and pretty much only friend asks, “Why are you up so early?” as she throws her keys onto the floor and locks our front door. I notice fluffy traces of cocaine on Teeka’s nose-hairs as she hops around to take off her high heels. “I expected no witnesses.”
“Yeah, well, I see you. Need some help? You have a body to bury?”
She snickers and passes
