“Not yet, Marion. But it’s good to know you’d be down for helping me.”
“Wait until my leg heals,” I mutter as I thump over to make coffee for my soon-to-be-arriving guest.
Teeka eyes the machine as she wipes her face with a dirty hand towel. “You like tea. Who’s that for?”
“My dad’s best friend is coming over.”
She rolls her eyes, not caring for more information, and tosses the towel on our cluttered countertop. “I’m moving out, Mar.”
My jaw drops on the counter so hard it leaves a dent. “You’re what?!”
Swallowing the coke-drip from the back of her throat, she winces. “I forgot to tell you I got fired.”
“When?!”
“Four months ago. No money left,” she shrugs.
I scream in her face and hobble to my phone.
JACK
T his isn’t my fault that my Tesla is pointed at Marion’s. I stayed away from her for three years.
She reached out to me, not the other way around. What am I supposed to do, ignore her plea for help? What kind of a man would that make me?
Who am I kidding?
If I was so innocent, I’d tell David she called. Did I do that? Hell to the fucking no.
After Lorraine left him, I went over to console the poor bastard. Because of my work I travel a lot, hadn’t been to their house in a long time. He came over for poker at my place — which he still does to this day — so there was no reason to visit his.
Little did I realize until I arrived, to hear his tormented story of a botched Christmas dinner and an even worse marriage, that Marion had ripened into such a sultry-lipped beauty. She opened the door and I was stunned into a moment of silence.
“Hi Jack,” she smiled, huge eyes sparkling under eyelashes long enough to pet me if she leaned any closer.
David walked up and clapped his hand on her shoulder. “Can you believe my girl turned eighteen last month?”
I said something boring in response and averted my eyes because all I wanted to do was say, “So she’s legal?”
My mind flew to places I wouldn’t allow it. I had to wrangle thoughts I’d never had about her. I’m a man of discipline. I am my own master. I didn’t like how hard it was to drive down that instinct to gather her into my arms and claim her as my own.
Never.
Went.
Back.
Nothing surprised me more than getting a call from her three years later asking for my help. I want to make sure she is okay. Partially innocent.
But not all.
I haven’t seen her since way back then for a damn good reason. That’s exactly what I told my buddy, Troy.
“Wait, what happened?” he asked, long, black hair hitting the table as he organized abandoned poker chips. The game just ended.
Troy and I were the only two left.
I downed my whiskey, empty glass dropped with a thunk. “She looked at me like she wanted to fuck me, that’s what.” Shaking my head I admitted, “It’s the first time I’ve said that aloud. To anyone.” Snorting I admit, “Who would I tell? Sure couldn’t tell David.”
“Of course not,” Troy laughed, imagining the reaction of our friend who’d just left two hundred bucks richer despite his long face. “You don’t think Dave wants his best friend banging his daughter?”
“Who wouldn’t?” I chuckled, the laugh dripping with sarcasm that vanished as I reached for the bottle.
I believe a man is what he makes of himself. I am all discipline and no slack. Every muscle in my body has been sculpted on purpose. I could’ve sat on the couch eating chips, but did I do that? Not even close.
I go downstairs to my personal gym I had constructed here, five days a week. Years ago I cut out carbs, alcohol, and all sugar save for the rare day when I shove some dark chocolate in my gullet just to get by. I brought alcohol back, but never to the point where I could get drunk.
I figure I have this one life, why not make women drop their pants the second they see me? I’m rich, easy on the eyes, and a self-proclaimed man-whore. Been that way for years by choice and design.
But I am getting a little bit bored of whoring. Been a while since I took someone to bed. Don’t know why.
“She’s even more beautiful than her mother, but with a bite that Lorraine never had. Marion’s snark got me laughing so many times over the years when she was little. She’d deliver one zinger after another.”
Troy shuffled the cards with one hand as his eyes glittered like he could see the appeal in that, too. At ten years younger than me, he was a stellar wing man because the two of us together turned heads everywhere we went. I met him when he was tending bar at a place that’s closed down now. I would have bet money that half the women there had fucked him or wanted to, by the way they watched him with lust. His tip jar overflowed with hopeful donations to the take-me-home-next fund.
Raking his shiny black, long hair from his neanderthal brow ridge, Troy asked me, “David says she’s a ballerina?”
“Yep.”
“She any good?”
“Better than good. But that ballet stuff isn’t for me. I’m not the la-dee-dah theater type.”
“I like theater.”
I stared at him. “Shut up.”
And then she called me.
I let it go to voicemail.
How many times have I listened to that sultry voice saying I’m the only one who can help her. “My dad is out of control and I’m tired. I…got hurt recently. I don’t feel like me right now. I guess I need to heal. Can you help me, Jack? I need you.”
I need you.
For the love of God.
I’m just checking on her in order to see how she is. Nothing wrong with that. It’s
