Bad Boys of Romance(4)

“That’s all. Nice to meet you, Jenna.”

“You too, Switch.” I stand as he does and shake his hand, trying in vain to ignore the tingling sensation that is shooting up my arm.

He flashes me a smile and leaves without another word. I sink down into my chair and rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on.

It’s no wonder he’s taken. All the good ones are.

For the rest of the afternoon, I bury myself in my work and try my hardest not to let Switch consume my every thought.

It’s a hard battle, but I win…mostly.





SWITCH


Three days.

Three motherfucking days.

That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen Jenn’s beautiful face. It’s also how long it’s been since I haven’t been able to get that beautiful face – and body – out of my mind.

It’s driving me crazy and my brothers are noticing. The bastards are making sly comments and taking jabs at me. They know something’s up, they just don’t know what. In saying that, they also know the only thing that will piss a man off this bad is a woman.

And, if you’re a man, you’ll know there’s two types of pissed off a woman can make you. There’s the type that turns a man in a raging asshole no one wants to be around. Then, there’s the type that turns you into a moody asshole everyone wants to make fun of because they think it’s funny when you fall for a woman you’ve got little hope of landing.

Usually, I fall under the first kind of asshole if I’ve spent more than five minutes in the presence of Amber. But, during the last three days, not even she can dampen the vibe I have going on.

Yeah, I’m moody, but there’s no malice in it. I’m just pissed off with myself that I’ve got myself into a situation I’m not sure how to navigate yet. Sure, I could follow my dick’s lead and see if Jenna’s up for one night…one night where I could get my fill of her and then forget it ever happened.

But, my head isn’t stupid enough to believe my dick.

My head knows that one night will never be enough.

And, I think even my dick would agree that once he’s had a taste of Jenna Mason’s pussy, he knows he’ll be ruined for all other pussies.

Pulling my bike into my drive, I hesitate before cutting the engine. I don’t want to go inside, but I know I have to. My gut tightens as I reach the front door. Walking inside, I recoil at the smell.

Fucking Christ!

I march through the house and into the bedroom where I know I’ll find my wife.

“What the fuck is going on, Amber?” I shout when I spot her, passed out on the bed, her hair caked with a vomit and a trail of saliva running from her mouth down her cheek.

She groans before throwing a pillow over her eyes. “Stop yelling,” she whines, her voice croaky.

“You’re a fucking disgrace, you know that?” I grip her arm above her elbow and heave her out of the bed. I frog march her into the shower and turn the spray on, not giving a fuck that it’s freezing cold. I push her in, clothes and all and slam the glass door behind me as she starts screaming and thrashing about.

“Clean yourself up,” I growl at her before stalking out of the room. The entire house smells like stale booze and fresh puke.

Dirty fucking alcoholic.

I don’t even know why I bother coming home anymore. Actually, it’s always been this way, it’s just that when it began, I was too stupid and young to know what I was getting myself in to.

She’s five years older than me, but acts about ten years younger. I married her three years ago after she fell pregnant with my baby.

Two days after the wedding, she lost the baby and she’s been ‘drowning her sorrows’ ever since. Least, that’s what she says. Problem is, she was always a big drinker, so her reasoning doesn’t stick with me. Not only that, but it hurt me too when she lost the baby, but you don’t see me downing vodka like it’s water every single night until I obliterate myself so badly I piss and shit all over myself.

If I call her out on it, though, she cries and begs me not to be angry at her, and up until now, I usually let her get away with it. But, now? Now, something inside me is shifting and I’m just so fucking sick and tired of this shit.

I sigh and scrub my hands over my face. An image of Jenn appears behind my closed eyelids and I smile.

She’s really something.

My eyes open and I scowl. There’s a trail of vomit through the living room, into the kitchen, up the cupboards and into the sink.

Fucking Christ!

For about the millionth time in the last three years, I wonder how my life turned into this.

Why have I put up with it for three fucking long-ass years?