Billionaire Daddy and Nanny 2(18)

“You shouldn't have done that –” I said after a few seconds of silence. “With Charlie.”

“Yeah, who the fuck was he anyway?”

“It doesn't matter, you shouldn't have gotten involved,” I said.

I pulled myself together and cleared my throat as I stepped away from him, removing his hands from my shoulders where they rested so comfortably. It took everything in me to pull away from him, but I had to. I had to step away and leave or else things could take an entirely different turn.

“I have to go, Drew,” I said. “Call the office receptionist and make an appointment with Dr. Frank, please. I think it would be better for both of us if you started seeing him instead of me.”

I walked toward the BART stop, hurrying off and not looking back to see if Drew was following me.

It wasn't until later that I realized I hadn't even thanked him for saving me from Charlie.



DREW



I sat all alone out on the back patio at Frisco's, enjoying a beer and a basket of fries. The cool breeze coming off the bay was too cold for most folks this time of year, but I loved it. It reminded me I was home, that I was thousands of miles away from that hellhole in the desert.

For better or worse, I was home.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I stared through the windows and into the bar. There were single, gorgeous women inside – which wasn't unusual for a Saturday night. What was unusual though, was that none of them appealed to me. The low cut, tit revealing tops and short skirts just weren't firing me up as much as they normally did.

At one time, a one-night stand with one of those chicks would have done the trick. It would have snapped me out of my shit and for at least a night, it would have helped me forget my problems and made me feel a bit better about things.

But now, for whatever reason, looking at all of those scantily clad women only reminded me of my pitiful existence and how I had no one who wanted to get close to me for more than a few hours.

It made me think back to my earlier dream – the one about Mason telling me he was going to marry his girl. I didn't want to admit it – not eve to myself – but I longed for that sort of connection with a woman. There was a part of me that really wished I had somebody to call my own – and to have somebody call me the same.

I longed to be with somebody, to know that they were the one – or as Mason would have put it – to call them my soul mate and not feel like a little bitch for saying it. But I wanted that suburban kind of life my friends had. I gave them shit for it, but only because deep down, I yearned for it. The idea of coming home to somebody every day, to know that they loved me unconditionally – it was something I wanted. I wanted it more than I cared to admit – even to myself, most of the time. It was just easier to talk shit because I didn't believe I could ever have something like that.

I'd decided that Dr. Emerson was no longer going to be my doctor. I'd see some other specialist, someone she trusted and would refer me to. I'd probably never see her again though, because like many others in my life, I'd scared her away too. I was too damaged, too broken, and let things go too far.

Not even my therapist could put up with me. How pathetic was that? Talk about a sad commentary on the state of one's life and being. It was like getting turned down by a hooker – equally as humiliating.

I took a long pull from my beer and turned toward the street, watching all of the people strolling by, blissful in their own existence. Happy people and happier couples walking by hand in hand, content in their lives. As I watched them, my mood turned dark and I wondered how many of them had to watch as their best friend was killed right in front of them? How many of them were responsible for the death of a loved one? How many of them had ever experienced the horrors of being in a combat zone? How many had to dodge bullets and walked away feeling like they'd cheated death many times over?

Yeah, not many, I was more than sure.

I was caught up in making up stories for the yuppies and hipsters out on the street – the man with the handlebar moustache worked a boring job in accounting and was secretly in love with his girlfriend's brother, but too stubborn to admit it. His girlfriend – a pretty blonde – was too busy thinking about how ugly his moustache was to even notice he wasn't looking at her, but was instead, looking past her at the handsome man walking alone on the street, wishing he could go home with him.

Yeah, I was making their lives sound as shitty as mine. That had to be healthy, right?

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked from behind me.

There was a time when nobody could sneak up on me. When letting, somebody get behind you like that meant certain death. As a result, I was hyper-vigilant and completely aware of my surroundings – including who was in it. Or at least, I was. Now that I was home, a lot of things had changed.