Hard Bastard(117)
I clenched my jaw. “Really. Turns out, when you shatter both your legs, it’s pretty fucking hard to walk normally afterward.”
She giggled. “You’re so silly. Tell me about the last time you jumped.”
“You want to hear about my accident?”
“Please?” She batted her eyes at me. I wanted to take a fork to her skull.
“I’d rather not.” I took another sip. Actually, more like a gulp. I was going to need ten more drinks before Misty became tolerable.
“Humph, fine. You’re no fun.” She pouted.
I leaned forward in my seat. “How about you tell me about the most painful memory you have? Does that sound fun?”
“Lincoln.” Jess’s voice cut through the brief awkward moment. I glanced over at her stern look and grinned.
Misty laughed, deciding I was joking. “You’re so funny!”
“See, Jess, I’m hilarious.”
Jess shook her head as I turned back to Misty.
The whole night was incredibly surreal. Really, it should never have happened, considering what I had done at the end of the charity event. Last I heard, Brent’s broken kneecap was healing nicely, but that only pissed me off.
He deserved worse than what he got. Sometimes, I pictured his face as he yanked at Brie’s arm, and rage filled my entire body.
“What is your absolute favorite drink, Lincoln?” Misty asked me.
“I don’t know. I’ve always been a whisky guy.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, nodding knowingly. “Daddy always drinks whisky. You’re so much like Daddy.”
“And what does Daddy do for a living?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, something boring. Something to do with investment banking. But who cares?”
“So long as he keeps giving you money, right?”
She laughed. “Exactly! I have to admit, though, there’s something sexy about a man drinking whisky.”
I raised an eyebrow, putting my glass down. I might have underestimated exactly how horrible this girl is, I thought to myself.
“Why do you think that is?” I asked, not caring about the answer.
“It’s masculine. I love men when they’re manly.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again. “What do you think is manly?”
She sipped her drink and leaned forward, practically shoving her tits in my face. “I love tattoos, like yours. And men that aren’t afraid of anything, like you.”
“Got it. So you think I’m manly.”
“Extremely.”
I remembered the crack of my cane against Brent’s knee, and again against his ribs. I remembered kissing Brie, and later, once we got home, shoving her up against the wall of her bedroom and fucking her senseless. We didn’t fall asleep together, but I did work her body over and over again.
That next morning, the day after the event, I woke up with morning wood like crazy. But I wasn’t sweating, and I hadn’t dreamed about the crash.
Brie was like fucking medicine or something.
And to top it all off, once I went downstairs for my usual PT session, Brent wasn’t with the crew. Some new guy had taken his place. When I looked at Jess, she just shrugged.
“Brent’s fired,” she had said simply. “And he’s not pressing charges.”
“How is that even possible?” I had asked her.
“We have him attacking Aubrie on film. He figured it would be better to let it go than to risk getting labeled as a rapist.”
I had to admit, despite everything with Jess, I wanted to give her a big, fat fucking kiss on the mouth. Her obsessive and authoritarian nature was finally working in my favor.
The days slipped by, and I kept sneaking into Aubrie’s room at night. And we didn’t hear a word about Brent after that.
Those were some of the best nights of my life. It was Aubrie and more Aubrie, her body and lips and everything mixed together in sweating exertion. We spent all night together and only parted when it was clear we were about to both pass out from exhaustion.
Then, of course, my mother insisted that I go on that stupid date I had agreed to. She set everything up, even getting a limo. Jess said it would be great for the documentary and would really show me in my element. As if a limo and an expensive restaurant were my “element.”
The waiter returned, yanking me back into the present moment. Misty threw back her martini and asked for another. “Just as dirty,” she said with another wink at me.
I finished my drink and asked for another as well.
The steak was delicious and was a good distraction as Misty began to ramble on about her dress designs and about some new handbag she had bought with Daddy’s money. I thought she said it was a “Monica Lewinsky original,” but that couldn’t have been right.