So. Long(21)

“Wow. That didn’t take long.” I sit on the steps of the small deck leading down to the yard.

“Aw, c’mon, man. Don’t hold out on a brother. I’m not getting any action these days. I think it’s this scar under my eye.” He chuckles, like he’s a fucking comedian.

The scar under his eye was the least of his injuries. Barely an inch long, it was almost invisible a few months after he came home.

Romans was there when Rachel walked out of my hospital room for the last—the only time. He was the first one I confided in about my current lack of ability to bust a fucking nut. I guess he’s my best friend—now.

Carter Shulls was, but he’s gone. I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat. The shrapnel he took to the neck snuffed out his life in a matter of seconds. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. He was cold and wearing a toe tag by the time I woke up from the drug-induced haze, after they stitched me back together.

I pull myself to the friend who isn’t six feet under. “No. That scar only improved on your ugly-ass looks, man. Your problem is that you’ve got no game.”

“No game? Me? Fuck you.” He chuckles. “Shit, who am I kidding? You’re right. I got no game. That’s why I have to call my man, Hardick, and find out what it’s like to actually fuck a girl instead of stickin’ it to a pocket pussy.”

I grin and shake my head. “You called the right guy. Fucking girls is what I do.”

“Yeah you do. So, who’re you banging now?”

“You gotta quit asking questions like that. It isn’t gentlemanly to fuck and tell.”

“Guess it’s a good damned thing you aren’t a gentleman then, isn’t it? C’mon, give me some deets.”

In the past, I may have run my mouth about women who meant nothing to me, but Kelsey’s different. She feels different. Like she could mean something. Like she might mean something.

But I can’t let her mean anything—life is too uncertain. I could be here today and zapped tomorrow. Who knows when my expiration date will come up?

I shrug. “No one special. You know how it is. A pussy is a pussy.”

“Uh oh. What is that I detect in your voice? Has my man, Hardick, found someone special?

Spike’s head jerks to attention about the time the screen slams against the door frame behind me.

I whip around, but there’s no Kelsey.

Fuck. “Hey, man. I’ve gotta go. I’ll try to give you a shout one day this week. Need to talk to you about a fundraiser I want you to MC.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

I stand and head toward the door. “You take care, okay?”

“Sure. Sure. You too.”

As I let myself into the kitchen, I swipe my finger over the screen.

A steaming cup of coffee sits on the counter, but Kelsey’s gone.





SEVEN





I head out of Adam’s house, cheeks hot and no idea why I’m so upset.

It’s not like we’ve been dating. Or even seeing each other. Of course I’m just another pussy to him.

He doesn’t orgasm. He’s probably out there looking for the woman who will finally get him there.

A robe-clad Mr. Alberto picks up his morning paper. As he straightens, his gaze falls on me. He stops halfway to standing and cocks his head. Even from this distance his busy brows clearly dive to the center.

With my hair a hot mess, and me traipsing down my new male neighbor’s sidewalk, I’m sure it’s quite obvious what’s happened here: walk of shame.

Mrs. Alberto leans out of their front door and waves. “Hi, Kelsey. What are you doing out so early in the morning?”

Fuck it. I’m twenty-six years old.

I lift my shoes in salute. “Just enjoying the Get Laid Parade, Mrs. Alberto. That’s all.”

The two look at one another, both of their faces puzzled. The Mister shrugs and turns toward his house. Mrs. Alberto opens the door further and ushers him inside. Once he’s in, she leans outside.

“Kelsey,” she calls.

I plaster on my best I don’t give a shit what you think about me smile. “Yes, ma’am?”

She points to Adam’s house and gives me a thumbs-up, winking before she ducks back inside.

Well, I’ll be damned.

I grin, feeling slightly better than I did when I walked out of his house thirty-five seconds ago.

I step inside my front door, and Chloe careens down the hall into the living room, her back end almost passing up her front legs as she tries to stop. Her meows are insistent, as though whatever she’s saying is of utmost importance and I’d best listen-up.

I pick her up. “Did you miss me? Or are you hungry?”

In the kitchen, I set her down by her dry cat food. A dime-sized hole has been eaten out of the middle, where the stainless steel bottom of the dish is visible. I jiggle the container enough so that the food fills in the small space. Chloe’s wailing immediately ceases as she settles down in front of her now full dish to eat breakfast.