Bad Boy Billionaires 2 : The Wall Street Shark(2)

* * * * In the morning, Evan climbed out of bed and took a hot shower. It took him longer than usual because he hadn't manscaped in weeks. He hadn't had hair on his legs in so long he'd forgotten what it looked like. He smiled when he saw how bushy his pubic hair had become. Even though he'd never been obsessed with his looks, being smooth all over made him feel cleaner in a way he couldn't explain. He didn't mind body hair on other men. For the most part, he preferred other men to have a little natural body hair.

He'd grown a goatee while he'd been there this time, and he spent a long time in front of the bathroom mirror that morning shaving to get it just right. Though his light brown hair was a little longer than he normally kept it, he styled it forward. Then he added product and messed it up a little so the top would stick up in a way that looked as if he'd been riding with the top down.




 

 

This was the first time since he'd entered Havilland that he'd actually looked into the mirror for any length of time. He'd spent the last twenty-eight days there wearing baseball caps and sweatpants. There had been days when he hadn't bothered to shave at all, which is how he wound up with the goatee. Before he left the bathroom, he glanced into the mirror one last time and shrugged. Though he'd been through more in the last ten years than most people he knew, his skin was still clear, he didn't have any wrinkles, and there were no bags beneath his eyes. He didn't look a day over twenty-five. Unfortunately, he felt like ninety.

When he returned to the room, he put on a pair of jeans he'd left on the bed and made a face. He turned toward the mirror and cinched them at the waist to keep them from falling down below the waistband of his underwear. He figured he must have lost at least ten pounds and hadn't even realized it. It was a good thing he'd brought a belt, because he'd lost so much weight he would have had to borrow a safety pin from someone to hold his jeans up. A month earlier, these sagging jeans had been his tight skinny jeans, the low-rise jeans that had hugged his hips and made his butt look bigger than it really was.

The last time he'd worn jeans similar to these he'd met three young guys at a bar in Chelsea. He'd been so drunk that night the most he remembered about them in detail was that they all had dark hair and deep voices. While they kept buying him drinks and talking dirty to him, he flirted and squeezed their muscles. When they told him they wanted to take him someplace and fuck his brains out, he kissed them all and agreed to go after one more drink. When he woke up in a hospital the next day, he had no idea someone had found him unconscious in an alley with his jeans down around his ankles. Evidently, the three young guys had raped him, robbed him, beaten him, and left him between two overflowing trash cans and a broken statue of St. Francis that someone had discarded. The police said he was lucky they hadn't beaten him to death. The doctors said he was lucky he'd only suffered broken ribs and he wouldn't need plastic surgery. His best friend, Michele, said it was time to go back to Havilland.

While he was standing in front of the mirror rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down oxford, one of the aides walked into his room and stared at him for a second. "I wanted to see if you're okay. I know you're leaving today." She was an older woman with salt and pepper hair and a full figure, who always wore those unstructured nurses' uniforms in pastel colors that had themes with little teddy bears or smiley faces. She reminded Evan of a favorite aunt he'd had as a child.

Evan laughed and said, "Get me a pizza so I can fit into these jeans, Mary." He turned sideways and pressed his palm to his sunken stomach. "I can't believe how much weight I lost." 

She laughed and patted her round stomach. "Don't complain about that to me if you know what's good for you." Then she hugged him and said, "I'm going off duty now. I just wanted to say goodbye and check in on you one more time. I'm not supposed to get close to the patients, but you're my favorite. You never complain, you say thank you all the time, and you always make me smile."

This aide had been there the past two times Evan had been admitted to the twenty-eight day program. She knew what he'd been through; she'd seen how bruised he'd been when he'd arrived. He squeezed her tightly and said, "I'm going to miss you. You've made this place tolerable. But I'm not coming back again. This is it for me. I'm done."

She stepped back and looked him up and down. Then she smiled and said, "That's good, because as much as I love you, I don't want to see you here again."

After he thanked her again for everything she'd done for him while he'd been there, she left the room and Evan walked to the window. At the exact moment he glanced out, he saw a sleek black Mercedes sedan pull up to the front entrance. He held his breath for a moment as he watched an attractive young woman with long blond hair climb out of the driver's side. She wore a black blazer, a short beige skirt, and fawn leather pumps. She looked as if she were going to meet a friend for lunch instead of picking one up from a rehab clinic. Evan crossed to the bed and picked up his bags. He glanced around to make sure he'd packed everything, then turned toward the door. Before he left the room, he looked back one last time and said, "This is the last time." Then he turned fast and went down to meet his best friend in the main lobby.