Women like my personal assistant, Ruth. Sure, she is sixty-three years old, but she is loyal, caring, and fair. She would never give up any part of herself for a man, and never do something just to please him. Ruth is tough as nails and probably the only woman who can tell me what to do and have me listen, but I also know she was a doting wife for thirty-five years.
The thing about these perfect women is that they are way too good for the likes of me. Men like me don’t get women like them. Women like them aren’t having casual sex with strangers just because he throws her a wink and buys her a drink, and that is all I’m good for. Women like them don’t want to settle down with a man who has fucked more women than Hugh Hefner.
I have nothing to offer a good woman. I work a lot, I like my own space, I like to have control over everything, I’m not romantic, I’m a selfish bastard, and I would never put anyone else before myself. I’ve always been on my own and only ever had to worry about myself. This is all I’m used to.
At least I can admit that and know marriage is something that isn’t for me.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when I hear a sniffle beside me. I glance towards the TV and see Nate and Brooke having their first kiss as a married couple. How many times has she watched this during the past three months? Reaching next to me, I grab the remote and switch off the TV.
I stand from the couch. “Ready to go?”
She nods and slowly gets to her feet to follow me out. Picking her purse up off the side table next to the door, I hand it to her as she passes by me through the front door. I grab my keys from my pocket and lock the front door behind me as I follow Brooke to the passenger door of my car.
While unlocking the car I lean forward to open her door. She hops in and places her purse on her lap, fiddling with the straps. As I shut her door and make my way around to the driver’s side I think she has probably realised how awkward this is. Brooke and I have never spent much time alone. It isn’t like we can talk about Nate, our one thing in common, the one thing keeping us connected.
Sitting in Saxon’s car, I try to think of anything to take my mind off the awkwardness. As I look around it’s exactly what I would expect: sleek, stylish, and sophisticated. The black leather seats shine, and there isn’t a speck of dirt on the floor mats.
“Nice car,” I say, looking to start some kind of conversation.
“Thanks. It’s nice, but nothing too flashy.”
I snort out a laugh. “Nothing too flashy? What is it?”
“An Alpha Romeo 4C.”
“That means nothing to me, but it’s pretty showy and obviously quick.” I laugh as he peels out of my driveway.
“Like I said, it’s a nice car, but it’s just a run-around work car.” His eyes don’t leave the road.
I look at him with disgust. “This is not a run-around work car. A truck or small hatch is a run-around car. This,” I slide my fingers across the dashboard, “Saxon, is not a run-around car.”
He finally looks my way and has a wide grin on his face. I narrow my eyes in confusion. “Maybe, but you haven’t seen my other car.”
“What is it, a Ferrari or something?” I ask sarcastically.
Saxon smiles. “No, it’s a Dodge Charger 440 RT.”
“Huh?”
He cracks up laughing. “It’s an old muscle car, done up to the hilt and in exceptional condition. It could definitely take this on, and they are a rare find. I’ve spent a lot of money and time on her to get her exactly as I want her. Now that car is flashy.”
I laugh at his excitement over an old car. I would never trade my Range Rover in for my old Mazda 323.
“Why don’t you drive it then?”
“I couldn’t be showing up to client business meetings in that. There is a certain image I need to portray, and in this industry, most of the clients we deal with are old money and wouldn’t appreciate my beast.”
“Okay,” I say, still not really getting it.
An uneasy silence settles between us, and I think about Saxon rocking up to my house and something I hadn’t registered before pops into my mind. “How did you get a key to my house?”
Saxon glances over at me sheepishly before quickly looking back to the road. “Nate gave me a key for emergencies when you guys bought the place. When I heard you weren’t answering the phone or door I figured I might need to use it.”
I nod as I take in his words. “Who told you I wasn’t answering the phone or door?”
Again he has that look, like he’s embarrassed almost. “Jeanie called me this morning, freaking out and saying I needed to come and check on you. She said you weren’t answering anyone’s phone calls or their attempts to visit and see if you were all right. I’m sorry for invading your privacy, but she was really worried, Brooke. I couldn’t tell her no; you know what’s she’s like.”