“Wait, what happened?” he asked, long, black hair hitting the table as he organized abandoned poker chips. The game just ended.
Troy and I were the only two left.
I downed my whiskey, empty glass dropped with a thunk. “She looked at me like she wanted to fuck me, that’s what.” Shaking my head I admitted, “It’s the first time I’ve said that aloud. To anyone.” Snorting I admit, “Who would I tell? Sure couldn’t tell David.”
“Of course not,” Troy laughed, imagining the reaction of our friend who’d just left two hundred bucks richer despite his long face. “You don’t think Dave wants his best friend banging his daughter?”
“Who wouldn’t?” I chuckled, the laugh dripping with sarcasm that vanished as I reached for the bottle.
I believe a man is what he makes of himself. I am all discipline and no slack. Every muscle in my body has been sculpted on purpose. I could’ve sat on the couch eating chips, but did I do that? Not even close.
I go downstairs to my personal gym I had constructed here, five days a week. Years ago I cut out carbs, alcohol, and all sugar save for the rare day when I shove some dark chocolate in my gullet just to get by. I brought alcohol back, but never to the point where I could get drunk.
I figure I have this one life, why not make women drop their pants the second they see me? I’m rich, easy on the eyes, and a self-proclaimed man-whore. Been that way for years by choice and design.
But I am getting a little bit bored of whoring. Been a while since I took someone to bed. Don’t know why.
“She’s even more beautiful than her mother, but with a bite that Lorraine never had. Marion’s snark got me laughing so many times over the years when she was little. She’d deliver one zinger after another.”
Troy shuffled the cards with one hand as his eyes glittered like he could see the appeal in that, too. At ten years younger than me, he was a stellar wing man because the two of us together turned heads everywhere we went. I met him when he was tending bar at a place that’s closed down now. I would have bet money that half the women there had fucked him or wanted to, by the way they watched him with lust. His tip jar overflowed with hopeful donations to the take-me-home-next fund.
Raking his shiny black, long hair from his neanderthal brow ridge, Troy asked me, “David says she’s a ballerina?”
“Yep.”
“She any good?”
“Better than good. But that ballet stuff isn’t for me. I’m not the la-dee-dah theater type.”
“I like theater.”
I stared at him. “Shut up.”
And then she called me.
I let it go to voicemail.
How many times have I listened to that sultry voice saying I’m the only one who can help her. “My dad is out of control and I’m tired. I…got hurt recently. I don’t feel like me right now. I guess I need to heal. Can you help me, Jack? I need you.”
I need you.
For the love of God.
I’m just checking on her in order to see how she is. Nothing wrong with that. It’s eight o’clock in the morning. What could happen?
It’s the right thing to do.
Divorce is hard on any kid.
Even ones who are twenty-one, now.
And how’d she get hurt? Some guy break her heart? Give me his number and I’ll mess him up.
How is she dating guys her age, anyway, and not puking? Most are the product of a generation who essentially taught them that being an emotional wimp was hot.
What I think is hysterical is that women didn’t really mean it. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. They meant it enough to embed it into every son’s psyche they could, after they’d gotten hurt by men.
Be in touch with your feelings!
Tell your Mom everything!
It’s okay to cry!
The things some ladies taught their sons they wouldn’t want in their husbands. They didn’t think ahead. And this generation of women are paying for it.
Sure, it’s okay to cry when something tragic happens. But men feel better when we’re stronger and know that whatever life throws our way, we can take it and protect ourselves and the ones we love.
If we can trust ourselves and know that we’re not going to break like a dead stick under someone’s boot, we walk straighter. That’s just a fact. Because it’s also a damn fact that the world is full of people who will walk on you if you let them.
There’s something honest and right about standing up to life. We all go through rough times. Men feel best when we aren’t afraid of those bumps.
I couldn’t turn Marion down when she called. How could I? Please help me will make me come running faster than I don’t need you, any day. I’m needed, and I can handle the job.
Sign.
Me.
Up.
I’ll work for free.
Holy shit, she answered my text.
Things just got worse, Jack. I need you. Please hurry.
Time to break a few speeding laws.
Chapter Three
Marion
Teeka gulps water like someone released her from a fishing net. Gasping for air, she locks eyes with me. “I’m sorry, Mar.”
“No, you’re not. Of course you’re not. You are fully aware that stuff is poison. And expensive!”
“What stuff?” she laughs, pointing at my silk pajama shorts and braless tank. “Your Dad’s best friend is coming and you’re wearing this? Are you about to get laid?”
I wish. “When are you packing?”
Teeka fixes her lipstick in the reflection of our microwave, glancing over with an amused smile because my answer wasn’t ‘no.’ She shuts the lipstick tube with a pop. “If he wants to take on the two of us, I’m down. My habit isn’t cheap.” At my horrified expression, she cries out, “I’m kidding!”
“Are you?” I hobble to the couch and drop down with zero grace, odd since it’s ingrained in me. This damn cast is so freaking heavy. They gave me the new one for athletes that’s in trial. Adjusting my shorts, I call out to the kitchen, “Are you going to give me another month to find someone new, or what?”
Trouble is, I paid the deposit. She moved in with me and has no reason to stick around, except friendship. Which means she’s outta here.
“Did you say something?” Teeka asks while walking in, rummaging through her glittery bag and producing a victorious bag of illegal powder. Running over to show me she cries out, “Aha! I knew he was up to something. Donny was hovering over me before I left the party. He had this funny look in his eyes and I asked him what he was up to. Look at what a doll he is!”
I dryly reply, “A real angel.”
“You want some?”
“Because that would solve all my problems.”
“They’d feel solved,” she laughs while bouncing back to our kitchen counter to go to work on that ebbing high of hers.
I listen to the tap tap tap of her credit card cutting up his gift. A sigh deflates my chest. “But they wouldn’t be solved, Teeka.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Can you do that in your room?”
I hear a huge sniff before a grumbled, “Why is your dad’s friend coming over?” Teeka runs back into the living room with glee shining from dilated pupils. “I was kinda serious about joining in.”