Screw It Read online

  I sigh and nod. I get that he’s worried, and I get that I’m missing a lot of things—friends and companionship—but the drive in me won’t let me have those things.

  When I don’t say anything, he leans over and kisses the top of my head. “I’m not gonna nag. Just think on it, all right?”

  I look into his light-brown eyes for a beat, and I nod even though we both know I’m not going to follow his advice. I’ll be able to open the first truck before the year’s end, so there’s no fucking way I am gonna slow down now.

  His eyes flutter across my face again before the side of his mouth tilts up into a smirk, and he shakes his head. “You hear me, girl, but you don’t listen.”

  “I—”

  “I’ll see you next Sunday around seven?”

  Flattening my lips, I nod. “Later. And thanks for taking care of those flowers.”

  “No problem, Bee. Later.”

  I shut and lock the door once he’s gone. Rounding my shoulders and then my neck, I try to release the lingering tension and anger. I don’t have time to deal with the hurt and grief right now.

  After I dig out the Febreze and fumigate my studio apartment, I clean up the remaining breakfast mess. Then, I grab my purse and head out into the June weather with just enough time to make it to work.

  “…and then I was like, ‘Oh my gosh! It’s perfect!’ I totally love the dress, right, so I walked in the store, and I asked the saleslady person ‘I, like, totally love that dress on the lady statue thingy in the window. Where can I find one?’ So, she walked over to this rack, and there they were! So, I was, like, ‘Hurray!’ And I started flipping through the dresses, trying to find my size, and I kept flipping and flipping, and I started to panic because I couldn’t find a size two, but I kept flipping and flipping, and I couldn’t find one, so I started crying, and the saleslady asked what was wrong, and I was, like, wailing at her that they didn’t have any more in my size. I mean, I totally could have tried to get into a zero, but I didn’t want it to be too tight and slutty. So then, the lady reaches over and grabs the first dress on the rack, and it was a size two! Can you believe it? I, like, totally missed it, but I was so excited! Then, I had to find some awesome shoes to go with it, so I…”

  Jesus fuckin’ Christ, I only said that she looked nice, and she does. She’s wearing a tight red dress that clings to her slamming body and shows off a little too much of her perky tits. Her legs go on for miles, and whatever stupid fucking mission she went on to find those shoes paid off because they’re sky-high and accentuate that crease in the calf muscle. But, son of a bitch, all of a sudden, she’s spouting out her life story, droning on and on. Christ in heaven, help me if she says totally one more time.

  I drop my face into my hands, not bothering to hide the fact that this date is a disaster.

  I’m going to punch Matt in the nuts for this.

  I rub my face with my palms. She’s still yammering on like I give a shit, and I fight the urge to say, Fuck this, and take off.

  “Hi, my name is Becca, and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two something to drink?”

  I glance up and do a double take at our waitress. An assload of curly red hair is piled on top of her head. I let my eyes wander to take her in. She’s thin, petite, and fit. I tend to lean toward curvy, but shit, she works the tight ass and just enough tits to fill my hands. Finally, I land my eyes on hers.

  Jesus.

  They’re green, very green, like the color of my mom’s garden leaves. They’re beautiful and enticing.

  I’d know them anywhere.

  From the hard look in her eyes, she remembers mine, too.

  Shit.

  “Uh, yeah, I’ll have a Bud on tap.”

  My eyes stay glued to Becca, my mind tripping over itself, as Stacy orders.

  “I’ll, like, totally have a Cosmo. It’s so yummy, and I love the cute little glass it comes in. It’s just the best. Don’t you think so?”

  “We don’t serve Cosmos here.” Her tone is flat.

  “I definitely want a Cosmo. Can’t your bartender, like, find a way?”

  Becca’s lips curl slowly, her smile barely masking her temper. “I’m sorry, but this is a small family-run business. They’re not used to nine-step drinks. I’ll see if the bartender can manage it. I might be able to help, but it’ll be in a wine glass. Is that okay?”

  “Oh my gawd. You’re, like, totally my hero. Thanks, sweetie.”

  Since my eyes are still on Becca, I catch the jump in her cheek as she grinds her teeth.

  “All right, I’ll be back in a second with your drinks.”

  I watch her walk away while my chest squeezes tight.

  “Sweetheart, I like you, and you’re into me. Give me a shot to make you happy.” I’m laying it on thick, and I know that, but nothing has been working. I’ve never had to work so hard to get a date with a woman who caught my eye. I never expected to love working this hard.

  “I can’t.” Becca shakes her head and then looks at me with tears in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I can’t lose focus.”

  “I think you’ll like losing focus.”

  She lets out a humorless laugh. “I probably would—too much.”

  I’m getting there—finally. It’s taken me a month, but Christ, I couldn’t pass up such beauty. I need a taste. “Just try. It’s only one date.”

  Glancing up at me, she searches my eyes. “Okay.”

  I grin and do it huge. “Tomorrow night?”

  She shakes her head. “Working.”

  “Tomorrow morning?”

  Her smile is tentative. “I can do that.”

  “Excellent.”

  After we exchange numbers and agree on where to meet, we say our good-byes.

  Then, I call Deb to switch tomorrow morning’s date to Sunday morning.

  “So, your name is, like, totally awesome.” Stacy interrupts my bad thoughts that make my stomach roll. “Zachariah. That’s, like, Russian or something, right? Or is it German?”

  “I think it’s Hebrew.” I sigh and rub my face again.

  “Hebrew? Where’s that? Like, near China or something?”

  I groan into my hands.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asks, concerned.

  “I have a headache,” I mumble, my voice muffled by my hands.

  “Here ya go.”

  I lift my head as Becca places the drinks on the table. My jaw clenches at seeing her jerky, agitated movements.

  “Oh, you’re totally the best!” Stacy squeals.

  I fight the urge to cover my ears.

  Becca places the beer in front of me without meeting my eyes. I hate that I did this to her. I hate that I was that kind of man. Reaching for my beer, I graze my fingertips against hers. Her body jolts, and she snatches her hand away, but she shifts her gaze to meet my eyes. She glares at me, and her hard eyes are now burning liquid fire, making tiny gold flecks erupt within the green.

  “Love you, Zach.” Her eyes lock with mine. “I never thought I could have this. I never thought it could be this good.”

  Smiling softly, I say, “Me either, sweets.”

  Unease sinks into my chest and through my gut. She straightens, her back snapping into ramrod straight posture. The apprehension spreads, making my shoulders tense.

  “Are you two ready to order?” Her tone is flatter than before.

  “Um…I think I’ll have a Caesar salad. No cheese, no dressing, no croutons.”

  My eyes snap back to Stacy.

  Ten bucks worth of chicken and lettuce? Nasty. Whatever melts her butter, I guess.

  I shift my attention back to Becca, whose fire has cooled into a detached blank expression.

  “I’ll have the all-American burger.”

  Her lips tip up without defrosting the rest of her face. “All right, I’ll get that order in for you.” Without another word, she turns and stomps away, taking out her anger on the floorboards as if it killed her cat.

  “S
o, you’ll never guess,” Stacy says, yanking me from my thoughts. “My best friend was talking to me last night, and she was telling me about this problem she had, right?”

  I nod, trying to pay attention.

  “So, she was saying she had these sores on her pussy—”

  “I have to hit the restroom.” I shoot out of my chair and bite back nausea from this chick telling me about her friend’s STD.

  What the fuck?

  Seriously.

  What. The. Fuck?

  “Oh, okay. Have fun!” Her voice is a little too loud, drawing attention.

  I rush to the restroom, lean against the sink, and pull out my phone to text Matt.

  Me: You’re a fucking dick.

  Matt: Oh, come on. She’s hot.

  Me: Yeah, and her last brain cell jumped ship ten years ago. Fuck you.

  Matt: Oh, dildo.

  Matt: Dildo.

  Matt: Dildo.

  Matt: DEAL. Fucking autocorrect.

  Me: Ha-ha. Why is dick in your regular vocab?

  Me: I mean, dick.

  Me: Dick.

  Me: Fuck. DIL—fuck it. You know what I mean.

  Matt: Ha-ha. My wife said she’s easy.

  Me: Her yapping killed my dick.

  Matt: Eesh. That bad?

  Me: Her BFF has an STD.

  Matt: Run, Forrest, run!

  Me: My feet are already pounding the pavement.

  Matt: Sorry she sucks—and not in the good way.

  Me: I’ll survive.

  I tuck my phone into my back pocket.

  With my hands gripping the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. My thoughts aren’t on Stacy. They’re on Becca. Her hair is longer, and her body is thinner and tighter. She’s harder—the tone of her voice, her expressions, her body language.

  Six years ago, she was soft, inside and out.

  Her sweet, easy smile made my gut warm.

  The way she laughed and how she had me right there with her, cracking up all the time, made life seem sweet.

  I was stoked to go running together, and the sight of her body as she moved had my cock stirring every fucking time.

  Her cooking all kinds of deliciousness for me had me looking forward to spending time with her.

  Her body was as fiery as her hair promised.

  I had her.

  I had her first—as in, I was her first.

  Then, after a few months of Becca’s sweetness, I met up with her, not even an hour after leaving another date, and I saw the look on her face, not knowing I had lipstick on my neck.

  Even though the devastation in her expression filled me to the brim with guilt and shame, I said, “Sorry, babe, but we never said we were exclusive.”

  She was naive. She had no idea that people weren’t always exclusive. She thought if you were with someone, you were only with that person, and I knew she thought that. I never corrected her. I never filled her in because I was selfish. I liked being around her—a lot—so much so that I wasn’t with anyone else since we’d started fucking. But then, I freaked, thinking I couldn’t get tied down that young, and I went out.

  I’d never get that look on her face out of my head—the wide-eyed, pale absolute wreckage.

  Three months later, my brother got shot, and I got my wake-up call.

  I drop my hands and sigh. I knew Karma would catch up to me someday. Shaking my head, I push through the door and wind my way back to the table.

  When I reach the table, my burger is there, and Becca’s nowhere in sight. Part relief and part disappointment settles on my shoulders. I sit down and pick up my burger, diving into it without a word.

  “So, I was thinking…my roommate is out of town, visiting her mom.”

  I glance up to see Stacy shuffling her lettuce around.

  “We could, like, go back to my place and hang out or something.”

  I give her a halfhearted smile as I finish chewing. Then, I say, “I’m sorry, Stacy. I’m not sure this is really working for me.”

  I take another bite of my burger as I watch her suck in her top lip and bite it, causing her bottom lip to jut out. She’s beautiful, and the lip-biting is cute. It would turn me on if I hadn’t heard her talk.

  She chews on her lip for another few seconds before she finally says, “That’s okay. You can still fuck me, good and hard. Shove your cock so far inside me that I can taste it. Just for tonight, and then we can leave it at that?”

  I almost choke on my burger. I’ve had aggressive women, but shit, not like her. That was hot.

  I actually consider it for half a second before the mental images of STDs and her shouting, Pork me, baby, like, totally pork me, stop me from taking her up on that offer.

  “As fun as that sounds, I’m meeting up with my brother later,” I lie. Then, I wonder if he’d be able to come out for a few hours tonight. I take another bite of my burger.

  She sighs. “Okay, well, it was totally nice to meet you, but I’ll head out then.”

  “What?” My mouth is still full, so it comes out more like, Wa?

  “You’re not into me, and even though you’re, like, super-wicked hot, you don’t talk much.” She leans into me and whispers, “You’re kinda boring.”

  I blink slowly and finish chewing my mouthful before I swallow. I consider defending myself or maybe telling her that she’s an oversharing bubblehead. But, really, what’s the point? So, I shrug. “Okay. See ya around.”

  She flashes me a smile, grabs her little purse, and stands. I pop a fry into my mouth and pull out my phone to text my brother.

  Me: Think Anna will let you out for a few hours to hit the bar?

  I jump when Stacy plants a kiss on my cheek.

  “Call me if you change your mind,” she purrs.

  I tilt my head to look at her. “Uh…okay.”

  “Oh, shoot, I totally got lipstick on your face. Sorry, lemme get it.”

  She licks her thumb and leans back in, but I jerk my head out of the way.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She straightens. “Okeydoke.” She turns on her heel and leaves.

  Thank fuck.

  My phone dings, and I glance at it.

  Jed: I’m down. Just need to put Nick and Ashley to bed. Where do you wanna meet?

  Me: My partner said Hole was good. Wanna try there?

  Jed: Sounds good. See you in an hour.

  As I tuck my phone into my back pocket, Becca approaches the table, her face still smoothly blank.

  “Can I get you two anything else?”

  She grins when I walk through the door of her apartment. “Hey, baby. I made meatloaf. Can I get you a beer?”

  My grin matches hers. “Only if it comes with a kiss.”

  She bites her lip and ducks her head.

  Christ. Adorable. I love our everyday normalcy—easy, simple, and sweet.

  I wonder if we can get it back.

  Running my tongue along my teeth, I gentle my tone to ask, “Can we talk a sec?” I tilt my chin to the spot Stacy vacated.

  Becca jerks like she’s been slapped, her eyes flaming with gold flecks. “Are you serious?”

  I nod slowly.

  She puts a hand on her hip. “What about your girlfriend?”

  “It was a blind date that didn’t go so well. She already left.”

  Her tone turns acidic. “Losing your touch, are you?”

  “Becca, please give me a chance to explain—”

  She releases a deep breath. “My apologies. That was unprofessional of me. Here’s your bill.” Pulling a slip of paper out of her apron, she lays it on the table. “Have a good night.”

  “Wait.”

  I grab her hand, but she rips it from me.

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t you sit there and ask me to talk”—her eyes brim with tears, making my chest cave—“with another woman’s lipstick on your face. We’ve been down this road before, and no way in fucking hell am I ever going back.”

  My mouth pops open as
she walks away, and then she disappears when she rounds the corner.

  “Fuck.”

  Sitting here after yet another shitty date, I’m confronted with the only woman I’ve ever been happy with, and I hurt her so badly that she’s still holding on to it half a decade later.

  Karma fucking blows.

  Lonely

  That motherfucker!

  In the restroom of my second job—bartender at Hole—I drag the mascara brush through my eyelashes, my jaw working back and forth. Twice now I’ve had to reapply because those stupid, weak tears keep pooling up. Finally, I’ve calmed down enough that my mascara is staying on my lashes instead of running down my cheeks. Popping the brush back in the tube, I tuck it into my back pocket. I drop my head, putting my hands on the restroom sink.

  Six years.

  I thought I was over him. I thought I’d moved on. But when his eyes hit me, pain sliced through me with a rawness that took my breath away.

  I’d loved him.

  It was six years ago and only for four months. It’d made no sense, but I had been so young, so naive, so sick and tired of being alone for so long that I fell.

  Maybe the shock of seeing him made me lose my temper. Then again, he’d always made me lose control of my emotions.

  I’d loved him.

  He had been so sweet, so patient, so determined to stand by my side. The brush of his fingers along my cheek and the sweep of his thumb on my hand as he’d held it had broken down my defenses. After I’d sworn I’d have no distractions from proving that I wasn’t my mother, I’d finally let him in, and it had been breathtaking. For four months, I’d had a permanent smile on my face. I’d spent money on clothes to impress him. I had taken time off work to spend with him. I’d lost time with Matt and Krissy. I hadn’t been lost or lonely. I had been found and safe. He’d given me warmth, and I’d thrived, lived, breathed. I’d lost sight of my goals, and all I could see was him.

  And I had been nothing to him.

  Even worse, I had been a mouse, and he’d been the cat. And after he’d spent months of playing with me, toying with me, he’d sauntered out of my life, leaving me crying and broken on my apartment floor, with no reason, no explanation. That was almost as bad as the initial cut.