Not Your Hero (3 page)

Fuck.
I can’t do this. I can’t start caring about her. She’s just a woman. A gorgeous, fuckable woman who is off-limits. Whom I can’t touch. But I did, and her face is soft, so soft. She’s sweet and kind, and I’m the opposite of those things.

I grab my keys off the hook in the garage and pull out of my driveway. It’s only nine in the morning, and I don’t know where I’m going. Just somewhere away from here.

“Can I get a dozen of the red roses?”

“Sure. You need a vase, too?” the perky teenager behind the counter asks.

“Nope. Just the flowers.”

“It’s forty even.”

I hand her the cash in exchange for my flowers.

When I arrive at the cemetery, I brush grass clippings and dirt off the nameplate then set the flowers on it.

Stella Monroe,
my mother.

I was doomed from the start. She died while giving birth to me, and my dad liked to remind me often that I was a murderer. Needless to say, my childhood was not fun. Everyone on the outside thought it was great. My dad is rich; he’s a great defense attorney—the best, actually. So he knows how to lie. He put on a front that he was a grieving widower and a doting single father. People didn’t see the hookers coming in and out of the back door or the belt marks on my back.

My mom’s parents knew my dad was an asshole and tried to get custody. It was laughable what he did to them in court. I read the transcripts after they died. He made them out to be senile and non-functioning elders, bringing in witnesses who fabricated stories about their cognizance while under oath.

I barely knew them, though they sent me cards at every holiday. They asked how I was, what I liked, how school was going. I would write back and prayed one day they would come and get me.

I sit in front of my mom’s grave and stare at her name. What would my life have been like if she’d made it? Would she have sheltered me from the cruelty of my dad? Had he always been such a bastard? Did he hit her, too?

I don’t talk when I come here because I don’t know what to say. She birthed me, but she certainly didn’t look down on me from heaven. Not only did I have to live with his wrath, but I also had to deal with every single person in my life using me for one reason or another. Whether it was to get drugs, money, or sex. Yeah, I was a bad kid. It was the only way I could say ‘fuck you’ to my dad. And I learned pretty quick all those kids were even more selfish than me, only being a ‘friend’ when they needed something.

Getting up, I dust off my jeans and remember the card in my pocket. I pull it out, and before I’m in my truck, I have the address of a very willing pussy. Fucking perfect.

“Didn’t think you’d call so soon.” Lisa sits on her front porch and tosses her half-smoked cigarette in the bushes.

“Me, neither.”

“Bad day?” She tilts her head and puts her hands on her hips.

“You could say that.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m not a talker either, but I thought it was the right thing to do.” She shrugs and walks in the house, leaving the door open for me to follow.

By the time I shut it and round the corner, she’s already naked, sitting on the armrest of her couch, waiting.

3

Courtney

“THANKS, MONA. I REALLY appreciate it.”

“Anytime, I love having him over. We’ll go to brunch then the noon movie tomorrow. I’ll bring him back after that.”

“All right.” I squeeze her hand and hold my arms out for Ben. He runs over to the couch and gives me a hug. I don’t get to spend enough time with him as it is with work, and now this. Mother of the fucking year, can’t watch her kid because she hurt her ankle at the strip club. Whatever progress I made resting my foot last night was undone when I jumped off the porch this morning. Mona thinks it’s just sprained. Of course, the only way to know for sure is to get an x-ray, but I don’t have the money to pay my deductible.

“I packed a microwavable mac-n-cheese for his supper.”

“I got it. Rest, ice, and ibuprofen. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mona shouts.

“Bye, Mommy!”

“Bye, Ben. Love you.”

“You, too.”

I wipe a tear when Mona shuts the front door. Last night and this morning wreaked havoc on my emotions. I love my son, and I’ll do anything for him. That includes degrading myself to make enough money to put food on the table. A grocery store clerk job is not enough to support us.

I question my decisions every day, but know that in the long run, this is my only option. And when I thought I lost him this morning? I would die without him. He’s my world. But I’m still so lonely.

Even though it’s only five, I grab a bottle of wine and go to the front porch. Mona brought me crutches and using one helps me walk.

The shared front porch is well maintained. Everything about Sam’s house is. He does a great job with all the upkeep. I really lucked out with him as a landlord. It doesn’t hurt that he’s gorgeous. And built. And sexy.

Sighing, I sit on the porch swing, open the bottle, and take a drink. The effects of the alcohol swirl in my veins since I rarely drink. Deciding it’s been long enough, and with liquid courage, I pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh. Courtney. Hi.” Her voice isn’t any more disappointed than I imagined it would be. “How are you, dear? How’s Benjamin?”

“We’re doing great. He started T-ball. He’s happy, I’m happy.” I lie about the last part.

Silence rings through the line, and I hold my breath, waiting.

“Do you have enough money? You could take him to court, you know?”

Here we go. Since the moment I found out I was pregnant, Matt, Benjamin’s father, wanted nothing to do with him or me. He called me a whore and a slut. Said there’s no way it could be his since we used condoms and kicked me out of our apartment.

I didn’t look back. Fuck. Him. If he didn’t want to be a part of our life, I wasn’t going to force him. My mother and father disagreed. We fight about it every time we talk. Which is why I only call her once a week. Luckily, she’s not clingy. So even though we live in the same city, I only see her once a month.

“Yes, I know. But like I’ve said a thousand times—I don’t want anything from him.”

“You could at least take his money. I understand that you don’t want to share custody, but Courtney, you could use it. Surely the grocery store isn’t paying you enough.”

Yeah, she doesn’t know that I work at a titty bar. Still, I struggle. I could make more if I took the stage, but I’m embarrassed enough about working as a waitress at X as it is.

“Do we have to do this every time? We disagree. Just leave it at that, please.” I’m begging, but I don’t care. I’m sick of the fighting and arguing.

“Fine. I have to go. Supper’s almost done and your dad should be home soon.”

“All right. Give my love to Dad. Bye, Mom.” I hang up without waiting for a reply and toss my cell on the empty spot next to me.

Clutching the wine and trembling, I bring the bottle to my lips for another drink. I may be a thirty-year-old woman, but not having the support of my parents eats me alive. We used to be close until they ganged up on me when I became pregnant, constantly questioning my decisions. So now, it’s just Ben and me. Alone.

Time passes and the sun starts to set. The bottle is empty and I pull my robe tighter, lying on my back to rest my eyes.

“Fuck.” A harsh whisper startles me, and I sit up. Except I forget I’m lying on a moving swing, and fall off, smacking my head on the wooden boards.

“Shit. You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I say. The last twenty-four hours couldn’t get any worse.

Rubbing my temple, I push up to see Sam standing inches from me. He squats down, like he did this morning to talk to Ben, and moisture instantly pools between my legs when his fingers graze the bump.

“Fuck, Courtney. I’m so damn sorry. I dropped my keys; I didn’t mean to scare you.” His mouth is tight and head tilted, assessing me.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” I stand, and my ankle doesn’t hurt. “Hey. Look at that.” I grab onto his shoulder and move my foot in circles. “Wine really does make everything better!”

Stumbling a little, I fall into him. His arm wraps around my waist to steady me. I don’t move away. Instead, I take another step closer, pressing my body into his. He’s so warm. And even through all his hard muscle, somehow he’s soft, like a giant, muscled teddy bear.

“Courtney.” I can feel him poking my stomach.

Tilting my head, our eyes connect, and I put my finger over his mouth. “Shh.”

I’m drunk. But I don’t care. I want to feel wanted. Even for the night. Grabbing his t-shirt, I push up and press my lips to his. He hesitates and steps back.

“No. I can’t.”

Tears well in my eyes at the rejection. “Oh. Okay. I get it.” I’m not good enough. Never am, I don’t know why I’m not surprised.

“Fuck.” He grabs my face and forces me to look at him, regret flashes in his eyes. “You don’t want me,” he says very slowly.

“It’s fine. I get it.” Already humiliated, I rip out of his grasp and turn. I need to get inside.

The front of his body presses against my back, and I find myself sandwiched between the door and him.

“No. You don’t get it. And that’s why I can’t.” Grinding his hips into me, a growl vibrates in his throat before his mouth is at my ear, menacing. “This is what I do. You want more than that. And I’m not capable of more than a fuck, Courtney.” God. His voice is so damn smooth; it gives me goosebumps.

Turning so I face him, I jab his chest with my finger, alcohol courage flowing through my veins. “How dare you?” He takes a step back, but I follow. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I want. Maybe that’s all I want. You’ve got enough women coming in and out of your place, what difference does it make if your pussy for the night lives next door?” I’m lying. I don’t want just a quick fuck. I want to be worshiped, held, made love to. I want someone to laugh with and to share a meal with. A partner.

He laughs—the cocky asshole laughs. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but I just got back from pussy. Loose pussy, but I’m not too picky. Plus,” he shrugs, “I don’t shit where I live, lady. Turn your fine ass around and go inside. You. Don’t. Want. Me.”

He walks down the steps without another word and peels away in his truck. Still shocked by his admission, I watch wide-eyed as his taillights fade.

Determination pushes me to limp in the house and change. Fuck him. I’m sick of letting a man determine my happiness. Matt wasn’t even the first guy to do it. Before that, I had two men who tried to control my life. You’d think I’d learn.

I’m going to do what every other red-blooded single woman does. I’ll go to the bar and bring home a drunk guy then we’ll have meaningless sex.

Digging through my closet, I pull out a short denim skirt and tight black tank top. My work shoes are the only heels I own, so I slip on the four-inch stilettos and apply red lipstick and midnight black mascara.

Not even ten minutes later, the cab I called drops me off in an almost empty parking lot, and I doubt my spur of the moment decision. It’s after one in the morning. What in the hell am I thinking? That Mr. Right is gonna waltz out of the corner bar and sweep me off my feet? Idiot.

Tears prick my eyes again, dammit. But this time, I don’t hold them back. Instead, crouching on the ground against a light pole, I let them fall.

Is it so wrong to feel wanted? I’m a mother first. But I’m still a woman. All I’m asking is to share my life with someone who will love me and not run off or assume they know what I want.

Footsteps startle me, and my heart thunders. I’m alone, in a parking lot in the middle of the night, dressed like a hooker. The steps get louder, and before I scream, Sam’s soothing words make me sob harder. “Baby, don’t cry.”

He leans down and scoops me up in his arms. I hold on willingly, knowing in my bones that he’s a good man. He would never hurt me, physically. Emotionally, that’s still up for debate. Yet, I can’t help the want swirling through my veins.

Setting me in the front seat of his truck, I manage to calm myself enough to ask what he’s doing.

“Taking you home.”

“Sam, I-”

“Stop. Not now. Let me get you home.”

Silently agreeing, I keep my eyes on his profile. His face remains impassive, and I wish he would talk. I’ve seen the glimpses of emotion hidden behind the mask. He feels something, even though he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

When the truck pulls to a stop in the driveway, I hop down and walk the best I can to the house. As I’m unlocking my door, he doesn’t stop me. But before I shut it, his hand grips the wood. Talking through the crack, I ask, “What, Sam? You made it clear you don’t want me. I don’t know what I was thinking going to the bar. It was a bad idea, and I’m grateful you had been there before I did something stupid. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen and-”

The door is wedged open, and the intensity in his face causes me to whimper.

“You think I don’t want you? Huh? You think my cock hasn’t been hard all fucking day thinking about you in that yellow top and panties from this morning?” He shuts the door and leans his head on it. “You think since I saw you at Club X I can’t get the image of your big, beautiful tits outta my mind?”

At my gasp, he lowers his head. “Yeah. I saw you. You pressed your chest into my back and told me I could take a shot-”

“That was you?” There was something oddly familiar about that man last night.

“Yeah. And like earlier tonight, I left.”

“Why?”

“I already told you.” Throwing his arms up, he lets out a growl of frustration.

“Right. You don’t want me.” Laughing, I take off my heels. “But you follow me to the bar, and comfort me when you see me crying.”

“I did not follow you to the bar. I was already there when the cab dropped you off.”

Shrugging him off, I flail my hands in the air. “Whatever. You put on this act like you’re some hardass who has no feelings. But I see you, Sam. I see your eyes soften when they look at Ben. If you really were so fucking heartless, you would have fucked me an hour ago.”

Confusion twists his face. “I never said I was heartless. But I am an asshole. I’m a selfish prick. I can’t offer you more than that.”