Unsocial (14 page)

To
avoid the rejection as long as I can and hold onto this moment of having her in
my arms, I bend my head to her neck, breathe her scent in, and kiss the place
just below her ear, “Brooke, just stay for dinner.  Spend time with me, and the
kids,” I add.  Then we can have a beer and talk before you go home.”  I feel
her shiver when I press my lips against the shell of her ear and whisper,
“Please, Brooke, I want you…to stay… for dinner and conversation.”

She
bends forward and presses her face briefly into my chest.  “I just can’t. 
You’re right, I want to.  I want to, so much, but I have to think about my job,
my career.  There’s a line I can’t cross, even though it seems I am coming
awfully close at times.”  Her voice is tortured which only confirms; she feels
this too.

“Who
the fuck is going to know if you stayed for dinner, or whatever happens between
us, Brooke.  Nobody’s here; it’s just us.  The kids aren’t going to say
anything.  They love it when you’re here.”  I’m begging, and I’ve never begged
for a girl.

“I’ll
know, Dylan.  I have to, at least,
try
to remain professional.  I can’t
risk hurting the future you’re trying to build with them, and I cannot risk my
career.” She’s pleading for me to understand, but I ignore it.

She
pulls back; I know I’ve lost.  “I’m gonna tell the kids bye.”  She reaches for
my hand to get my attention, but I won’t look at her. 
Who the fuck knew I
didn’t take rejection from a woman well
?  She gives it a squeeze and tells
me she’ll see me next week. I don’t miss how she holds onto me just a little
longer than she needs to and knowing she wants me to; I just get angrier.  I
know she wants this, but she’s going to fight it.  I should respect it, I
should be adult about it, but I just don’t give a rat’s ass because I want
Brooke fucking Porter.

Then
I resign myself that it’s not going to happen because of her career and our
stupid fucked up situation, and I need to find a way to get past this
attraction I have for my fucking social worker.  Which leads me to call Jackson
after the dishes get done, homework is checked, and the kids are in bed.  I
text him that we are going out Thursday, and he immediately lets me know how
happy that makes him.  He’s been missing his wingman.  I’m just missing the
feel of a soft,
willing
body.

Thursday
night Jackson and I are checking out the easy pickings that make up the women
clientele of the dive bar close to Jackson’s new condo.  Seriously, this joint
is called the Shake Shack.  I don’t ask Jax how he found it; the important
thing for me right now is getting drunk, and getting one, or two, of these
overblown poster models for STDs, to go back to Jax’s place.  I’ve been eyeing,
really the only piece of ass that’s gotten my attention, as she gyrates on the
dance floor.

She
looks up and catches my eye, and I give her a head jerk inviting her to join my
little party.  After making her way through the crowd, she slides onto the
stool close to mine at our table.  She’s tall, built like sex on legs with
those big fake tits that are a firm hold while she rides you.  Her hair’s long
enough to grab handfuls of while I fuck her from behind, which is always good
for me.  I don’t have to worry about overly zealous skanks who like to kiss. I
do
not
kiss
.

I’ve
got just enough of sober left in me to know she looks nothing like Brooke,
which is fan-fucking-tastic because I’m here to forget about her.  In fact, she
shouldn’t even be in my head right now.  All I need to do is figure out how
fast I can get this bitch back to Jackson’s, get her naked, get off, and get
her the fuck gone.  Thankfully, I’ve got my never-fail out in the form of four
kids at home, and it’s not even a lie.  It’s obvious she’s on the same page
about not wasting fucking time because her hands are exploring everything they
can get to in the middle of this meat market. She’s not shy, and frankly, I’m
feeling a little disgusted.  I’m just too goddamn pissed off and horny to give
a shit.

I
lean over and ask her if she wants another drink, which thankfully she
declines.  Now it’s just a matter of leading her four blocks down the road to
Jackson’s condo, where I plan on fucking this chick until Brooke’s just a pain
in my ass again that shows up on Tuesdays.  There she is a-fucking-gain.  Time
to get this shit on and done.  She sticks her face in my neck and asks me my
name, which I ignore with a seductive smile before leading her out of the bar. 
I look at Jackson, who gives me a thumbs up.  Earlier he gave me his extra key
for just this situation.  I’ve noticed all night the curious glances over my
desperation to drink and fuck tonight, but I’m not about to share with him
about Brooke.

Once
inside the front door of Jackson’s, Sandy or Candy, whatever the fuck she said
her name was, doesn’t waste a minute getting her hands and mouth on me. 
Finally, something easy.  This chick has a fucking mouth like a Hoover on
steroids.  She’s latched onto my neck hard enough to put a vampire to shame. 
And her hands are doing some amazingly fast work in getting my shirt unbuttoned
and off.  Obviously, I need to help her, which isn’t much, because she has a
tube top that comes down easily under her breasts and a skirt so short it takes
no effort to slide it up to meet the top, easy peasy.  The best part, the bitch
has no panties. Seriously, no class whatsoever, which I know doesn’t say a
whole hell of a lot about me, but what the fuck.  I’m a young, single dude with
needs that have been neglected way too long, and all the sucking and rubbing
has my cock all kinds of ready to play.

Brooke’s
scowling face floats in front of mine while cheap-and-easy is working her
overly developed suction cup of a mouth down my chest.  Brooke would hate her. 
I blink away her image and concentrate on the top of the head that’s working
its way to what’s behind my zipper, and once again assist in keeping things
going on the fast track that’s going to get me balls deep in her.  I open my jeans
because I’m sick of the foreplay and wasting time on this.  I just need to fuck
and flee, ASAP, but first things first. I want to feel that mouth that could
probably suck start my Harley around my dick.  “On your knees.”

She
peeks up at me from underneath her fake lashes, “Yes, sir.”  Too easy.  Now she
turns the vacuum on overdrive and goes to town on my cock. Thank you, Jesus,
for girls like this.  When I get close, I decide I’ve had enough, because she’s
decided it’ll drive me crazy to use a little teeth.  The problem is, I don’t
know how drunk she is, and I’m not letting her unleash her teeth around my
junk. 

I
pull her up and tell her to lean over the back of the couch.  I’ve decided I’ve
seen enough of her pancake-batter face.  I’m used to Brooke’s clean, fresh
look, and looking at this girl is going to kill my hard on.  She was way better
looking across a dark bar.  I get a condom out of my wallet, roll it on, and
get ready to pound out a quick fuck between this girl’s legs. I need this.  I
need to forget about the kids for the next few minutes.  I need to forget about
wanting Brooke Porter.  I need to forget about the hours it's taking to get the
business off the ground.  I need to remember what it felt like to be single and
free and not having to give a fuck about another human being 24 hours a day,
and this girl is going to help me do all that while I get my rocks off.  I have
no idea why I’m rationalizing what I’m about to do.  “Are you ready,” I ask
her.

“God
yes, baby.  I’m so ready for you.”

“Don’t
call me baby.  Just lean over and get ready for hard and fast, got it?”

“Whatever. 
Just fuck me, handsome.”

“Don’t
say another fucking word until you tell me goodbye,” I say as I slam into her
from behind.  I listen to her overly exaggerated sounds of enthusiasm while I
give it to her in quick strokes.  I feel the tingling in the base of my spine,
I’m close.  But her noise is killing my dick’s attention.  “Shut up,” I growl. 
I lean over her back to try at a different angle to get to the finish quicker,
and it hits me how different she smells from Brooke’s clean scent.  I back the
fuck off, but Brooke’s face doesn’t leave my mind, and just like that, the
thought of Brooke, and I’m ready to come.  A few more strokes, and unload in my
Magnum.

I
look at the back of this random stranger who I’ve spent the last half hour
fucking, and the strangest fucking feeling rolls through me.  A feeling I’ve
never in my 12 years of unattached sexual conquest moves from a place in my
chest and works its way to my brain, and I don’t like it, guilt.  Not guilt that
I fucked this chick blind or the fact I’m fixing to show her to the door as
soon as her skirts down and her tops up, no this is the guilt of a man who
feels like he just fucked over one of the best people in his life.

I
know the guilt is useless because Brooke has no plans of jeopardizing her
career for a relationship with me, but damn if I feel like I need to avoid
fuckups like this, just in case she comes around.  I know Brooke.  This shit
would make her so disappointed in me, and that’s the last thing I want in this
world, to let down Brooke.  Man, I need to get a grip.  Really, what exactly do
I see happening with Brooke? Even though she’s got this hold on me and I can’t
get the thought of getting her in my bed out my head, I have no clue what would
happen next.  I’m not a relationship kind of guy.  I’m not marriage material. 
Shit, I’m doing everything I can to get through this ready-made family that’s been
thrown in my lap.  I don’t have the time or even the know-how of what a
relationship takes. 
Do I?
 

I
step inside Jax’s guest bathroom and clean myself up.  I shoot a text letting
him know I’m taking a taxi back home.  I don’t want to see him or have him ask
twenty questions about tonight’s chick.  I take one last look in the mirror and
notice some bruising around my neck.  It looks like the bitch sucked hard enough
to draw blood. What I see curls my lip in disgust, and I turn away from my
image.

I
need to wipe what just happened out of my head.  I need to go home and back to what
is now my life. I have responsibilities now, and I can’t ignore those.  I want
to go back to my new family, Tuesday evenings spent cooking with Brooke and
nights checking homework and making sure everyone is in bed.  I want texts from
Brooke telling me what to put on my shopping list or to relax about shit I seem
to get myself worked up over.  “FUCK!  What have I done?” I look in the mirror
and try to recognize the man that’s staring back at me after fucking some woman
I don’t know the name of, and I’ll never see again while my mind is completely
wrapped around another.  I can’t reconcile the two, but one thing is for sure,
tonight they both fucked up.

And
because I don’t seem to be able to stop torturing myself enough, I open a text
message that I missed earlier from Brooke.

Brooke: 
Dylan, I just wanted to let you know I talked some more with Cassie about her
date.  She promises that Brent is nice, and she isn’t going to do anything
stupid.  She’s not ready for that kind of relationship yet.  So see, we just
need to have a little faith in her.  And about Tuesday, you’re right.  As soon
as I left I wanted to go back in and spend the evening with you guys.  This attraction
between us is all so much, and I’m confused.  But if the invite is still open,
I would love to stay for dinner on Tuesday.

And
if I haven’t twisted the knife deep enough, I read the next sent just an hour
ago.

Brooke: 
I think you may be mad because you’re not texting me back, and you always text
me back.

I
can’t leave her wondering, so I guiltily answer.

Dylan: 
I’m not mad.  I’m hanging with Jax and missed your text.  We’ll talk later. 
Goodnight.

This
foreign emotion is messing with my head, and as I read the short message I
returned, I instantly regret even answering.  There’s no way she’s not going to
think something’s not right.

Regrettably
Friday is here, Cassie’s first date.  I had a conversation earlier with Luke,
who couldn’t answer any questions about this Brent.  He doesn’t know a hell of
a lot about him because he’s new, and he plays basketball and not football.  Obviously,
both being sports doesn’t mean shit; the athletes just don’t mix.  I just hope like
hell he’s on the up and up because I don’t want to have to kill a kid.  I’m in
a pissy fucking mood, and he had better make a damn good impression or a new
dress or not, my sister isn’t getting in a car with him.

“Dude,
what the fuck is the matter with you?  You would think after banging the hot
blond last night you would be in a better fucking mood.”  If he doesn’t shut
the fuck up about last night, I’m going to deck my best friend.

I
don’t want to think about last night and the decision I drunkenly made to fuck
some random bar bitch from a bar.  I can’t stop thinking about Brooke’s text or
the cloud of disappointment that’s floating above me.  I want to undo about
four hours of last night, the four hours I spent drinking myself to stupid and
falling in some random pussy.  I just know I never want Brooke to find out
about it.  I couldn’t take the disgust that would surely park itself in her
eyes whenever she looks at me.

Luke
and Cassie have just come home from the game, and she flies downstairs to get
ready for the dance.  I begged Luke to go to keep an eye on her.  I even
offered him money, then finally broke down and offered to let him drive my
car.  The little shit refused.  He offered me a ‘fuck no, I’m not hanging with
those losers’ instead of getting to drive my car.  But he was sure happy to use
it when he informed me he would be hitting the after parties, he got a ‘fuck
no’ in return.  God, he reminds me of me at that age. The only dance I went to
was prom, and I left that early.