Imperfect Bastard

by Pamela Ann

  Not willing to address his statement, I thought it would be wiser to question how this process would proceed. In other words, where his fuckboy ways began and ended.

  “While you weigh this out, are you’re going to keep seeing other people?”

  “Why? Is that what you want?”

  Typical, answering a question with a question. My answer was both a yes and a no. A part of me wanted to see other people, too. Drew could wake up one day and realize he didn’t want me, after all.

  “How about I propose that we see other people without involving sex.” The last part was to ensure he wouldn’t continue his nighttime festivities, because he was one active fucker, pun intended.

  “You’re proposing this because you still want Spencer around.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Quite possibly.” It was neither right nor wrong, but a truthful maybe.

  “I don’t want him near you, Chloe. How many times do I have to keep telling you?” he whispered, his eyes glued to my lips, contemplating something. “What can I do to change your mind?”

  He was implying sex. Damn him for playing dirty.

  “Don’t use sex as a weapon to get what you want.”

  He brushed his lips along my cheek until he reached my ear and said, “I can and I will to protect what’s mine.” His possessiveness made me want him all the more. “Do you still remember how it feels to have my cock inside you, Chloe?”

  Cock.

  He just said cock, and my pussy became sopping wet. Drew had never once spoken to me in such a way before. I couldn’t help being turned on by his crudeness.

  “I remember the sting, but you took me gently. You were very cautious …” I recalled the time I had seen him with that model in his room and the blinding jealousy that had consumed me every time I thought of him with another woman. “But I know you don’t fuck like that. You fuck like you’re owning them, marking them as yours so they keep coming back.”

  “You’re different,” he stated with guarded eyes. “You’re not like them. I don’t want to treat you like you’re one of them.”

  “But sex is better with them. That’s why you can easily resist me: because you can get it better elsewhere.” Jealousy was a lousy bitch.

  “It’s not like that at all—” His phone rang loudly, interrupting us. We waited for what seemed like an eternity until it went to voicemail, and just when he was about to resume his speech, it went off again.

  “You really should get that.”

  “Fuck.” He exasperatedly pulled out his phone, checking whom the caller was, and unknowingly, a fat wad of crisp Benjamins flew out of his pocket.

  My eyes bulged out. It could have easily been about ten to fifteen grand right there—in his pocket. Who in their right mind carried that much money in their pocket? More to the point, where was he getting all this money from? I knew he had a small inheritance after his mom died, but with tuition costs and living expenses, I doubted there would be much left to be rolling in the deep like he was.

  While he busied himself with a text to whomever it was, I slowly shifted my foot so I didn’t have to put pressure on the bad one while I bent to pluck the brand new money off the carpet. It was so new it still bore the scent of newly printed money. I should know since my grandmother used to gift me three hundred dollars each birthday with brand new bills. She was cute and quirky like that with a sense of humor to match.

  “I’m sorry about that.” He sighed, looking up and seeing me holding the money in my hands.

  “It fell out of your pocket.” Handing him back his cash, I watched as he placed it back in his jeans along with the phone. “You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?” My voice shook as I gazed worriedly at him.

  He was perplexed and insulted. “You can’t be seriously asking me that?”

  “I am, actually.” Serious as a heart attack.

  “No, Chloe, I’m not doing anything illegal.” He blew out a breath, looking at me with a contorted expression. “Wow, I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “I’m sorry, but it worries me, you know. After your mom and grandma died, I’m sure it’s been hard for you. I mean, if you need anything, Dad would be more than happy to help. You know he would.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t need anyone’s charity,” he said in a clipped tone.

  It was a touchy subject, and I felt awful for questioning him, but someone had to. He practically had no family left.

  “Why are you home? Didn’t you guys watch basketball? Where’s Jacks?” Here was to hoping that changing subjects would make that astonished look on his face disappear. I couldn’t stand him thinking that I thought lowly of him.

  “Why am I home?” he asked in a far-away, distant voice, as if he couldn’t fathom why, either. “I had this idea that maybe I should stop by and bring you some dinner before I went out to meet some friends for a drink.” He pointed toward the paper bag that had been left on the floor, the very spot where he had stood to confront Spencer and me. “It looks like you’ve already had dinner, so you can keep it in the fridge or throw it away if you want.” He was becoming distant. I could feel him pulling away from me, and I had no idea how to stop it.

  “Thank you for thinking of me. I’ll have it for lunch.” A strained smile crossed my lips. “Why don’t you join me tomorrow? We can watch a movie right after. We can do more things once this is off on Friday.” Meaning the cast.

  “I can’t tomorrow. I’m actually going away for a week. Tonight was about bringing you dinner and also to tell you this.”

  The familiar helplessness I perpetually felt with him came back full-force.

  “Where are you going?”

  He became unreadable. It was impossible to detect anything from those fathomless eyes.

  He waited a beat or two, directing a nonchalant look at me. “For school and work-related stuff.” He couldn’t be more ambiguous with his response.

  “You work? Since when? You never once mentioned it.” I would have remembered if he had. How could I not know? We had been living under the same roof for over two months, and not once had I suspected he had a job. If he had aimed to aggravate me, he had been successful.

  His phone beeped once again, making me want to tear it from his hands and silence it forever.

  While texting back to whomever, he barely glanced at me. “It’s not a job per say, but it’s all for experience. I’m basically studying and shadowing someone while they’re on the job.”

  “Like …?” Fishing was not my thing, but he wasn’t being forthcoming.

  While putting the phone away for the second time, he briskly stated, “Usual work stuff.”

  Damn you. Double damn you!

  “Right.”

  He let out a sigh. “I better get going.”

  Yeah, why don’t you? This is what you’re good at—fucking with my head all the goddamn time!

  “You really should. You don’t want to keep them waiting. Not everyone is patient like I am.” My eyes challenged him to say something, anything that indicated we were on the same level, the same mindset … but it was to no avail. He had blocked me off. I could feel it right in my bones. He was such an unforgiving bastard.

  Taking the remote from where Spencer had dropped it earlier, I pressed play then grabbed the champagne bottle from the coffee table and took a large, lengthy gulp.

  “Please behave while I’m gone,” I heard him say.

  Keep up with the distance. I don’t care anymore.

  “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” If he was fed up, so was I.

  Through my peripheral vision, I could see him stare at me, but I completely ignored him. He stayed like that for a good five minutes before he took his cue, leaving without a word, without a sound, just like he always had in my life. I was so immune to all of it that I couldn’t even bring myself to shed a tear.

  In my mind, I knew he would most likely be surrounded by women tonight and doing God knew what with them. It was hard to accept
that I was merely that woman on the side for security when I was the one person who had consistently been loyal to him and loved him through it all. Yeah, he was going to have the shock of a lifetime when he got back. Gone were the pining days.

  Once this cast was discarded, I was going to revive my life. It was time to live again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Almost every night, I hung out with Chuey and Manolo. It seemed they were my only friends around here, and they didn’t mind that I tagged along. We became so close that, when the cast finally came off—thank goodness since I was on a verge of a meltdown—Manolo declared he would switch his schedule so we could go out and celebrate. Coming from someone I barely knew, though he was genuinely as happily relieved as I was, it meant a great deal to me. There was an emotional breakthrough that was about to happen, and to have someone there by my side meant more than words could say.

  Right after the doctors, we headed straight to lunch in the cozy, boutique-esque little gem named Serendipity. Ever since I had seen that movie with the same namesake, I had always pictured Kate Beckinsale waiting like in the movie with her frozen hot chocolate.

  “Have you heard from our boyfriend?” Manolo asked the moment we finished ordering.

  Drew, since the night they had dropped me off, had been regarded as my “boyfriend.” He had apparently become our boyfriend the moment they’d decided they, too, found him just as irresistible. It was all sorts of funny. I bet there were tons of people who liked him as I did; what was two more flamboyant gays in the mix?

  I shook my head. “No.” I hadn’t heard from Drew, and I didn’t expect him to reach out. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

  “He keeps you in suspense. Es mui romantic,” Chuey giddily chirped as he clapped his hands. “He es so hot, I die.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. Though he looked bulky and strong, his personality was the total opposite. He was all mushy and gooey on the inside and a hopeless romantic.

  “It’s not romantic. He’s … well, you know. I honestly don’t think he likes me like that. We flirt and all, and at times, we get physical, but on his terms. When it comes down to it, he backs away. There’s a major reason for that. It’s hard to accept the truth after all these years, but he just won’t love me the way I love him.” A chaotic, tragic love story was what I had with him.

  Manolo shook his head. “He’s blind. You’re a beautiful mamacita. Don’t let him think you’re not.”

  It was sweet of him to take the effort to make me feel a bit better. Still, the fact remained the same, unchanged.

  “He only goes for models—well, cheerleaders before he upgraded, but you know … He has a certain type.” Thin. Striking. And utterly gorgeous. Anyone with eyes could tell I was none of those.

  Manolo took a sip of his iced tea before grabbing his phone and glancing my way. “What’s his Instagram?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Que? What you mean you have no idea?” He seemed confused, outraged even.

  Why did he find it so appalling?

  “I have Facebook.” Which hasn’t been used in the past six to eight months.

  He shook his head with his hand over his chest, eyes furiously blinking, acting like I had told him I had a penis. “Facebook is for boring cha-chas. Fun, pussy high in the sun is Instagram. Girl, you gotta upgrade that shit.”

  Jesus, did he just imply my genitals were depressing? Whatever. Not that it mattered, not to me, anyway.

  “I’ll check it out later.” Everyone had Facebook, so who needed Instagram, Twitter, or Snapchat? I mean, how many places did one need to connect with friends? You could only bombard them with what you had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner in your new shoes so many times before they clicked on that unfriend/unfollow button because they were sick of it.

  Besides, I preferred to have a little mystery instead of someone knowing everything about me with just a click of a button. If a man wanted to get to know me and what I was made of, the dude had to work harder than that.

  Manolo glared at me before raising that ultra-thick dark brow of his that put mine to shame. “What you mean ‘later’? Now, Chloe, now. We have to hunt boyfriend down and see if he’s being a good boy, sí?”

  Must I? It made me a bit nauseous to be quite honest.

  “I don’t think he even has one.” That, too, but I would rather not dig, because most of the time, those things bit back … hard, fangs and all.

  Chuey nodded in agreement before taking my hand. “If he dates models, you bet his beautiful face and that sexy culo of his that he has it. Haay papi, culo de encanto…” He sighed, drawling and drooling at the thought of Drew’s butt. He was particularly obsessed with it.

  It was funny how these two were just as invested as I was in Drew. The man simply had that effect.

  “Yeah, yeah, but if he only hurts her, no sexy butt is worth it,” Manolo pointed out.

  “Maybe es bad idea,” Chuey thought out loud, swiftly changing his stance. “You know, maybe there’s calaveras …” He shivered, looking as if he had drunk rotten milk.

  Shaking my head, I decided to get through with it, so I downloaded the app. Then I typed in his name to no avail. I was almost convinced he wasn’t the kind to do social media.

  Taking a chance with my brother’s name, I didn’t have difficulty finding his profile. There were tons of pictures, and I tapped on the one that had the Knicks photo and surprise, surprise, he had tagged the picture with someone who just happened to be Drew.

  Upon tapping on his name, his page loaded with photos that catalogued bits and pieces of his life. And boy, was I in for a rude awakening. Biting my lip, I heard the men in the background, asking what I had found, but I couldn’t focus on anything except where my eyes were glued.

  Everything in me pounded as I stared at the screen in disbelief and horror. His latest picture had been taken twelve hours ago. He was obviously out of it. You could tell by that dazed look in his eyes as he smiled at whoever had taken the pic while a woman nibbled on his earlobe.

  Had they fucked? It was the first thought that entered my mind. Maybe not before this photo had been taken, but I was willing to bet with everything I had that they had right after.

  His pictures were riddled with partying and models galore, all in the same black and white theme. They also showcased just how much I didn’t know about this part of his life. Of course, I knew he partied more often than not, but I had no idea how he partied. Heck, I’d had no idea he smoked, either. There was a picture of him blowing out smoke with a beautiful woman opening her mouth, capturing all of its intoxicating, cancer-laden essence. Playboy would be too mild to describe him.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to close the app and shut the screen off, beyond distraught and shattered.

  “You found him, didn’t you?” Manolo curiously eyed me before gasping out loud as if he could see through me. “What did you find?”

  “A lot.” Too much.

  “It’s that juicy?” Chuey bit his lip with a facial expression that conveyed how much he hated how I had been hurt. At the same time, I could tell he was dying to know what Drew had been up to. “Ooh, papi’s been a bad boy.”

  “Too juicy.” A saddened smile couldn’t ease the tightness in my chest. However, I had gotten so used to this feeling that I somehow wasn’t overwhelmed.

  Manolo took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. We’ll make him pay.”

  “With what?” I asked, smiling. How could I not smile at that?

  “What you feel now.” Chuey nodded, as if conjuring a plan. “Mano a mano.”

  They always used a lot of Spanish words. It was hard to follow sometimes.

  “I don’t follow,” I said just as I took a careful sip of my iced lemon water.

  “Chuey’s saying you should find a guy to get juicy with, too,” Manolo interjected with his eyebrows twitching up and down, as if it were the greatest of ideas.

  I choked so hard some of the water almost went out of my no
se. “You guys are adorable, but this chick doesn’t get juicy with anyone else, okay? I mean, I don’t even know how to do that. I suck at these things.”

  “Forget boyfriend. We find you a fresh new papi.” Chuey clapped once again.

  Manolo nodded. “I agree. You need to.”

  My eyes flickered between the two Hispanics before me, looking at them as though their idea was going to suck big time. “Sure, that’s easy.” Not. But whatever. We would see.

  Apparently, they wanted to go shopping right afterward, and I couldn’t very well decline them since I had been meaning to update my wardrobe. What I didn’t realize was how much this afternoon would be about me. Shopping, actually, was the least on their list. Their top priority was taking me to one of their stylist friends in Soho who’d agreed to take me at a moment’s notice. His appointment book usually was so full it would take someone weeks to get in. However, since he was trying to date Manolo, the poor guy had decided to skip his lunch break just to take care of me.

  Hung—I kid you not that was his name—trimmed the ends of my hair for maintenance before changing my virgin natural brunette to auburn. At first, I wasn’t convinced, but after I saw the full effect, I had a monumental moment.

  Not only did my skin look good, but my eyes, my amber eyes had never looked so alive, like golden, liquid honey. I couldn’t stop admiring myself with a new perspective. I look hot. The hottest I had ever been in my life.

  “You look like a goddess,” Hung stated as he fluffed the ends of my hair. “Take her to get a great rouge lipstick that will go well with her hair and a good red dress that will accentuate her assets. There’ll be no straight man safe in the streets of New York when they see her walk by.”