by D. M. Burns
Clipping her spirit was the last thing I wanted to do that night. I hurt her, soul deep. And that fucking knowledge annihilated me. Busting up my corporate warlord façade and rearranging it to resemble that of a dethroned and defeated undeserving dick.
I followed the trail of her mind's mental whispers and cornered her off in that cloakroom. Hearing her hurt and confusion fucked with me fatally. Finding myself closed in those four walls adorned with expensive coats on New Year’s Eve, battling it out with my self-discipline to do what was right damn near wasted me.
And if all of that wasn’t a fucked up enough scenario, the literal ball was dropped on your boy for sure shortly after. Little did I know that the best had yet to come. An atomic bomb of the worse kind. That fucking kiss.
That’s something that I haven’t been able to block out, oh-no. That kiss she shared with Channing started off this year epically. I tried to talk myself out of following them, I really did. Cowering and hiding out in a corner of that god damn ballroom. I knew better but my demons don’t give a shit what my mind has to say anymore when it comes to her.
In all honesty, I asked for it but fuck, I wasn’t mentally prepared for the sight. Of him. Of Her. That kiss. Those are my god damn lips, not his to claim. Every time Channing slid his hands over her body my jawline popped out in a painful protest. The way she laughed and smiled for him was nothing like what she gives over to me. But I heard her. Oh, yeah-I heard my Southern Comfort. She wanted me. The joy I felt over that should be wrong but far from it.
My gut twisted with the knowledge that I was like the outsider intruding in on something special that only they shared. Which I technically was but fuck him. The motherfucker that is my brother didn’t waste any time slinking in on what’s mine. God damn it…
I’ve got to keep my head in the game. I’m constantly reminding myself on the moves that I’m allowed to make in order to stay the course. On the only path that matters. That righteous one that keeps Brealyn breathing. Here with me. That don’t touch, don’t fell, don’t partake bullshit. We’re both tiptoeing around like two barefoot kids in a china store after an earthquake trying not to get cut. It seems fucking impossible.
There’s more to this shit, I feel it. My sixth sense is keen. I’m working on compiling the facts and filtering through the fuckery that surrounds Channing. Something is missing here. What makes that motherfucker the better brother to swoop in and take my spot? Her shared visuals had a deadly conclusion, true. But is that really from a life with me or the results of that bastard wading in? I’m having a hard time making sense of this, but I will.
When I’m standing in front of Carson’s door, I turn the knob silently and slowly toe it open. The first thing I see is Carson seated at his desk, with his elbows positioned on the wood plank. He’s bumping his gums at the blonde-headed woman seated across from him. I can only assume that this is supposedly the woman carrying around his future clown. I get nothing more than a view of the back of her head. Which suits me just fine. I don’t need to see her face to do what I need to.
I might not show emotion for my red-headed lucky charm’s situation, but I do care for this little asshole, sorta. This guy and I go way back. He knew I’d toss out a helping hand or hints to the truth where it’d be beneficial and needed the most. His green globes find me, and I give him a chin lift. I got you, you little sperminator of dumbass dick decisions.
Leaning into the door, I mutely open my mind to this fucked for life scene should Carson become familiar with the words YOU ARE THE FATHER. Sentenced to child support hell because of poor choices and careless nuts. If he loved her it’d be different but that’s not the case. Carson loves pussy in variety, period.
THE woman meant for him has yet to come along. But when that happens, I want to be there in attendance, popcorn in hand. It should be fun to watch. It’ll be like observing a shit scene of Bozo the Clown getting his nuts dissected. Much like Carson has enjoyed viewing my Southern Comfort fall from grace, little fucker.
“Gotta tell you, I sure as hell was shocked to hear from you last night. How do you know the baby is mine, Sterling?” Carson’s tone is laced with a great deal of discomfort. I tune him out and bow my head waiting for it.
“Well, I haven’t been with anyone other than you.” Her high-pitched voice grates against my nerves. But the sound is amplified in my head when I hear her silent truths. Devious little cunt coat that she is.
If you don’t count my regular weekly side dick, Mick. Oh, and there’s also Tony. Plus, Mathew and Clayton too. But that’s it. I think, wait, let me think… Hmmm. Yeah, that’s all. I bet I could get that pre-monthly child support and rent out of this dude too. Damn, Carson is going to be my best baby daddy dicking scam of the year. Who knew that he’d turn out to be one of the fabulous five and none other than the Wallstreet God’s sidekick? That’s money in the bank.
At first, I want to fuck with my lucky rabbits’ foot. Watch him turn a nice shade of powder white to match the assclown getup that he rightfully deserves to display for dating a bimbo bitch on the lookout for bankable bullshit such as this. We’ve had endless discussions over the caliber of women to associate with. This one seated in front of him being the typical go-to example of where not to stick your dick. Then again, I’m not really one to give dating advice or reprimand him. Just look at Cassia or Natalie. Jesus Christ.
“How far along are you?” Carson asks. “Because if I recall correctly it was over three months ago and I wore protection.”
My rent is due next month. Time to put those acting classes to good use. That has me suppressing a chuckle. Where the fuck did Car meet this one at? The bargain backyard Broadway show for bitches…
“Well, condoms aren’t guaranteed. You’ve got to know that and I’m precisely three months along.” Carson smiles wide and sits back in his chair. Those familiar four-leaf clovers venture over to me and I shake my head no. Indicating to him that he’s in the child support custody clear.
“That’s funny because we actually went out less than two months ago. Figured I’d tossed that fictitious date out there just to gauge a reaction, Sterling.” He chuckles and blondie is speechless. “Your lying and you need to go.” He didn’t need me after all.
Holly shit… That’s a fucking relief. I think it’s time I start looking for a wife or at least a steady piece to sink my dick into. A familiar likeminded female. No more one-night stands. Plus, I think I’ll grab my BRO a bottle of that Southern Comfort bullshit he’s become so fond of here lately. I chuckle at my best friend with his bullshit steady piece declaration. Because that’s exactly what it is, bullshit.
I quietly turn my ass around exiting that scene before it turns violent. Which it will, just as soon as whatever the fuck her name is learns that the only thing her visit today awards her with is two security guards looking to toss her ass out of The House of Creed.
As I approach Brealyn’s office, I notice the door is still closed and I’m over this shit. I look over my shoulder to confirm no one is around. My curiosity compels me to invade her privacy, sue me. When I see no one shuffling about I fade out slipping through the barrier wall to find my little butterfly lost in thought.
She’s staring at her computer screen in a trance-like state. I maneuver around to catch a glimpse at what has her so enthralled. My ice whites take in the colorful picture before me. Hell, it’s several snapshots of us. Our time spent together at Rockefeller when I took her to see the tree.
I never made good on my word when I agreed to that one-on-one interview with Christopher as long as he made the cameras disappear. I desperately wanted to enjoy our night out together in peace. In all honesty, it slipped my mind with everything that’s taken place. Now it looks like the news reporter decided to cash out on my personal life by running the only story he had.
Normally, this would piss me off but looking at these pictures brings a smile to my face. Something that has become a rarity for me here lately, without her. The headline reads, “The
Wallstreet God Brings in the Christmas Holidays with Southern Sweetness.”
The picture shows my arms locked around her waist and her head is thrown back in blissful laughter. Brealyn’s face is angelic and exudes happiness. I remember that moment in detail. It was right after she told me she wanted a wiener. My lips tip up at that walk down wiener winter lane. She scrolls down to another picture where I have her face cradled in my hands and we’re kissing.
Fuck, I want to feel her lips on mine again, her body-every fucking thing her. Brea reaches out, running her fingertips over the outline of my face like she’ll somehow feel my facial features through the screen. Then she drops it down and sighs a sad sound.
When she decides to scroll down to the next picture it darkens the mood around us both. A snapshot of me and Natalie walking into the Sky Lounge on New Year’s Eve comes into view. Fuck… Brea slouches back into her chair and her button nose scrunches up at what she sees. Hell, those are my sentiments exactly. Brea would be delighted in the knowledge that I left that cunt coat at the party in my hast to follow her.
Cautiously leaning in, I smell her turn-style multiple-choice lotion scent for the day. The fragrance is similar to typical pineapple and that makes me want to slide my lips over her neck. Catching a taste for her mixed with that sweet lotion. When her head snaps to the side seemingly staring into my eyes, I know it’s time for me to go and leave her be. I stand to my full height while peering down at her. Those deep blue oceans follow my careful movement.
My hand twitches to reach out, softly brush my thumb across her cheek and continue into her hair while pulling those perfect welcome mats out to greet mine in a searing kiss. One that would surely open up sex acts across her table behind me. But I know that’d do neither of us any good in the long run.
“God, please help me. I smell him and sense him all the time. Make it stop.” She whispers and covers her hands over her face. “I’m losing my mind.” When her shoulders start to quietly shake with silent sobs my heart hollows. The fuck am I doing?
This is what I do to her, torture… Shit. Shaking my head in frustration, I cage my desires off to the far corner of my mind and do what I’ve been doing for the last two weeks. What’s best for her. I leave the building and return to my penthouse staying far the hell away from a beautiful butterfly.
chapter 4
Breayln
“Come on… Drinksssss Pleaseeeee. I need a hefty freaking drink, Brea-bee.” Max says as he slaps his hand over the bar trying to gain the bartender's attention.
“I don’t want to hear your whiny ass tonight. I’ve been waiting for both of you for over an hour.” Tam says. She smiles as she lifts her alcoholic beverage to her mouth sucking a hefty amount back through her straw.
“You can shut up.” Max points at her through the middleman passageway that is me. I’m stuck between them at our stool positioned seating. “Any HO that’s been living it up at not one, but two tropical destinations over the holidays while we’re,” He motions between his body and mine using his thumb, “sanctioned off in the frigid temps of New York can suck it. You have no opinion or valid objection right now, Tam.”
Tamera pops the straw out of her mouth and smiles deviously then says, “I am sucking it Max, and considering your shitty attitude, I can only conclude that someone else here needs sucking too.”
The giggle that bubbles out of my chest is airborne before I can help it. Tam’s skin is bronzed by the heavenly beaches that her photo shoots location awarded her. She’s drop-dead gorgeous. Those ice-blue eyes spear out at Max and he wrinkles his nose at her.
“That may be the case.” Max shrugs. “It’s been a shitty New Year so far.”
“What’s wrong, Maxie Pooh?” I ask as the bartender sets my vodka and cranberry selection in front of me. It’s not the Billionaire label but my mouth waters in anticipation to toss it back.
“I had to break up with Derrick,” Max says with a frown.
Is it bad that I don’t know who Derrick is? I’m a shitty friend. Starting today, I’m going to work harder at my friendly duties and obligations.
“Care to elaborate?” Tam quirks her eyebrow in question.
“He had a tiny penie.” Max holds up his pinky and says, “This digit I’m holding up is bigger, okay.” My eyes pop open in surprise. Tam laughs out loud throwing her head back with the motion.
“Shit’s really not funny. I’m suffering here.” Max says.
“Oh, the hell you say. It’s finger funny honey.” Tam wiggles her pinky finger at him when she manages to pull herself together.
“Max, you’ll find someone else.” I pat his shoulder. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes look back at me and he nods.
“He was perfect until those pants dropped Brea-bee. I was devasted.” He admits. “All two inches of his fully erect status shattered my marriage bliss possibilities and dreams.”
“Jesus Christ, Max. If the guy was perfect, then why let that be the deal-breaker.” Tam says. Max turns his head slowly, exorcist style, pinning Tamera with a glare from hell.
“Okay, then tell me Queen-ho of big dicks, would you settle for a pinky finger sexual assault for the rest of your sexually unsatisfied encountered having life?” He quirks his brows at her and she shrugs her shoulders.
“You’ve got me there.” She deadpans. “I have no argument, nothing.”
“Well, then… Glad we’re all caught up on the love life.” I mumble then take a long pull from my straw, basking in the aftermath of my vodka victory.
“I met someone.” Tam perks up. That takes me back for a moment. This girl is the first one to brag about sex but to brag about a relationship with said sexual partner, no.
“Wow… Do they live here or was it someone from your travels?” I ask.
“He lives in the Bahamas.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me while breaking out into a full-blown smile. “His name is Brenan.” Tam actually bounces in her stool.
“I take it he has a noteworthy size pickle,” Max says. Tam nods her head vigorously.
“Oh yeah.” She winks. “I’m flying back out next week to visit him for a pickle sandwich.” I giggle.
“You two are so bad,” I say.
“Well, tell me about your Creed. How’s his pickle doing?” Tam bumps her shoulder into mine causing me to spill my drink a little. I grab one of the napkins off the bar and swipe at the droplets that have already soaked into the front of my tee.
“Which one?” I mumble before I think better of it. “I mean, I have no idea about anyone’s pickle.” I try to avoid any eyes by flinging the napkin back on the bar and sipping from my straw, eyes on the cranberry vodka surprise.
“Look at me, Brea,” Tam says in that motherly voice of her.
I shake my head no. Max chuckles on the other side of me without adding any commentary. I’ve not shared any of my situationship crap with either of them. Nothing.
“BREA…” Tam snaps and my eyes slowly slid to hers. She’s examining me like a brothel mother would one of her bedside hookers for hourly hire.
“What Tam?” I shoot right back at her. Her ice-blue eyes turn into slits and she tilts her head analyzing my behavior.
“Spill it.” She demands.
I shake my head no and put the straw back into my mouth killing the contents until the bone-dry noise sounds out. I place my glass down and push it back. I shoot a smile at the cutie bartender as he winks at me in his approach.
“Another?” The bartender asks and I nod.
“Yes, please,” I say and off he goes.
“Has she told you anything?” Tam asks threw me to Max. Max shakes his head slowly no.
“I say let her have fun playing that Creed field if she wants to. I think it’s healthy.” Max says.
“Maybe for someone like us but not this one.” Tam points at me then brings her eyes to me. “She has a soul and a heavy conscious. Shit like that will never sit well on her chest.” She shakes her head slowly no at me.
“I�
�m not doing anything,” I say without batting an eye. Because I’m not. I’m not doing either brother, unfortunately. Yeah, the lightweight drinker in me is already feeling the first hit of vodka. Yum…
“Okay, what are you not doing?” Tam asks.
“Anything,” I say as the bartender slides the much-needed refill my way. I gladly scoop it up in my hands like it’s my newborn child. “I’m forever the good little girl.” I bat my eyelashes at Tam while poking the straw in between my lips.
“Damn, I gots to go, ladies,” Max says. He stands abruptly and fishes his wallet out tossing some twenties on the bar. Both mine and Tam's heads snap to him in question. “The hospital just texted me. I’m on call and since I haven’t even finished half my drink, I’m out but that’s enough cash to cover all of our drinks.” He winks at us then smashes his body to ours from behind our chairs, hugging us both sideways. “Love you beautiful BFF’s. Text me when you both get home.” Tam and I both nod our heads.
“Love you Maxie-pooh,” I say as he heads out.
“Bye bitch.” Tam calls out then swings back around to me. “NOW. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing. Really, not one dang thing, Tam.” I lift my drink back to my lips and slurp.
“Right. You’ll cave sooner or later. Probably later after two more of those.” She points toward my glass that steadily losing liquid and I giggle. She’s probably right.
With my arm slung around Tam’s neck, she holsters the brunt of my unsteady body as I babble on about Channing and Brogan. She was right, I opened up like a cracked damn that just busted through the cement. I’m overflowing with currents of raging relationship waters. I haven’t left anything out either.
“So, basically what I’m gathering is that Brogan is a dick.” She says. My feet stumble to a stop and I let my fingers scrape over my chin in thought.
“No, he’s not a penis. He’s elected himself as my new friend.” I giggle and slap my knee. “A friend I’d really like to bang.” I laugh out loud.
