by P Mulholland
“Are you serious?”
“What do people look at when they dive? Fish? Lake Michigan’s got fish. Wreckages? Lake Michigan’s got wreckages. What else do you need?”
“Coral reefs. Sea mammals.”
“Geese are mammals.”
“No they’re not, they’re birds.”
“Ah!” he scoffed, waving his hand about. “It’s all the same.”
“Isaac I’m sorry, but I can’t do it,” I said firmly.
“It’s not a choice, Stray Cat,” he said harshly. I cringed at that name. He used to call me it when I was a kid. “It’s compulsory. You’re staying.”
I got up to leave, feeling peeved.
“You heard from Trews yet?” he called after me.
“No,” I said. “Why would I?”
“I told him you’re back.”
“Why? He’s moved on. I’ve moved on. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“You should get back together,” he said. “It makes sense. You’re here. He’s here. Perfection.”
“That’s your dream, not mine,” I yelled back at him.
Chapter Three
Jake
Exactly 2 hours and 16 minutes elapsed from when I arrived until I heard the unlocking of the front door. During that time I made a sandwich, messaged my two besties Croyden and Mac to let them know I’d survived rehab, did an internet search on Brydie Malone and came up with nothing, made another sandwich, gave myself a hand job while looking at Victoria Secret models online, and watched Tiger King re-runs.
She, the Malone chick, had already dumped her bags in the master bedroom with the en suite, so I took the next largest bedroom. It was a nice apartment, three bedrooms, open plan kitchen and living room, with a sliver of a lake view if you lean far enough over the balcony railing.
I was strategically seated on the couch facing the kitchen so I could see her when she walked in, my obedience officer/babysitter/support worker/spoilsport/snitch - whatever you want to call her. It won’t work. I’ll be back drinking in no time because I don’t have a problem.
Finally the door opened and Charlize Theron walked in wearing blue skinny jeans and a The Cure tee shirt. Her hair was long and golden blonde tied up in a ponytail, and her skin bronzed, like a tropical beach babe. I imagined her to look like the rest of the Malone clan – dark hair, dark eyes and with an underlying shadiness that made me shudder.
My bottom jaw slacked forcing my mouth open. She stood in front of the door scanning the room with her eyes, first examining the kitchen, dining table, then the large screen TV which at that point was playing Seinfeld re-runs, until her eyes caught me sitting on the couch.
“You’re hot,” I exclaimed, one of the best lines you can use on a chick. Works like a charm making their knees go weak, then they’re yours for the rest of the night. It also helped that I’m an Austin with genes that have been kind, bestowing me with great looks and a hot athletic body. Getting chicks was never a problem.
She frowned, pointed to her face and said, “Chucky it,” then walked up the hall to her bedroom. I followed her.
“Are you Brydie?” I asked, just to make sure. I leaned against the doorframe while she searched for something in one of her bags.
“Yes,” without looking up.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, running my eyes all over her. Close up she was a beauty, without a doubt. Then I spotted the tattoos on her upper arms; flowers, vines and animals. She just went up another heat level. “I’m Jake.”
“I know who you are.” Her tone was as cold as an Eskimo’s supper.
We were getting off on the wrong foot and I’m not even sure why.
“What did you mean by ‘Chucky it’?” I asked.
From her bag, she dragged out a scruffy book held together with staples and tape. “Are you going to be home this evening?” she asked, without looking at me.
“Um, I’m not sure. Why?” I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her eyes were green with lashes that almost touched the ceiling and her legs went on forever, especially in those jeans. I’m 6 foot 3; she’d be not much shorter than me, 5foot10 maybe. But it’s those tattoos that will haunt me tonight when I’m lying in bed down the hall from her. I wanted to pull up her tee shirt sleeves to take a closer look at them.
“I’m baking tonight,” she said, holding up the scruffy book that on closer inspection was a recipe book. “So I need the kitchen free.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get out of the way. What’s the occasion?”
“It’s a bake sale tomorrow to raise money for the Assisi Animal Shelter.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to give money?”
“Yes,” she said, then sighed impatiently. “It would be. But it seems not enough people are giving money, so we have to entice them with something sweet.”
I wanted to say something dirty about sweet enticements, but quickly thought against it. I got the impression she didn’t want to have a conversation with me and was only doing so to be polite. It’s going to be a long four months if she’s going to be like that every minute of every day. The only solution to this problem was for me to use my charm to warm her up. To be fair, she was an older woman, Corey’s age, around 29, I think. It might not be as easy as a 19-year-old chick in the club, drunk on Strawberry Daiquiris.
She stood before me as if waiting for something. Man, she was a delicious sight. Tattoos, rose bee-sting lips, tall, toned, tanned, blonde. Did I mention tattoos? She shot me a look. Was I meant to be saying something?
“Are you going to move?” she bit irritably.
I was blocking her way out, and I took a small step to the side so she’d have to graze past me. That meant touching and hopefully I’d catch a scent of her skin and hair.
She waved her hand at me to move over further, still shooting me a look that almost floored me. I took another step back, and as she breezed past without touching me, she hissed, “Are you going to pull that shit every time I want to go somewhere? ’Cos that’s going to piss me off.”
Whoa! Finally a hint of Malone surfacing. I watched her walk away from me, her peachy taut ass moving like a dream in those jeans.
“So what did you mean by ‘Chucky it’?”
“Use your imagination,” she called back to me.
I followed her into the kitchen area where she began searching through cupboards and drawers for baking trays and cutlery and then in the pantry for food.
“We need to go shopping,” she said, finding a cheese knife in the drawer and examining it.
“We’ll just get takeout,” I said.
“I don’t do takeout.”
“Why?” I was stunned. In these modern times, who the hell did not buy takeaways? Brydie Malone didn’t, that’s who.
“Excess wastage,” she said, as if it should be obvious.
Okay, fine. I’m getting a gist of what type of person my new roommate/alcohol police is. A Malone greeny type. Strange combination. I bet she bought organic food only and made compost out of her own poop.
Getting back to the Chucky comment. “What do you mean by ‘use my imagination’?”
“When you look at me think of something disgusting like dog shit, or that clown in It, or Chucky,” she said, pretending to stab something several times over with the cheese knife, like Chucky would.
“Pennywise,” I said. “The clown in It. And why would I do that?”
“So you don’t lust after me.”
I forced a chortle. “Why would I lust after you?” deliberately using a sickened tone.
“You said I was hot,” she said, “and you haven’t managed to take your eyes off me since I arrived.”
“Well…okay…” Was I that obvious? “Don’t worry, you’re not my type.” I wasn’t lying, she wasn’t my type because I’ve never met anyone like her before. Older, sober, organic, Malone, Californian, sober. I’ve met Malones before of course, and Californians, but not in the same person.
“Good,” she said. “Right,
do you want to come shopping? I need baking ingredients and food for meals. You’d want to get some food as well, wouldn’t you?”
I shrugged. “Sure.” I had nothing else to do until the boys arrived.
“Do you have a car?” she asked. “Mine is still in San Diego.”
“Yep.” So it’s San Diego, California. Another piece to the puzzle that was Brydie Malone. I knew so little about her. I can’t even picture meeting Brydie before. She’s so hot, I’m sure I’d remember if I had.
My older siblings had more to do with her than I due to the age gap between us, but even then it was sporadic.
“Isaac told me there’s a pool in the building,” she said as we stepped into the elevator. “Do you know which floor?”
“No, why would I know?”
“Your family owns the building,” she exclaimed.
“Do we? I haven’t been in here before…Chucky.” The pet name was a test to see if she’d bite my head off, or pull a gun on me, since she’s a Malone. It could be fun testing her limits…or scary.
“Does it work?” she asked, when we got to the ground floor.
“What?”
“Thinking of Chucky when you look at me?” I could tell she was asking out of curiosity.
“I’ll try it,” I said, looking her up and down, then imagining Chucky’s little fucked up face stuck on her long neck. It was too macabre for me to comprehend. “It works for your face, but I might have to imagine you in Pennywise’s clown suit for your body.”
She giggled and I stumbled. I made her laugh and it was a genuine laugh, not forced or sarcastic.
“Chucky’s head and Pennywise’s body,” she said under the giggles. “Funny, yet creepy.”
“Anyway,” I added, whilst climbing into my Benz, the scent of her immediately filling the small space, “as I’ve already said, you’re not my type.” Vanilla, that’s what she smelt like. And orange.
“Good,” she said.
Chapter Four
Brydie
I don’t know how long he had been in the apartment before I arrived, but the place stunk like cologne and cum, and his clothes were thrown all over the couches. This was a kid who was obviously used to an au pair or a maid running around cleaning up after him. I wondered if he knew how to wipe his own ass. I’m sure as hell not picking up after him.
Thankfully Leon dropped my bags, wetsuit and scuba gear off in the master bedroom down the end of the hall, away from his bedroom and the main bathroom. I predict his dirty underwear and damp towels will have that floor covered by the end of next week. Then I might have to show him how to use a washing machine. Or maybe he’ll just buy new pairs since he’s loaded, and leave the old pairs to rot on the floor.
One reprieve for me in all of this, was being told there was a pool in the building. Water was how I reduced my stress levels. Being in the water was better than sitting beside it, but sitting beside a murky pond was still better than a concrete wall.
I can’t help but feel depressed about the situation I got myself into. Yes, I needed to be saved and Isaac was the best man for the job. Yes I owed him, because that’s how he worked. No good deed goes unpaid. I’m not really sure where Mr. Austin fitted into the equation. I suspected there’s a piece of information missing from the rescue. Perhaps he paid someone off. Either way, I felt humbled a mighty effort was concocted to get me out of a tight bind. So when I looked at it from that perspective, I guess I do owe Isaac and Mr. Austin.
The problem was, I just couldn’t help feeling angry. About everything. I’m back in Chicago again. Isaac had me practically imprisoned again. I was back working my old job again, that I didn’t like that much, and I’m certain the Ice Man was trying to reel me and Aaron back together again. Good luck with that project, big brother.
Like I said, that was his dream. The day I went on a date with the quarterback for the Chicago Bears was one of the proudest moments in his life. He thought we’d marry. Instead, we split after 3 years and 16 days. End of story, so I thought.
Back to the kid. He’s good looking. Actually, he’s gorgeous and tall with a great body. And he knew it. Player was written all over him. He’d lure girls easily, I can tell. Without a doubt Jake Austin was the type of guy I ran a mile from when I was his age, for fear I’d catch a venereal disease or have my heart broken. Yet, they still caught up with me. The faster I ran, the faster they drove. Rich, privileged and entitled, just like his older brother. What the hell was his name? Nathan or something? No, that’s not right.
“Predictable,” Jake muttered, when I told him what food store I wanted to go to.
“What was your brother’s name?” I asked, still racking my brains.
“Do you mean the one that fondled you in the pool room?” he asked.
“Um…yes.”
“Corey.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
He broke into a hoarse laughter. “He’ll hate that you couldn’t remember his name. I’ll have to tell him, just to see him squirm.” He turned the corner in his plush, black car. I rarely took notice of the brands of cars, so I had no idea what he’s driving, but it’s likely to be expensive. Rich and privileged.
“He’s single,” Jake added.
“I don’t care. I’m not looking, especially since I won’t be staying long.”
“Where are you going after babysitting me?”
“Well…I was supposed to be flying to Bali in two months…” I let out a frustrated growl. I was part of a tour guide group taking American tourists scuba diving in the tropical waters surrounding the islands. I’ll have to let them know they’ll have to find another dive instructor. I hated letting people down.
“I guess you’re not going now,” he said, a hint of guilt in his tone.
“No.” My tone sounded more miserable than I intended.
“What did you do wrong to be landed with this job?” he asked.
I sighed. “Long story.” I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him about it. Besides, I’d rather forget those 7 weeks and 4 days of horror. It could’ve been much longer, if it wasn’t for Isaac. I had to keep reminding myself of that fact to keep my head above water.
“Maybe you could tell me about it one day,” he said, “over a beer, or something.”
Was the recovering alcoholic just hinting at a date?
We pulled up at the organic food store and went inside. He grabbed a trolley and I piled food in as we sauntered up and down the aisles. I couldn’t help noticing the amount of attention from women Jake attracted. I felt I should be wearing a tee-shirt that read, Not With Him.
It reminded me of when Aaron and I went out in public. The women would eye him up, then size me up, just to see if I was worthy of him. Not to mention the nude pics he was sent by female fans, and the awful rumors spread on social media by one particularly obsessed fan…or should I say, stalker. I hated it.
I turned back to glance at Jake to see if he noticed the two pretty girls by the pasta shelves staring at him. He was leaning over the trolley reading a ketchup label, his dark hair was sticking out in all directions, his tee shirt fitting firmly over his muscular chest and arms.
“Good place to pick up a nice girlfriend,” I said to him.
He looked up from the bottle and I pointed to the two girls who blushed and smiled at him. “An organic girlfriend,” he said.
“Organic people do tend to be nice people.” I had no data to back this up, but I’d never met a horrible person in an organic store and I’ve been to many all over the world. Wherever I am in the world, I seek out organic produce. That’s just who I am.
“It hasn’t helped you much,” he said, “you’ve been grumpy since you walked through the door of our apartment.”
“Organic grumpiness is different to fast food grumpiness,” I answered.
I heard a snigger behind me. He was cracking up. It wasn’t meant to be funny. Once again, I had no data to back it up, but unhealthy food versus healthy food is going to affect your mood one
way or another.
He bumped the trolley into my backside and I was propelled forward a step. I turned back to give him a grilling and he smirked, “Nice toned ass.”
I let it go. He seemed to have quickly forgotten about the organic pasta girls, focusing instead on my 29-year-old backside. Maybe I shouldn’t walk in front of him.
“What are you doing tonight?” I heard him ask.
I turned back to see who he was talking to. It was me. He was talking to me.
“I told you I’m baking,” I answered.
“You’re not baking all night are you, Chucky?” His phone was in his hand.
“Probably not,” I said slowly.
“Me and a couple of friends are going out tonight. Do you want to come?”
“Are you asking me if I want to hang out with a bunch of twenty one year olds?”
“Come on! Let your hair down, Brydes. We can go dancing in the club.”
“No.”
“Nice slow dancing.”
“No.”
“Is that your final answer?”
“Yes.”
“You might regret it,” he said.
“I doubt it,” I replied.
Chapter Five
Jake
There was no comparison.
Those girls in the organic store had nothing on Brydie. She had no idea how beautiful she was. I liked people thinking we were an item. I saw the way they looked at us. She, the tanned swimsuit model with me, the guy hot enough and rich enough to date her.
Okay, so she’s not a swimsuit model, she’s a wetsuit model, but close enough. Okay, so she’s not a model, just someone who should be a model. Walking behind her backside in the store was doing strange things to my crotch. Those tattoos were doing strange things to my crotch. Her lips and hair were doing strange things to my crotch.
I hoped she might come out with me and the guys tonight where I’d get her nice and relaxed with alcohol and music. Then when she was putty in my hands, I’d take her home to bed. Her bed, because her room smells nicer than mine.
