Broken: Enemies to Lovers Romance (City Slickers Book 1) Page 7
Me: Porpoise
Brydes: Rat
Me: Chucky.
Brydes: 21
Me: I’m not a number.
Brydes: I’m not an ugly, freak doll
Me: lol
I had everything against me. I was 8 years younger than her with a reputation for being a lady’s man. I was also a recovering alcoholic, so everyone kept telling me. I couldn’t blame her for running for the hills. But the more she pulled away, the more I wanted her. Just to see that beautiful face would make my day. I missed her. And just having the text conversation with her uplifted me.
Chapter Thirteen
Brydie
When I got home from work on Friday, I checked the mailbox to discover an envelope with the Assisi Animal Shelter logo on it. Weirdly it was addressed to Jake, not me. I held the envelope up to the light trying to see what was inside, but to no avail. I wondered if they made a mistake and typed the wrong name. But then where would they get Jake’s name and address from.
I left the envelope on the table and started to make dinner for one, since Jake was out on a date. Then I heard the door unlock and open and there he was in his custom-made James Bond suit.
“Since we have to live together,” he started, “if I do something that pisses you off, talk to me face to face about it.”
“Okay.”
“None of this cold shoulder stuff.”
“Okay.”
“Jeez! I’m not a mind reader.”
“Okay.”
“Like a mature person,’ he added. “I’m supposed to be the juvenile here.”
“I thought you were involved in the betting ring.”
“Yet it never crossed your mind to ask me?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d be honest with me. I don’t know you that well,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I just get sick of men…” I trailed off. There was no point explaining as he wouldn’t understand.
He turned to walk to his bedroom, then stalled. “And another thing…if I wasn’t so irresistible you wouldn’t be trying to avoid me.”
I ignored that statement, “Why aren’t you out on your date?”
“I’m just changing,” he said sullenly, then headed down the hall to his bedroom.
When he returned in a different suit, I pointed to the envelope from Assisi Animal Shelter. He frowned, picked it up and opened it. There was a single sheet of paper inside that he glanced at then shoved it back into the envelope.
“What are you making for dinner?” The envelope was still in his hand.
“Vegan sausages, fried onion and steamed vegetables,” I answered, placing the chopped sausages and onion into the hot pan.
He screwed his face up.
“I’ll make this next week. You’ll love it.”
“So are we back to making dinner for each other?” He leaned against the chair, not in a hurry to go anywhere.
“Yeah, if you want. We don’t have to cook for each other, if you’d rather not.”
‘No, it’s okay. I’ve been practicing.”
“Have you?”
“Been watching YouTube videos.”
I had to admit I was impressed. “I can’t wait.” He remained watching me in the kitchen, standing on one spot as if his feet were glued to the floor. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to go on this date.”
“Why are you then?”
“Because she asked me and she seems nice. I turned her down at first, then changed my mind.” He shot me a little glare.
“She asked you on a date? That’s brave. I’m too chicken to ask a guy out. Afraid of rejection.”
“You probably don’t need to be. You’d have offers fired at you from all directions, wouldn’t you?”
“No.”
“How many different men have asked you out since you came back to Chicago?”
“Just you,” I said.
“And Croyden,” he added.
“Oh and a guy at work…and the guy at the coffee shop I buy the work coffees from.”
He held up four fingers. “Four different men in how many days?”
“I haven’t been counting.” He remained standing on that single point on the floor watching me in the kitchen. “Jake?”
“What?”
“Your date.” I pointed to the door, in case he’d forgotten where it was.
He ripped himself away and headed towards the door. “Just for the record, I’d prefer to stay here with you,” he exclaimed, slamming the door behind him.
My back ached from lying on the hard floor. I heard a baby cry and quiet mutterings in Spanish. A woman started vomiting nearby with a prison guard standing over her inspecting the contents of her spew. Looking for bags of drugs, I knew that much. Many of the women in here were drug mules desperate for the money, or coerced by gang lords.
I rolled over and looked at Sarah, the night pilot on the Ocean Warrior. She seemed distant, a million miles away. That’s how you survive in a place like this; thinking about what you had and what you will go home to. Not the same for many of these local women, though.
“It could be worse,” Sarah whispered in her rich Aberdeen accent. “We could be in a Mexican prison.”
“True.”
“Or a men’s prison.”
My mind drifted back to days of joy with Aaron. I thought about him a lot in here, it kept me sane. But in my mind, the days of joy were always tainted by the verbal abuse I received from fans. They called me the Yoko Ono of the Chicago Bears and blamed me every time he had a bad game. Then to make it worse, I got arrested in Russia and the media went wild. Aaron defended me the entire time, even firing abuse at one of the sports journalists who dared accuse me of being irresponsible.
His manager said I should be sitting in the crowd with my mouth shut, being the good girlfriend of a sports star. The game depended on it. Aaron Trews was an integral part of the team; the last thing he needed was distraction from some loose cannon.
I had been avoiding men since. I think I’ve been scared off. Farrah said it was time for me to get back dating again.
“Not until I go back to California,” I said. “I don’t want to meet anyone here in Chicago again.”
She snipped a thread of cotton from the dress she was making for a client. “Love does not distinguish between here or there.”
“You talk about love like it’s a pet,” I argued.
“You talk about love like it’s a poison,” she hit back.
“Well…”
The baby kept crying. She gave birth in the prison and now that child will know nothing else until she’s a teenager.
I closed my eyes and dreamt of the great blue. My sanctuary. My home. My lifeblood. My precious time was wasted in here, when I could be out there cutting nets and saving wildlife.
The baby was now screaming. Other prisoners were being woken abruptly and weren’t happy about it. An argument broke out between prisoners and the prison guard yelled at them. I knew little Spanish, but it was easy to guess what they were saying.
The baby kept screaming. I turned to Sarah who was clenching her jaw under the weight of stress. The acidy stench of vomit lingered and I rubbed my aching temples. I’ve had a migraine most days since I arrived.
I drifted back into thoughts about Aaron again. Our first date. He was nervous, kept rubbing the back of his neck. That beautiful big man was nervous of me! His eyes sparkled under the dim lights in the restaurant, then he panicked when he accidently knocked his beer over with his hand. He looked so cute trying to clean it up with his napkin, before the sea of beer got across the table to me.
The baby had abruptly fallen silent. Too silent. I sat up and searched for her. I couldn’t see her. The mother was sitting on the floor rocking, a pillow on her lap.
A glass-cutting scream sounded out. It came from my own mouth, my own voice. Someone called for the guard in a panic. I ran to the mother…
“Brydie?” A man spoke. My body shook and I struggled to get air in my
lungs. “Brydie?” The lights flicked on and I bolted upright. I was drenched in sweat and a familiar face was looking back at me. It took me a couple of seconds to place him.
“J-Jake?”
He sat down on the bed and wrapped his arm around me. He was naked from the waist up and his smooth skin felt nice against mine. “I thought you were being attacked or something.”
“I thought I was back in…”
“It’s alright,” he said, stroking my hair. The lingering stench of vomit and piss was replaced by the scent of soap and cologne.
I shielded my eyes from the light, and he got up and switched it off. “Do…do you want me to stay?” His voice sliced through the darkness. “I won’t make a move or anything.”
I was still reeling from thoughts of the prison, thinking about Sarah and the baby. “Okay,” I whispered. As soon the words left my mouth, I wanted to retract them. It was a bad idea to have Jake in my bed. A really bad idea. How much self-control would the kid have?
Too late. He stepped over to my bed and crawled inside the covers, wrapping his strong arms around me. I hoped he’d just lie next to me, plank style. He kissed me on the cheek. Okay, he’s being affectionate now. I expected to feel suffocated. Instead his warm, hard body calmed me down quickly. I closed my eyes.
“How was your date?” I asked.
“Okay.”
“Are you going to go out with her again?” He moved the lower part of his body a little closer to me, and I could feel his crotch prod my ass. To negate this, I wriggled my backside away from him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“We didn’t really connect. I mean, we didn’t have much to talk about.” He let out a deep breath. “I work with her, so it will be awkward on Monday.”
“Bad move.”
“Yeah. Corey said only date the ones on the lower floors ’cos you hardly ever see them.”
“Good advice, I suppose.”
After a moment of silence: “I hate going on dates.”
“Same.”
“It’s easier just picking a girl up in the club and taking her home, than going through all that.”
I snorted. “I guess you don’t talk much in the club?”
“No. Music’s too loud to hear what they’re saying.”
“Was the food good at least?”
“Yeah. I had a nice steak dish. I might try making that one night for us. It had chili and rosemary on it.”
“Without the steak for me.”
“It won’t be the same,” he said, then kissed me again on the cheek. “We fit together well.”
“As roommates?”
“No now, spooning.”
It was loose spooning, we weren’t hard pressed against each other, because I kept a distance between us. Even though I didn’t want to encourage him, I found myself sinking into his arms and my body relaxed into a sleep. Until he said, “What were you dreaming about?”
“Prison.”
“Must’ve been horrible.”
“Some of it was.”
“You’ve screamed out before, you know.”
“Oh? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. The first time I heard it, I thought you were strumming the banjo.”
“What?”
“You know, pleasuring yourself. Until you started screaming for help.”
I was too embarrassed to say anything. The main bathroom was between his room and mine, so my scream must’ve been bloody loud.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.
“Having lunch with Farrah. Why?”
“I thought we could hang out and watch some movies or something.”
“We could still do that. You’re not seeing your friends?”
“Seeing my friends means drinking.”
“Oh. Being dry really screws up your social life, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I don’t know what time it was, but I fell asleep shortly after and didn’t wake until the enticing smells of fresh coffee and toast triggered my senses. I could still smell his cologne and my body still felt warm from his embrace. I checked myself to see if I was still wearing my sleepwear, which in summer was just a tank top and shorts. I’d half expected him to make a move and try to remove an article of clothing, even while I slept. He didn’t and I was relieved and surprised.
Maybe I should cut him some slack. He might be a better quality man than I’ve given him credit for. Besides, I still have 4 months and 3 weeks with him.
Chapter Fourteen
Brydie
I met Farrah at one of our favorite cafes, The Garage, a rustic setting of unpolished concrete, classic car parts hanging from the high ceiling and old album covers lining the walls – Bowie, Led Zeppelin, The Clash, Sex Pistols, Blondie, Styx, Cheap Trick, Smashing Pumpkins, among others.
Farrah introduced me to the rock music of the 60’s and 70’s and I never looked back. She had an eclectic childhood growing up in Quebec with a French Canadian mother and Cree father, until Isaac found her and stole her away. She was a unique beauty with high cheek bones, jet-black, dead straight hair and black eyes that could penetrate a human skull when she was pissed off. Her Cree grandmother taught her to sew while her parents worked long hours and she’d become an accomplished seamstress and designer from a young age.
Without a doubt, she was one of my favorite people in the whole world, along with my mother Margot, and Aaron.
“Baby girl,” she called, waving me over and giving me a tight bear hug. She was a small woman, but man she was strong. “I’ve ordered your coffee.”
She looked me up and down. I was wearing skinny jeans and a tee shirt. I only had the clothes I took with me on the Ocean Warrior which consisted of sensible sneakers, tee-shirts, jeans, sweatshirts, underwear, sleepwear and of course my wetsuits. I always took my mother’s recipe book with me wherever I went as a weird comfort, along with an old framed photograph of us when I was 8 years old. The recipe book was such a small lightweight thing without a cover which was ripped off years ago, that it took up little space in my bag. And the framed photograph was the only picture I had of my mother. Apparently, she didn’t like her picture taken, so I was lucky to have even that in my possession.
Anyway, I had no formal or even nice casual clothes for going out to cafes.
“I’m working on that obstinate bison,” she said. I knew she was referring to her husband.
“You know he froze my bank accounts?”
“He announced it to me the day he contacted Doyle to go ahead with it. With that warning look to keep my nose out of his business.” A growl emanated from the back of her throat.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I began, “I’m getting my friend to send me the clothes I have in storage.”
“We’re going shopping after lunch,” she said, ignoring me. “I’m buying.”
“I can’t let you do that. I have plenty of clothes, just not on this side of the country.”
Our coffees arrived and I took a sip while reading the menu. I loved the café scene. Classic rock music, The Clash, was playing in the background, while the coffee machine hissed and people nearby chatted about their lives.
“I insist and don’t argue with me.” She took a sip of her coffee, slipping me a sly look. I knew what was coming. “And has Aaron contacted you?” There we go.
“Who’s asking, you or the cretin?”
“Me. Actually both of us.”
“What are you hoping for?” I wiped the milk froth from my mouth.
“That you’ll get back together again,” a dreamy expression appeared on her face, “and live here in Chicago close to me to keep me sane.”
“I was unhappy living here.”
“No you weren’t. You were very happy with him.”
“Yes, I was. But you know me, I have to be by the ocean.”
“The ocean cannot hug you when you’re feeling down.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, it can,” I argued.
“The ocean cannot take you out for a meal, and make love to you and give you babies.”
“What!” I laughed.
“Come on baby girl, you’re not getting any younger.”
“Jeez! You sound like Leon.” I sighed. “I bumped into Aaron on Sunday-”
“Bumped into him?” She raised her hands in the air to applaud my wonderful news.
“He spotted me sitting by the lake and came over.”
Farrah let out a sigh and placed her hands across her chest. “Fate. That’s what that is. Fate.”
“He’s got a girlfriend and has just signed up with the Bears for another two years. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
“Phooey. People break up all the time.”
I don’t know why Jake entered my mind at that moment. I liked him being in my bed. There, I’ve admitted it. Only as company, a comfort, not as anything else. Too young. In fact, since breaking up with Aaron, I’d become so frigid that a cockroach would be a comfort. Not that I’m suggesting Jake was comparable to a cockroach, he’s definitely not. I just enjoyed his physical warmth and smooth skin, and the citrusy scent coming off him. The sort of companionship that only comes from a warm-blooded human.
When I got up in the morning, he had gone to quite a bit of effort making my breakfast; scrambled eggs on toast that he said he learnt watching a YouTube video. He’d made plunger coffee how I like it – dark and strong, and had even set the table nicely.
To my surprise when I laid eyes on him, I felt a subtle flutter of nerves in my belly and a hint of that ‘weak in the knees’ feeling. But nothing major. Just flecks of feelings like a trail of ants running over my body. Merely small, minute feelings. Nothing to be concerned about.
He had showered and his dark hair was wet and sticking out in all directions, like he’d been roughing it up with his hand. He looked good, so I kept my eyes on the eggs and coffee and not on the 21 year old with the gorgeous body and sweet, often impish smile.
The waiter came to take our order and Farrah slapped my hand to wake me out of my spell. Then she leaned in and asked, “Thinking about the good ol’ days with Aaron, were you?”