Forever Attraction
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Authors: S.K. Logsdon
Forever Attraction
Book Two
S.K Logsdon
~~~
Ebook Edition
Copyright © 2014 by: S.K Logsdon
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Editor: Anna Coy: ACG Editing
Cover art by: Marika Kraukle
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A special thanks to Jessica, and her invaluable help in getting this novella on the right track. And to the rest of my amazing beta readers, street team members, and friends.
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This book is a work of fiction created by the author S.K Logsdon and is not associated with any, lives or stories.
Stricken Rock Series
Stricken Desire
Stricken Unveiled
Stricken Trust
Stricken Resolve
Unconventional Hearts Series
Lex
Attraction Series
Artful Attraction
Wrapped Up In You
‘Hail to the king, Hail to the one, Kneel to the crown, Stand in the sun.’ My phone sings. Nothing like waking up to a little Avenged Sevenfold. This shit rocks.
I roll over on this stupid mattress and grab my phone. I should have turned it off after a long night out partying with Andrew. The dude is a party animal and loves the ladies.
“Yeah? What’s up?” I answer.
“Hey, Brad, how ya feelin’ today bro?” Andrew asks.
“Let me get back to ya on that. What’s up? Do we have meetings today?”
“No, but I’ve got a date set up tonight for ya.” Andrew says. He sounds chipper. Way too damn happy for it being so early in the morning, after an all-night bar crawl around the city. He’s killing me. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I’ve never been much for drinking all the time or partying like him. Plus, that dude dips his dick in so much pussy it’s revolting. This will be the fourth date he’s hooked me up with this week.
“Who is she now?” I ask, not the least bit amused. I want to go back to sleep, but my back is killing me. I seriously need to get a real bed. This single layer air mattress I picked up at Target for sixty bucks isn’t cutting it. Plus, I’m stuck filling it up every night because my big ass deflates it. Why do I have to be so large? It’s not like I eat that much, and I try to stay in shape. Hey, who am I kidding? I’ve been this size since my mid-twenties after Sophie and I finally broke it off.
“This chick, Anne, I’ve been dating casually, it’s her best friend. You’re going to love her.”
I roll my eyes at the thought.
Sure I am. That’s what he says about every women he’s set me up with this week. I don’t know what his end game is or if he just feels sorry for me. But I don’t need his help. If I wanted to have sex. I’d have it. I’m not interested. My hand works just fine. Plus, it keeps me from having to deal with women crying over my size. Whatever woman claims that bigger is better, is utterly insane. They have no idea what they are asking for when they meet me. Bigger than six inches, sure. I understand not wanting a teeny-weeny. But I’m about eleven inches and so thick most women can’t even fit their hands around my girth. It’s like having my own personal snake living between my legs. And it sucks, because I’ve had more women cry having sex with me than not. I’ve tried everything. Extra lube, eating them out longer, fingering their pussies to stretch them. But, in the end, they whine and I feel terrible. So, I’d rather go without the guilt I put myself through every time I sleep with a woman for the first time. Which is what always happens. One night stands, a few a year at most. I don’t do relationships. Not after the number Sophie did on me. Sure I liked Mandy, this woman I dated about four years ago. Although the spark wasn’t there for me. I don’t think it ever will be. Sophie ruined me for women, and I’m happy being a bachelor.
“Okay, Mr. Blue. When and where do you want me?”
“I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven fifteen. Be ready.”
“Always am.”
We hang up and I slide off the air mattress onto my new apartment’s hardwood floor. Damn, it’s cold, but it feels amazing on my bare skin. I sleep in the buff. Something about wearing clothes to bed seems unethical. Being a bachelor and wearing no clothes to sleep in isn’t a far stretch. It’s not like many women have seen me naked. I’m extremely self-conscious. So, when I do have sex on the rare occasion, I wear a shirt and I never sleep in bed afterward. I leave. Mainly, because my guilt is already gnawing at me, thanks to the monster between my legs making the woman sore after the first round. Which on average takes me a half an hour. And if I’ve been drinking, add another twenty minutes to that. I’m no two pump chump. Never was even as a teenager. My sex life is a disaster. No wonder my mom and sister are certain I’ll die alone. That’s a rather accurate assessment. Sad, but true.
Amy, my sister, think’s she’ll be alone like me and my mama hates it. My brother’s marriage failed. And Amy and I haven’t even gotten close to walking down the aisle. My sister’s a lesbian. The female, more than the butch, of the lesbian scene. And we have the same taste in women. Have for the past twenty years. Sexy brunettes, mainly. I like both T & A and she’s more of an ass woman. There’s nothing like growing up with a sister who’s banged more hot chicks than you. Although, Amy’s been pining over one women in particular the past two years. Some chick that vacations at my sisters little B&B that she owns, an hour north of New York City. The woman, who’s apparently, an artist of some sort is more of a friend to Amy than a lover. But, it doesn’t change the fact that I have to endure my sister bragging each time the woman stays. Amy and I are fairly close, and she swears this woman is who I should marry since she can’t. I think she’s crazy. But, I love my sister. So, I tolerate her innocent bantering. That’s what you do for family. Endure them.
I pull myself off of the floor. On my feet, I twist side to side cracking my back and lifting my hands in the air stretching. Man that feels nice. Making my way into the bathroom, I pee and wash my hands. Standing in front of the mirror above my double sink, I scrutinize my body. It’s tan, and I’ve got over twenty tattoos scattered across this thick body. I’d call myself fat. Amy my sister insists I’m
thick
. What’s the fucking difference? Ya got me.
I brush my teeth, and make my way into my living room buck-ass naked. I flop down on the beanbag chair, which as of right now, is the only seat in the house, and drop my laptop into my lap. Time to do some much needed work. I pull up my financials from the past year and recheck them. If this new business adventure with Andrew is going to take off like we hope it’s going to take considerable revenue and dedication. Andrew will be a third of my financial backing. I hate sharing businesses with other individuals, and to be honest Andrew seems more interested in screwing than working. I’ve got three general managers and two accountants who do the books for me. Helping me keep this shit together. On top of store managers and the rest of my employees down the ladder. It’s not easy doing what I do. And Andrew doesn’t seem as emotionally invested or involved as he should be. I just hope I’m not making a mistake naming him co-owner of our new food chain. Which, as of right now, doesn’t even have a name.
After being a chef for a few years down in Florida, and then working for Disney, I got tired of working sixty hour weeks as a head chef making less than I deserved. So, I decided owning a restaurant business and preparing my own menus was my new dream. Originally, I was happy living down south with my girlfriend of eight years, Sophie. Until my work hours increased, our sex life diminished, she started coming home later than usual and locking her cell phone. Three months of distance was enough. I couldn’t take it anymore. So. I broke down and called a couples counselor.
I remember our first session, like it was yesterday. That was the first day of the rest of my life. The first day my heart would never be the same, and the first day I’d truly know what pain felt like.
“Are you nervous?” I asked Sophie, driving my yellow Jeep Wrangler on our way to our first counseling session. We had fought for three days straight, until she finally gave in to going with me.
“Nope. Let’s just get this over with.” She said angrily, staring out the passenger side window.
I wanted to reach over and touch her. But we’d barely hugged or kissed for nearly two weeks. I couldn’t remember the last time we actually made love. We fucked when she wanted it, but only then. I was beginning to feel like a piece of meat. I know that sounds girly, but it was true. When the woman you love with all your heart, only wants to ride you to completion and leave you to take care of yourself, it does something to a man’s libido and self-esteem. She wouldn’t even let me fondle her beautiful heavy breasts. I was ordered to keep my hands above my head. I should have known something was up then, but I craved her affection. That’s all that mattered to me. As they say, love is blind.
We didn’t speak the rest of the way to the counselors. I parked in front of a white and blue single story. I can still picture the house in my mind like a snap shot. Forever imprinted. Inside the front door, we were greeted by a sweet older woman about my mom’s age at the time. Early fifties with brown hair and a rotund figure. She resembled an Oompa Loompa, in an adorable kind of way.
“Please be seated.” She waved toward the blue and white striped couch that sat against the wall across from her leather office chair. Both Sophie and I sat on opposite ends. I wanted to do this holding hands and work through our problems. However, she couldn’t get far away from me fast enough. I felt revolting. I guess that’s when my self-esteem problems really began.
Sophie was always a beautiful girl, who grew into a woman, over the eight years we shared together. She was tall, close to six foot, just a few inches shorter than me. Her body thin with large natural breasts. I wasn’t a huge fan of her hair, but I loved her regardless. I’ve always been partial to brunettes with long hair. She was a brunette, but refused to grow it out and over the time we grew apart it kept getting shorter and shorter. It was almost like she was trying to rub it in my face. By the time we got into counseling, her hair was chopped into a pixie cut. It was cute. But, I love having something to hold onto.
“So what are we here for today?” the counselor asked. I can’t remember her name exactly, but I think it was Anita or something to that affect.
I looked to Sophie with her hands stubbornly tucked across her breasts. I knew that would happen. I just prayed she’d finally give in, and tell me why she’d been standoffish and home late nearly every night for a month. Even when she left to grocery shop, she’d not allow me to go with her, and she’d be home two hours later than I expected. Leaving me to eat dinner alone in our small one bedroom apartment with our cat Barney.
“I called because my girlfriend and I haven’t been close lately. And I can feel her pulling away. I want to know why.” I told the older woman. I didn’t want to play the blame game. That’s never what I intended. So, I decided to keep it as vague as possible. Not wanting to upset Sophie any more than she already was.
“Sophie, would you like to tell Brad why you’ve been distant?” Anita asked softly.
“I don’t want to be here. But, since I have to, the sooner we get out of this place the better.” She snapped at Anita.
Anita took her attitude in stride. More than I had done. When Sophie and I fought, it was dirty, and so many names were called, it was unfit to call it an argument. It was a brawl without fists. Cussing, screaming, throwing shit; her not me, and bad mouthing each other. It never ended on a positive note and just amplified our problems to the next unhealthy level. Only after we broke up, did I realize, I needed to manage my internal rage. Took me a few years to conquer it. Still resurfaces more than it should. However, now I can keep from flying off the handle.
The next part of what happened at the counselors that day, went down in my life as the worst day of my existence.
“Why don’t you tell us, and we can work through your problems.” Anita gently coaxed speaking to Sophie.
I wanted to scream and pull my hair out. I was sitting on a razors edge of anxiety, but I kept quiet, sat back and stared at Sophie. Waiting for her reply.
“Fuck…okay. You both want to know what’s going on?” she barked and flipped her head to stare straight at me. Her brown eyes locked into mine. “I’ve been banging Jeremy from work for the past five months. And this isn’t the first time I’ve cheated.” She said it like we were talking about the weather. Not a care in the world. It was almost serene the way the words fell from her lips.
Almost
.
My heart shattered all over the floor of that room, and I knew I could never pick up enough pieces to be whole again. That was the woman I wanted to marry and grow old with. Eventually have kids. Even though she insisted she didn’t want any. I kept trying to convince her, but after years of it, I decided no engagement ring until she agreed to babies. That was my compromise. Looking back now I know it was all bullshit. The love, the commitment. It’s was fabricated to keep me happy and paying the bills. She never cared for me. Not like I did her. It’s been about ten years since I last saw her, and I’ve been anti-relationship since.