Imperfect Bastard (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

It had been three weeks since the accident, and school had been a difficult ordeal—manageable but difficult. Eight days until my doctor’s appointment. I was hoping he would give me the clear and finally let me out of this boot for good. Never had I appreciated my functional foot than I did now.

The past weeks had been less than eventful, all thanks to my lovely boot. Not that it hadn’t crossed my mind to accept one of Spencer’s offers to party with them, but when I was about to accept, something always stopped me. It was all about having fun and enjoying other people’s company, right? Yet, when I recalled the dressed up women they surrounded themselves with, I thought better than to party, only to end up being made fun of for not only the boot, but the story that went along with my current state. It just seemed wiser to stay put. Besides, I had realized how much I loved to have someone to spend lazy weekends with. Those few days with Drew had showed me that. Speaking of which, he and I had been getting on fine. Gone were the days of spiteful retorts. We had become more … complacent toward each other. Not too warm, but complacent. We knew our limits when it was just the two of us, one of which was not to get too physical. And just like he had promised, he never brought anyone home.

It wasn’t due to the fact that he had become celibate—oh, yeah, he was still getting it on elsewhere. I had seen the hickeys, the scratches on his back, lipstick stains on his neck, and some even on his clothing. Based on those, there was no doubt that he had quite an appetite to satiate. Lucky women. Lucky him. Unlucky me.

I wasn’t getting any, zilch, bone dry. Eden’s once lush garden was no more. Mind you, that was half of my problem. The other dwelled more on his actions while my silently bleeding heart watched with a tired smile and swollen eyes.

That was why, on a warm Thursday night, right after class, instead of heading home, I had a cab drop me off at a bar half a block from the apartment. Yes, I was a nineteen-year-old who just happened to have a fake I.D. Well, in all technicalities, it wasn’t necessarily a fake. All the information was valid and active. Let’s just say my friend Joyce had an uncle who ran an illegal business.

The bar had a cozy vibe, laid back and casual, just like the patrons who were enjoying their drinks, chatting amongst their friends. Right from the get go, I already felt at home, as if I had been here several times.

There were a few glances headed my way as I trudged along, heading toward the bar.

“Jack and coke, please,” I ordered with relief the moment my butt was situated safely on the rounded red cushioned bar stool.

The guy flung a towel over his shoulder before giving me a quick onceover. “I.D. please,” he asked in a heavily accented tone that resonated like Spanish to me, but I could have been wrong.

“Of course,” I replied. shrugging before pulling out the card. “Here you go.”

“Hmm.” He pressed his lips together, throwing me a quick glance before reverting his scrutinizing gaze back at the identification card, skeptical. “You don’t look like you’re twenty-two.”

“I know, right? It’s Botox. Works like a miracle.” Lies. Pure lies. However, this girl needed a damn drink, and I wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way of that. Desperate times. Desperate measures.

“Botox, huh?” He handed me back my card. “Smooth.”

“Thanks.” I beamed at him, unperturbed by his blatant reservation about my age.

The man proceeded to do his usual barman thing, pulling a glass from the neatly stacked pyramid pile, placing a few ice cubes, and pouring a shot of Jack in it before throwing me a pointed look. “Tough day?”

The guy was making small talk. I didn’t mind it. He was only doing his job, after all.

“Tough life. I’m sure you saw my buddies right here.” I waved towards the crutches.

After pouring the coke, he took a napkin and placed the drink atop it then leaned in closely so I alone could hear him. “I don’t believe your age, but you look like you need some cheering up.” He gave me an understanding smile before tapping the counter.

“Geez, how considerate of you. And yes, I need some fun. Life’s been shitty; that’s for sure,” I drawled then took a long sip of my drink, annihilating it before coming up for air. “The guy I’m in love with likes to mess with my head, but he doesn’t pull the trigger if you know what I mean.” Finishing whatever was left in my glass through the tiny black straw, I waved my finger to ask for another one. “What’s your name again? I don’t believe you mentioned it.”

“Manolo,” he stated in a Spanish drawl with emphasis on the vowels.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chloe.” I tried to mimic the way he’d said his name but failed miserably. My unsuccessful attempt made him laugh, so I supposed he wasn’t offended.

Manolo had to excuse himself to tend to a new customer, but after he was done, he strolled back. “This guy you were talking about, why do you think he can’t pull the trigger?”

“I have theories.” I nodded before bottoming out my second drink. “But first, I need a new one please, Manny.” Flickering my lashes at him, I sweetly smiled.

He shook his head. “Girl, you’re going to have to crawl out of here.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Aye, if you say so.” He saluted before making me another.

Before he even placed the drink on the countertop, I began my story from the very beginning. Little, drunk me could get highly animated, so it wasn’t a wonder when Manolo became completely engrossed in my story and my company, always coming back after he took care of customers.

After an hour and a half, his friend who worked part-time, named Chuey, came to sit next to me while he waited until Manolo was off from work in an hour’s time. They were nice and good-looking, but it was blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes that they were gay. At one point, I even asked them if they were dating or on the verge of being a couple, but they immediately denied it, saying they were both dominant and simply didn’t mesh relationship wise, that they were better off as friends. They seemed very pragmatic about it, but I didn’t press since they were intrigued about Drew and his push and pull tactics.

I was so consumed by my story-telling that I lost count of how many glasses I’d had. Hence, when it was time for Manolo to leave with Chuey, the guys offered to take me back to my apartment. They did that by getting me inside a cab with some difficulty.

“For looking like two fit males, you guys can’t carry me worth shit. I’m not that heavy, am I?” I peeked at the two of them, who looked as though they didn’t know what to do with me, before I let out a loud, disgusting belch.

“Aye, that smells like mierda, Chloe.” Chuey furiously fanned himself before Manolo slid in the other side of the cab while I giggled like a total idiot.

“What’s the address to your apartment?” Manolo poked my arm, trying to get my attention.

It took me a moment to remember my new address here. When Chuey made fun of me for being so drunk, I actually laughed with him. There was something about these two that I liked. They were pretty easy to talk to, and I adored how they didn’t mind my quirkiness.

Since the bar was close to the apartment, it didn’t take long to reach my place. Manolo took care of the fare before they helped me out of the vehicle. With one guy on each side, they carried me into the building where we all waved toward the doorman before entering the elevator. Once we got to the eighth floor, I directed them to the right door number. Manolo pressed the buzzer while I knocked loudly, feeling reckless.

The second the door opened, a looming Drew with his quizzical brow took in my disheveled, drunken state then the two guys escorting me. I couldn’t blame him for seeming speechless.

“Boyfriend.” I announced with a grin. “Meet my boys, Manolo and Chuey.”

“We had to help her ’cause she’s too drunk to walk anywhere,” Manolo tried to ease Drew’s weighty stare, which was becoming more intimidating by the second. “Okay, so here she is, and good night to you both.” He handed Drew my crutches before quickly tapping my shoulder.

“Thank you, angels.” I blew them each a kiss.

“Bye, Chloe.” Chuey gave a small wave, as did Manolo, before they retraced their steps back to the elevator then disappeared altogether.

The place had quieted down, and based off that silence, Jackson wasn’t home.

“Where are you off to, hmmm?” My brow arched at him as my eyes inspected his dressed up state. He was wearing slacks. I had never seen him in a pair, and quite frankly, it irritated me that he looked sinfully delicious in anything. “Are you ignoring me again? ’Cause if you are, I need a warning. Oh, wait.” I made a tsk-tsk sound before my forefinger dug into his skin. “Someone’s dirty lipstick is on the side of your neck.” After rubbing a finger on his skin, I brought it toward my nose and took a quick sniff before studying it closely. “Hmm, walk of shame or orgasm?”

“What did you just say?” Drew’s nonchalant demeanor cracked as he eyed me like I had completely lost my mind.

“Yeah, what am I going to do with your sexy, hunky, cheating ass?”

His brows shot up quickly before his face broke into a massive grin. “Oh, I’m cheating on you, now am I?” He laughed so hard you would wonder if it were the first time he had heard a joke before.

Unexpectedly, he reached out to cup my face with both his hands, squishing it almost. “Ah, Chlo, what am I going to do with you? You’re crazier when drunk.”

Smiling with my eyes halfway shut, I let out a small, breathy statement. “And horny, too.” I just had to add that enlightening tidbit. “Very, very much.”

“Then it’s a good thing those Latino men brought you home safely. ’Cause if they didn’t, you’d probably jump on the first straight man you saw.”

“Crazy, yeah, but I’m not a loose hoochie-coochie. Only slept with one guy, not planning to add another dickhead just yet.” After the words rushed out of my lips, I realized what I had uttered a moment too late.

Awkward and consciously aware of my huge blunder, I tried to play it off, but the strained expression on my face gave away how truly embarrassed I was.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just insult me,” he stated before those mesmerizing blue eyes probed further into me. “Are you serious about the last part? There’s just been me and no one else?”

“Oh, yeah … just that little fucker.” I pointed my finger toward his penis. “Right there.” I snickered, wanting this situation to be less serious than he was making it out to be. Besides, he might come up with some whacked up theory, thinking God knew what.

“Why haven’t you …? I mean …” His intense eyes flickered back and forth. “Did I put you off sex or something? I wasn’t too rough, was I? I don’t recall it being bad.”

In what world did he imagine he had put me off sex? As far as I was concerned, my begging for another round should satisfy that question. If anything, I would say he had made me into a sexually aware woman. Since Drew seemed too keen on the subject, though, I thought I might as well tease him a little. The guy could do with being pulled down from his godly status a peg or two.

“It was fucking awful. It gave me nightmares. Terrifying shit, I tell ya.”

His face grew more serious before he realized what the massive, shit-eating grin was for. “You’re just messing with my head now.” He blew a breath of relief. “For a moment, I really thought I hurt you or something much more serious …”

You left me with serious heartbreak and a huge dent of my self-worth and confidence.
Did those count? Somehow, I doubted it. Men saw it as sex, plain and simple. Women, on the other hand, deemed it far more precious, most especially their first.

The tone became subdued between us. He offered to help me to my room then onto the bathroom to wash up and get ready for bed. He promised to wait out in the bedroom while I did my womanly business. Needless to say, it was quite an experience to be drunk and hopping around while naked.

I had kept a few of his shirts and made them into my sleep shirts. Not only were they comfortable, but the very thought of having something of his while I slept made me feel safe and connected to him.

Makeup off and all washed up, I opened the door, only donning one of his black crew neck shirts that stopped a few inches below my cheeks.

The sight of him leaning against the wall, frowning at his phone as if something bothered him, made me wonder whom it was he was going to see tonight. It had to be the woman who had left her lipstick on his neck so they could finish where they’d left off. She was probably waiting for him. Would he make a joke out of it as an explanation for why he had run later than planned? It was a sad thought.

“Going somewhere?” My voice broke him out his intense scrutiny, and he finally looked up to see me standing against the doorframe.

“Yeah, I came home to pick up something really quick …”

What? Like condoms?
I almost asked, but I preferred to be oblivious.

“Put me to sleep before you go?” My request surprised me more than it did him. With the alcohol running amuck in my veins, my emotions had been triggered, amplified to the maximum.

His eyes heatedly took in my bare legs, brushing up my thighs then the plunging neckline that didn’t do much to hide my cleavage. “I’m already running late …” he meekly argued.

“Please?”