Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Nah, if I even get to go, it’s just going to be me. This is business, not pleasure.”
I didn’t say it, but I doubted that sitting through a bloody massacre with Layla could be classified as pleasure. She could barely stand being in the same room when I was watching sports, which was baffling, because she was a college cheerleader. She was present at every football and basketball game the school played, yet she had only a rudimentary understanding of the rules of those sports. I had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t even have known when to get excited during the games if it wasn’t for the cues from the cheer captain.
But that wasn’t why I dated Layla. Sports was the last thing on my mind when it came to her. She was gorgeous, popular, and willing to suck my dick. Plus, she was incredibly lovable once you got past her jarring first impression, and my family had gone nuts over her the one time I’d taken her home for the weekend.
“I’m glad you finally decided to bring someone home,” my mom had said. “She’s such a sweet girl.”
“And not bad to look at either,” my dad had added with a laugh. “Can she cook?”
His unapologetically sexist comments earned him a sharp elbow to the side by my mom. But he’d winked at me, and mom had smiled and crinkled her freckled nose, and I knew I had their blessings to take things to the next level.
Only that next level had never materialized. Layla did her thing, I did mine, and we met up once or twice a week for sex. Most nights, we talked on the phone for a few minutes before bed, but we had never actually spent the night together in the same bed.
She had invited me over a few times, but I’d always declined, and she hadn’t pushed the issue. She seemed to respect my need to keep some space between us, even if she didn’t understand it. Truthfully, I didn’t understand it, either. While I considered her my girlfriend, loved her as a friend, and enjoyed having sex with her, anything that suggested true intimacy or the commingling our separate lives still made me uneasy.
I knew she wouldn’t expect to be invited to the MMA event. We both knew that wasn’t us.
As I trotted down the hall to my room to grab a towel for a quick shower before the fight, I heard Braden trying to explain my relationship to Miranda. “Jamie and Layla aren’t like us, babe,” he said. “She actually gives him a little breathing room, unlike some people I know.”
“Is that supposed to be a hint?” Miranda laughed out loud. “Okay, big boy. You want breathing room? I’ll just go out drinking with Kaylee and Lisa tomorrow night instead of hanging here with you like I always do. They’ve been begging me all week.”
“Um, I don’t think so,” Braden said irritably.
“Then quit complaining.”
I heard what sounded like loud kissing coming from the living room, and I shook my head, pulling the bathroom door closed behind me. Those two puzzled the hell out of me. Individually they seemed like the most independent, take-no-shit people, but put them together, and you had a couple who couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. It almost made me wish I could figure out how to have that with Layla.
But as the warm water spilled down over my head, I felt an undeniable pang of guilt. The truth was, I didn’t actually want that kind of closeness with Layla, or anyone else for that matter. Did that make me selfish?
Was I destined to be one of those serial womanizers who bounced from girlfriend to girlfriend and woke up one day to discover my forties had come and gone and I still didn’t have a family? Was I going to be like Uncle Martin, my dad’s lawyer brother who showed up with a new woman at every family reunion? On the surface, Uncle Martin seemed to be living the life he wanted, but I had studied him a few times when he thought no one was paying attention. Something about the wistful look in his eyes as he watched the established couples and their children interact gave me the distinct impression that all was not wine and roses in Martin’s world.
I didn’t want that kind of life, but sometimes it felt like that’s exactly where I was headed.
2
WHILE I was getting dressed, Dr. Washburn texted to say that a press pass would be waiting for me at the Will Call ticket window, and I celebrated so loudly the neighbors probably heard me. I pulled on my skinny khakis, a midnight blue stretch button-up over a black t-shirt, and my black leather shoes. Then I pieced my bangs out with a bit of hair gel and slicked the rest back into a ducktail.