Page 32 of Our Elliana

I guess I just wish she’d be that generous and caring with me. Maybe because I seriously like this woman and not only sexually.

Which is stupid. I know.

But I never pictured things going down like that. Or that jealousy would be my response to it. I literally came all over the dining room table as I watched that scenario play out, so it isn’t like I didn’t get my jollies. I’ll never fucking look at that space the same again, that’s for damn sure.

As soon as I understood that she’d be keeping all three of us rather than one, I knew the score. I wonder if she’ll ask us to engage in some down and dirty multi-player at some point. It’s certainly looking that way, and though I’ve never before gotten busy quite like that, I’m good with it.

I am.

I just never anticipated this upsurge of envy throwing a damper over the whole damn thing. Maybe after our trial night, I envisioned her choosing me as her first every time, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the other men’s sloppy seconds. Or maybe whatever’s going on with me is coming more from the events that lead me here. Or from my constantly aching dick.

I can never seem to satisfy my cock. He’s always hungry for more.

Still, it’d be nice to be chosen first just this once. No matter how often I play the happy-go-lucky life of the party or how dedicated I am when I pour my heart out to entertain, no one ever makes me their numero uno. It’s always been like this.

From being an accidental afterthought born to my fifty-year-old mother who’d never thought she’d have kids to the father who’s main personality trait is being an arrogant shithead. Mom did exert some minimal effort into raising me at times, but even then, her attention has always stayed on Monroe.

She’ll forever choose my father as her first rather than me. Even in name he’s the first. Legally, I have to sign my signature as Monroe Jackson McTierney II.

Maybe that’s why I gravitated to music so early.

It helped me to not feel so left behind and placed everyone’s eyes on me even if only for a minute. Mom put up with what she called my quaint temporary hobby while my father showed zero-tolerance for it. Monroe wanted me at his esteemed alma mater of Yale to become a financier like him, not to follow and practice my singing and songwriting.

Just shoot me already.

So, I defied his rickety unmovable ass. Which led to him cutting me off as a freshman in college. Which led to me dropping out and moving in with the one family member I could depend on.

My gramps.

That was eons ago, now. Thirteen years. Prior to Gramps’ many heart issues—he’s had to have bypass surgery twice—and before I helped him sell his home, so he’d have the resources needed to move into his assisted living facility.

Sure, that meant me having to get a little inventive when it comes to survival. Looking after him while simultaneously going full tilt after my musical dreams has meant a lot of sacrificing, everything from taking on a slew of random manual labor jobs to playing for change on sidewalks. I’ve even slept on the occasional park bench.

Not that he knows that.

But I’m not someone who believes in giving up.

I’ve had my share of almosts. I’ve been so close to success a few times that I could taste it. I’ve worked in crews where I hammered the literal stage together before performing for peanuts. Been in bands that did well then imploded. Had a manager offer me a contract only to snatch it away before I could sign. Was scheduled for money-making shows that wound up cancelled.

For some reason, Lady Luck likes to offer me a taste only to elude me in the end.

Regardless, Elegance hooking me up with Elle has been nothing short of serendipitous. I’m glad that website fell into my lap at just the right instant, and I’m even gladder that Elle not only picked me out of a lineup but decided to keep me. Even if I’m not her favorite.

Fuck.

Frustrated, I do what I have to in these circumstances to yank my head out of my ass.

“Gramps,” I half yell into the phone. He doesn’t do texts, and he’s hard of hearing. “How are you?”

“Jackson? That you?”

“It’s me. You hanging in there?”

“’Course. I’m a tough old bird.”

I snicker. No truer words have ever been spoken.

“It’s good to hear your voice. That hot nurse still stopping by on the daily?”

---