Page 58 of The Last Good Man

“Come on, man. I need to hear or see something interesting.”

“What makes you think she’s interesting.”

“Like Mother said. Your fucking eyes.”

“Watch your language, kid,” I say, reaching inside my jacket and pulling out my phone.

“You’ve already got nudes?”

I change my mind and put my phone back in my jacket.

He protests immediately.

“No, no. Don’t do that. I’ll behave. Keep my mouth shut. I promise.”

That will never happen.

His grin fades.

“She’s not the kind of woman who sends you nudes,” he murmurs.

I nod.

“Something like that,” I mutter.

“Oh, fuck. No fucking way,” he mumbles, and I shoot him an abrasive look.

“I’ll zip it. But talk to me, man. I’m dying here. Mystery woman check. Youbeingfull of secrets and acting strange. Check and check. Who is she?”

I get my phone out, put it down, tap the screen, and open the pictures gallery before I scroll down.

“I didn’t take a picture of her,” I say. “This is what I found on the Internet.”

I check the pictures myself again before showing them to my brother.

The first one is a snapshot of Melody Hill as a speaker at a business event. In the second one, she’s with a guy at a party at the same event in the evening. Only this time, she's wearing a cocktail dress.

Her mane rolls down her back, stray strands of hair touching her cheeks.

That’s how I imagine this woman, only with her cheeks flushed, no dress, and her lips wearing a smile after spreading her legs open and fucking her into exhaustion.

Even looking at these pictures, it’s clear that we belong to different worlds and have nothing in common.

Men like me never look at women like her.

For one, we can’t have them, and then there isn’t much we can offer them. And men–most men, anyway—don’t like women like that.

Let’s not fool ourselves. We like our women fawning over us, doing everything for us, and, more importantly, needing us in perpetuity.

We usually go for the loud type. The big mouths. The sassy type. The women we can have fun with.

Or the ones who can’t draw a breath in our presence and never, in their lives, think about crossing us in any way.

That Angelina girl must be this type of woman. That’s why my mother likes her.

When the man eventually settles down, having a kind, loyal, nurturing woman like that isnice.

Hey,I’ll be the first to admit I wouldn’t say no to someone like that. But Angelina didn’t catch my eye.

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