Page 40 of Sexy Bad Escort

“So you fixeveryone else but haven’t a clue how to fix yourself, huh?”

“What are you,a fucking psychologist?”

“If Iwere, I would havefigured out a way to mend our relationship long before now.So what were you asking before my next lay interrupted?”

“Do you evenknow her name?” I ask.

“Does itmatter?”

“Itshould.”

“Why?We’re going to mutually satisfy each other for a few hours tonightand then go our separateways and never speak again.”

“And you thinkI have issues.”

“Oh, I’mfully aware Ihaveissues. But I’ve learned to live with them. You, on the other hand,have been living in denial for, what? Ten years?”

“Is thathow long it’s been since we talked? I mean, actually had a conversation that didn’t end ina shouting match. Or has it been longer?”

Hestares into his beer, like it’s a crystal ball and might supply ananswer. Finally he says, “I think it’s been longer. You were, what?In fifth grade when I moved to California for college. By my sophomore year, you andDad had started fighting. By my senior year, you were blaming me asmuch as you blamed him. So yeah, it’s been a hell of a long timesince we’ve done this.”

“If Iwas in fifth grade, I’m pretty sure we’ve never done this.” I mock salute him with my beer.He drains his mug and signals to the bartender.

“It’s kind ofnice,” he says.

“Don’t getsappy. It’s just weird.”

The hotblonde behind the bar refills his drink, gives him a wink,thenglances over hershoulder at the clock. He nods, acknowledging her signal. What thehell? If I didn’t have Ronnie waiting at home, I’d have yet anothertrait to add to my arsenal of Things About Joe To Be JealousOf.

“I’m notbeing sappy,” he says. “I justwant my brother back.”

“I neverleft.”

“Emotionally, youdid.”

He’sright, but it was outofself-preservation. I had to distance myself in order to figure outhow to be myself. Except all I did was become the guy who rebelledagainst everything about my family. Makes me wonder who the hellI’m really supposed to be.

“Istarted watching the Black Hawks again,” I admit.

“Why, justbecause they’re finally winning after that long-ass losingstreak?”

“Maybe.”

“Youmissed a hell of a lot of awesome sports action by refusing toenjoy them just because you couldn’t playyourself.”

“I wentto enough of your gameswhen I was a kid to last a lifetime.”

Joeshrugs. “Some of us are good at sports. Some of us are goodat giving people relationshipadvice. Everybody has a talent.”

I stare at thedamp label on my bottle. “That’s not how Dad sees it.”

Joeis silentfor a minute. “Our father never got over the fact that he went profor less than one season.” I hear the hesitation in his voice. “Hespent his entire life up to that point working toward that goal.And then he ended up with that slipped disc or whatever the hellwent wrong with his back, and he was pretty much lost when theytold him he’d have to give up his dreams. The worst part: theinjury wasn’t even a result of playing, which I think would havemade it easier on him. But the fact that his body, his temple,betrayed him, well, it fucked with his head.”

“Andthen you came along and you were as perfect ashim, so he poured allhis hopes and dreams into you.”

He nods.“Yep. It was tough living up to his expectations, especiallysincethe sport Iultimately chose barely passed muster, in his eyes.”

I snort.“Professional skateboarding isn’t good enough, eh?”

---