Page 40 of Forget

Any kind of pretence that she didn’t matter to him, that he’d walk away unscathed at the end of this short-term fling, had just been blown sky-high by the potency of his jealousy.

He wouldn’t feel this shitty if he didn’t care.

The possessiveness that gripped him when he’d seen her with that prick… he had no right to feel this way. But now that he’d acknowledged it, albeit to himself, he couldn’t pretend this feeling didn’t exist. It did and he needed to do something about it before he trod down the path to a co-dependent relationship he’d never wanted.

He wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew not every relationship mimicked his folks’ or those of his mates, whose wives carried their balls around in their hip pockets. But for every relationship that had a fighting chance there were nine bad ones and those odds weren’t for him. A ten per cent shot at happiness? No fucking way.

The possessiveness rattled him too because witnessing his parents’ odd marriage, the way his dad treated his mother like a chattel sometimes, ensured he never wanted to view a woman in the same way. Yet that was exactly what he felt when he saw Jayda with that dickhead, as if he wanted to stride over, drape his arm across her shoulders, and brand her as his.

Not good.

When they reached the bar, she perched on a stool, the simple action drawing the clingy material of her dress taut across her thighs. Brock stared, unable to look away, remembering prying them apart, licking his way up them, before reaching heaven…

‘Do you want something to drink?’

Her brusque tone snapped him back to the present and he met her eyes, not surprised when she glared at him in disapproval. Usually she loved when he checked her out, but considering the way he’d left her place last night he guessed she was pissed.

He’d been reeling after revealing too much of himself. Fuck, he’d told her about being poor and his scholarships, about his folks, about the car yard… He’d overshared, resulting in a gut-churning regret that he couldn’t shake.

One minute they’d been fucking, the next he’d woken up in her cosy bedroom and wanted to make a run for it. Wandering around her place hadn’t helped. She’d created a home, a warm, welcoming haven that any guy would love to share with her.

Any guy except him, no matter how much he secretly wished otherwise.

He’d deliberately pushed her away citing work on her software and she’d called him on it. He loved her assertiveness and he deserved her ire, but he’d seen the hurt in her eyes. He recognised it because he’d felt the same way every time he’d approached his dad to ask him to take him to the park to kickthe footy, only to be snapped at that he was busy. Or the times he’d ask his mother to read to him, only to be told she had to do accounts for his father and was too tired after it.

How had they not seen that their crappy marriage affected him too?

He’d been four when he first sensed something wasn’t right between his parents. Dad had come home from a long day at the yard and sat in his armchair in front of the TV as usual, not lifting a finger to help his mum, who’d worked all day too. She’d dished up a quick dinner, frozen pizza with a salad on the side, one of his favourites. His father had taken one look at the limp pizza and declared, ‘I’m not eating that shit.’ His mum had fled to the bathroom and closed the door but he’d heard her muffled crying.

He’d given her an extra squishy hug when she’d come out ten minutes later, red-eyed, and ignored his dad for the rest of the evening. Not that George noticed. He’d barely spoken two words to Brock when he got home after work.

After that incident, Brock had become more observant, watching for the slightest sign of tension between his parents. There had been many, and it worsened as he grew older. Maybe the years together lowered their respect threshold because by the time he’d hit his early teens his parents’ open hostility had made him retreat to his room the second he got home and only come out for dinner, a sad affair filled with awkward silences and irrelevant small talk.

‘I asked if you wanted something to drink.’ Jayda snapped her fingers in front of his face and Brock shook his head, momentarily off-kilter from painful memories.

‘No, thanks.’

‘Fine, then, I’ll drink on my own.’ Her lips compressed into a thin line, her shoulders rigid, as if she couldn’t stand to be near him. ‘I feel like the biggest, fruitiest cocktail on the menu.’

Considering her eyes glowed too brightly and her cheeks were flushed, that wasn’t the best idea. But he’d already sounded like a fuddy-duddy by verbalising his disapproval for her having more to drink so this time he held his tongue.

She stared at him, one eyebrow raised, silently taunting him to say something, and when he remained mute some of her tension dissolved. When the barman approached she placed an order for a sparkling mineral water with a slice of lemon instead.

‘I’m not drunk, if that’s what you think,’ she flung at him in defiance, tilting her chin as if daring him to disagree.

‘I don’t think anything, other than your date had better not take a dip in Port Phillip Bay because with all that grease in his hair he’d cause an oil slick.’

The corners of her mouth twitched and her eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘Ky’s a good guy—’

‘Ky’s an asshole who wanted to get into your panties.’ His response came out a growl, but rather than chastise him as he expected, she surprised him by nodding.

‘Why do guys always disappoint me?’

Considering he was one of those guys, he felt like the biggest bastard in the world. So he settled for saying, ‘What happened?’

‘I’ve known him since we were kids and we always had fun hanging out.’ She sighed, and wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘My folks and his were besties, and we moved in posh circles, but Ky and I weren’t into all that fake BS. So we had that in common too. Anyway, he lives in Sydney so when he asked me to have dinner I thought it was a chance to catch up.’

The barman placed her sparkling water in front of her and she smiled her thanks before turning her attention back to him. ‘I’ve never felt a flirty vibe off him and he’s been in a three-year relationship with a woman who looks like a Swedish supermodel, but tonight…’ The crinkle on the bridge of her nosedeepened. ‘They broke up and he asked me for a nightcap in his hotel room—’

---