Page 31 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
I wanted to shout at her to get out, but my voice wouldn’t come. I wanted to push her hands away, but instead, I lay there motionless, unable to move an inch. I wanted her to know that my body’s condition wasn’t in response to her touch. I’d often woke up hard and aching, and now my body was betraying me.
Finally, I moved, rolling over to face the wall, and she quietly left. But the damage was done. Something clicked off inside me after that.
It shattered all trust. It torpedoed everything. The next day, I thought I was doing the right thing by telling my dad. He brushed it off, said I probably just dreamed the whole thing and Janine would never do something like that. My dad not listening to me was nothing new, I'd spent most of my childhood ignored and neglected, but his rejection about this hurt worse than anything. After, I sunk into a deep depression. I was incapable of feeling pleasure. And even now, it still haunts me. That sickening creepy feeling that churns low in my stomach when I think about that night. That apathetic dread that slammed through me at my own dad's denial. It broke something inside me.
And more than that, it complicated my sex life. Before, I'd been a normal, horny teenager eager to experience sex and pleasure. But something had clicked off inside me after that. When I finally got around to losing my virginity, it was a quick, emotionless affair and that was still the way I preferred things. Quick. Efficient. With no room for feelings or emotion. Get in. Get off. Get out. There wasn't cuddling or comfort or kissing.
The old me was long gone, replaced with someone I hardly liked. Someone distant. The kind of guy who can manage to spend one night tangled up with the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and be totally unable to let her touch him less than a week later.
If it were you, you’d probably be drinking alone on a weeknight too.
But the hurt in Penelope’s eyes when I left tonight . . . Fuck, that destroyed me.
Penelope.
Just thinking her name makes my heart ache, and my body hum to life in new and strange ways.
She’s different. I can see it in her expression and the hope that fills her wide blue eyes when she looks at me.
She thinks I’m a good man, a kind man, that I’d be a loving boyfriend who enjoys romantic movies and stolen kisses. The kind of man you could bring home to meet your parents, who would shake your dad’s hand and say, you’ve raised a hell of a daughter, sir. And then everyone would have a good laugh.
But I’m none of those things. To be honest, I’m barely functioning most days. I work, sleep, and hit the gym, filling my time so I don’t have to sit around and think about why I’m so broken. And when the ache inside me becomes too much to bear, I get drunk and fumble my way through a quick fuck that only leaves me feeling worse. Guilty and confused.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I’ve been this way my entire adult life. And now Penelope with her pretty mouth and her shining optimism wants me to change? To smile at her and pull her into my arms and hold her while we make love?
It just doesn’t work that way.
Soon enough she’d discover what a piece of shit I am, all about my fucked-up past and why I couldn’t even keep Tessa happy. Then Penelope would leave too, and I’d be alone again, which is exactly the way it’s supposed to be.12* * *PENELOPE“So he just . . . left?” Scarlett blinks at me in disbelief from behind her coffee mug, her mouth hanging open in shock.
We’ve spent the better portion of our lunch breaks huddled in this West Loop coffee shop, hashing out the details of the last few weeks of my dramatic life. It’s quite the story, beginning with Wolfie playing the role of my fake boyfriend on a work retreat, and ending with him walking out on me last night. A story that, unfortunately, ends with a bunch of big, bold question marks instead of a happy ending.
I nod somberly. “Yup. He just broke away from me while we were kissing and bolted out the door.”
Scarlett’s eyes are brimming with such intense sympathy, I can’t even look at her without feeling pathetic. Instead, I focus on stirring my spoon in lazy circles through my hot chocolate.
Well, it’s really more like room-temperature chocolate now with how long I’ve been rambling. Normally, I’m a latte girl, but when a man flees your apartment in the middle of a hot make-out session, you buy yourself a damn hot cocoa. Tack on the homemade marshmallows this place advertises, and I couldn’t say no.
