Page 3 of A Love That Broke Us
I laugh. “That’s different. Waiting at a bar doesn’t make you look like a stalker.”
“True, but stalking’s kind of your specialty,” he shoots back with a smirk.
I shake my head, chuckling. “Yeah, but that didn’t involve hospital security.”
Matt shrugs. “You’ll find a way, bro. You always do.”
Easy for him to say. If it were Matt, Alley would’ve handed over her number before the anesthesia even wore off. Hell, he might’ve even received a handy under the sheets. No need for him to ask, either. Girls throw themselves at him, consequences be damned. Yeah, he’d have walked out with her number and a grin plastered on his face.
Me? I don’t have it quite that easy, but I do just fine. I’m not the guy who turns every head when I walk into a room, but I’ve got enough going for me to keep things interesting: a good face, decent build, great sense of humor, and I can charm my way into just about any opportunity. That’s why I’ve built a solid career in software sales. I don’t make Matt-level money, but I’ve done well for myself. I’m thirty, single, and I’ve made smart investments.
The main difference between us, though, is that I actually want to find someone to spend my life with. Matt? Not so much. He’s more about keeping things casual, and in a city like New York—crawling with women who aren’t looking for anything serious—he’s thriving.
“Any suggestions on how to do that?” I ask, kicking back against the couch.
“I don’t know, man. Do the typical Jensen thing. Stalk her, flash her a smile, and let your charm work its magic. Ninety percent chance you score a date, fifty you get laid.”
Matt’s attention shifts back to the game, leaving me stuck contemplating my obsession with Alley. I keep asking myself what makes herdifferent. There are plenty of hot girls in New York, and I rarely do a double take, let alone let someone hijack my thoughts for two weeks. Was it her stupid sexy smile and that one dimple? The way she flirted back without trying too hard? I mean,Jesus, she cracked a joke about my boner. Made me laugh when I was barely conscious. Not a lot of girls with that kind of sense of humor. And there was something in her eyes. Something honest, and innocent. For some reason, I felt like I could trust her.
Maybe that’s why I can’t get her out of my head.
Maybe Matt’s right. I could go to the hospital, but I don’t want to come off as creepy.Was she even into me? Would she even say yes if I asked her out?It’s been two weeks, and she still lurks in the back of my mind. Every night, I fall asleep thinking about her. Hell, I’ll probably rub one out to thoughts of her tonight.
My hand drifts to my knee, mindlessly rubbing the ache. I reach for the bottle of ibuprofen on the side table, pop two into my mouth, and wash them down with a sip of water. It won’t do much right away, but in thirty minutes, it should be just enough to take the edge off. Two weeks post-surgery, and I’m ready for this dull ache to leave me the hell alone. At this rate, I’ll be limping like an old man forever.
I should’ve known better than to jump for that rebound. It was way out of reach. One wrong twist mid-air, and my knee gave out like a cheap folding chair. The sound still echoes in my head—like a branch snapping underfoot—followed by the sharp, gut-punch pain that nearly had me seeing stars. I’ve been playing in an adult basketball league on Tuesday nights for a couple years now. Unfortunately, those days are gone for at least a couple months.
“I should probably wait to stalk her until I’m off my crutches, huh?”
Matt hesitates, glancing over. “I don’t know. The whole ‘poor me’ thing might actually work. Girls love taking care of a man, and she might feel bad about saying no to a guy on crutches.”
I laugh inwardly. What a Matt thing to say. He thinks women live to serve him, and judging by his track record, they pretty much do.
We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. Matt and I both grew up on the Upper East Side, lived in the same building, andwent to the same private schools together. Even now, we still live in the same building, a building he owns in the West Village.
Matt shouts at the TV, but I’m lost in thought—the past, the present, and what I’m going to do to scratch this itch named Alley.
“Hey, speaking of women… Remember that girl Samantha I told you about?” Matt glances over, pulling me from my thoughts.
And, just like that, we’re done talking about Alley. “The one that gave you head at your buddy’s birthday party?”
He grins, leaning back with a smug look. “Yeah. She texted me last night, came over. I fucked her against the wall, then again in my room. Best part? She was gone when I woke up. She left a note that said, ‘Thanks for last night, call me.’”
Jesus. He can be such a prick in so many ways, but he’d give me the shirt off his back without hesitation. Matt has some flaws, who doesn’t? But he gives everything to the people who matter.
His parents are big real-estate investors, and he followed in their footsteps. He’s insanely successful, and, when it comes to women, a total player. I can’t really blame him, though. He’s always been good-looking, and the ladies have flocked to him since the day he could tie his own shoes.
Growing up, his parents were hardly ever around. His nanny, Gloria, practically raised him. He was an only child, an accident at that, and his childhood lacked the kind of love every kid deserves. He never really had a relationship with his parents. Things are better now, but back then? He was all kinds of messed up. Then again, so was I, and I had no excuse.
My parents were the opposite of his. They were hands-on, which was rare at our school. My dad’s a successful lawyer. Not the kind who makes millions like Matt’s parents, but enough to live comfortably in New York and send us to private school. Compared to most of the kids I went to school with, our wealth was nothing. My mom stayed home with us, and her whole life revolved around my sisters and me. I always felt seen, supported, and cared for. Everything Matt missed out on growing up.
“So, are you going to call her?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He glances my way. “Nah, probably not. I like when they come to me.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you do. So… how was she?”
“In the sack? Fucking great. She’s a freak—wild, adventurous, hot as hell.” He pauses, chuckling. “She slipped a finger in my ass.”
