Page 34 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
I laugh. “It was fun. He was a few years older than me—like, seven or eight. Good-looking guy, great cock. I know literally nothing else about him, and we fucked several times a week for five years. I don’t know his middle name, where he grew up, how he came to be the landlord, why he was alone, what happened to his leg, who the woman in the pictures on his mantel was, not a damn thing. It was just sex. Sometimes I’d sit on the couch afterward with him and watch NASCAR for a while, but we didn’t talk. Sometimes he’d give me a beer or two.”
She shakes her head. “I just don’t get it. Why? Wasn’t it weird or…impersonal?”
“It wasn’t impersonal at all. We were both lonely, I think, but neither of us wanted to make it anything more than it was. I don’t know what his reasons were.”
“What was his name?”
“Tómas.” I take a long drink. “He was from Europe somewhere. I know he had an accent. And he was just…European. Uncircumcised, which was different for me, then, and kind of neat.” I pause again, thinking. “He had a limp in his left leg, a big scar on the knee. No clue what from, though.”
“Was he revenge on Jared, too?”
I shake my head. “No. After that first month, I honestly got just plain tired. That much sex is exhausting. I learned a lot about myself in that month, though. For example, I learned that I love sex and a lot of it, I love men, and I love variety. I don’t have any one type. Tómas, for example, was older, tall, kind of thin and not a really physical sort of guy, with dark hair and a permanent five-o-clock shadow. Jared, obviously, was the all-American golden boy. You’ve met some of the guys I’ve been with. There’s no one type. I just—”
“There is a type, though,” Audra cuts in. “Or, rather, one theme tying them together.”
“What’s that?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“None of them, not one that I’ve ever met, or you’ve ever told me about, has ever been tall, blond, and muscular, with pretty blue eyes and a perfect jawline.” She halts there, for emphasis.
Because that’s all she has to say.
That’s what Jared looked like.
And…it’s what Franco looks like.
Jared had short hair, always neatly groomed, parted to one side and gelled perfectly in place. He shaved religiously, sometimes twice a day. Worked out obsessively, watched game tapes obsessively, practiced obsessively—football was his entire life, to the point that despite being head over heels in love with him, I sometimes wondered if he didn’t love football more than me.
Franco…god. Franco does fit the Jared archetype, now that she points it out. There are certain strong resemblances—compulsive neatness, blond hair and blue eyes, incredible physique.
And that, perhaps, is part of my hang-up.
“Dammit.” I stand up abruptly, intending to take another shot or seven, but I wobble, and Imogen catches me and helps me to sit back down.
“Maybe you should hold off for a bit,” Imogen says. “Finish what you have and drink some water.”
“Are you sure none of my other hookups have had blond hair and blue eyes?” I ask.
Imogen shrugs. “I can’t say for sure, obviously, as I know I haven’t met even half of them.”
I sigh. “No, definitely not even half. Most of them never got even close to my place. Usually I’d go to his place, or we got a hotel room.” I hold my head in my hands, I feel really dizzy now. “None of them were blond with blue eyes. Blond, yes. Blue eyes, yes. Both? No. I can say that with certainty.”
“So you’re attracted to Franco because of that, but also…not repelled, but…mixed up?”
“Yeah.” I keep my eyes closed, feet planted on the ground. “You know who else fits that description? Blond hair, pretty blue eyes, chiseled jawline, broad shoulders?”
“No. Who?”
“My dad,” I whisper.
“Ohhhhh.” She pauses. “That makes so much sense.”
“Yeah. Dad was…he was such a piece of shit that he makes even Jared look like Prince Charming.” I sigh. “Honestly, I thought I was getting Prince Charming when I started dating Jared. I thought he was the antithesis of Dad. The proof that good men do exist.”
“Oh, honey.”
“Only, it turns out I was wrong. I was getting a prince all right—Prince Humperdink, in Wesley disguise. …And good men don’t exist.”
“Jesse does. James does. Ryder does.” She pauses. “Franco does.”
I groan. “Imogen, come on.”
She sighs. “What do you expect me to say, Audra? To say that I think you’re totally right and justified in refusing to entertain the slightest hint of love? I mean, babe, you act like you’re allergic to the word relationship. I know you were burned, and hard, but…you have to move on eventually.”
“Nope. I don’t.”
She hands me a can of sparkling water. “So you’re going to cut Franco out of your life and go back to the endless parade of empty, meaningless, casual sexual encounters with complete strangers? Even though you know damn well you have a real and possibly serious connection with Franco?”
