Perfectly Damaged

“Fine,” I say, but then I decide I can’t just leave it as is. “Let me say one more thing.” Bryson rolls his eyes but nods for me to go on and get it over with. “Mark my words. I will never be that strung out over a girl. Ever.”

Bryson shakes his head. “Whatever, man. It’ll happen to you sooner or later. And when it does, I’m going to have front-row seats as you pour out your little Logan heart for all to see.”

I snort. “That’s never happening.”

I’ve dated before, plenty of women. And every time a chick and I made our relationship more than just sex, I was never unfaithful. Why hunt for the meal when it’s already cooked and waiting for you at home? That’s my motto. But my exes know me. They know I’m not a clinger, nor am I the jealous type, and I couldn’t give two fucks what the hell they wear. I’m also not one of those freaky, possessive alpha-male types that demands to know where their woman is at all times. I consider myself laid-back. My exes consider me indifferent.

But that’s neither here nor there. All I’m saying is that—okay, maybe I didn’t give a shit half the time, but I was always faithful. Did I ever have a true interest in furthering a relationship? No. It just always turned out that way, more from convenience than anything else. It wasn’t that I didn’t like or respect my girlfriends, I did. I just didn’t really want anything more from them. So with that said, shouldn’t I at least get some type of honorary certificate or something? It can read, “This honorary certificate goes to Logan Reed, who’s not so much of a douchebag after all,” and I can pin that shit to my wall.

Santino mumbles something with his mouth full. I don’t understand shit he just said. “Come again?” I ask.

He guzzles back his beer to wash down his last bite. “What’s this new job we’re starting on Monday?”

Bryson cuts in; he knows more than I do. “The McDaniels’ property. We’re working on a two thousand-square-foot guesthouse beside a pool.”

Santino whistles. “I swear these rich people have so much damn money, they can’t think of anything else to do with it. Give me some of it; I can put it to good use.” He leans back in the booth, smiling at himself.

“Yeah, you’d use it all on girls, food, and booze,” I say.

Santino nods. “This is true. Maybe I should start playing the lottery.”

“Anyway,” Bryson adds, “they want their daughter, Jenna—I think that’s her name—involved one hundred percent. Supposedly, it’s a surprise for her twenty-second birthday in October. She doesn’t realize Mommy and Daddy are basically building her a house.”

Santino squints. “In their backyard?” He laughs. “That’s not really letting her spread her wings. Is she at least hot?”

Yeah, she’s hot. I’m instantly reminded of last night when Jenna and I tongue fucked on her front porch—after I saved her life and she basically bitched me out for it. In a weird way, it was kind of hot. Having a sexy woman in a bikini tell me off and then beg for a kiss? Hot. First impressions are very important, in my opinion. And she put down the fucking wild card on that one. I didn’t know what to make of her, but after she implied that I was gay, I had to show her how straight I truly am—nothing against gay guys and all. Everyone has their preferences, and mine are simple: women.

And Jesus Christ, can Jenna kiss. I can still taste and feel her lips. I did it to prove a point, but after our lips made contact I was done for; I couldn’t control myself at all. She was hesitant at first—even though it was her idea. She got the push she needed, though, when I shoved my tongue into her mouth. She let out a slight moan, which only fed my fire. My hand found its way to her perfect little ass, and the rest—well, let’s just say if that douche, Matthew, never interrupted us, I probably could’ve gotten her past a few bases right there on her front porch.

“Yeah. She’s hot,” I answer Santino.

Bryson looks at me. “How would you know? You weren’t at the meeting with Pop and me.”

“Your father asked me to pick up the toolbox you left behind. Let’s just say I was properly introduced to her.”

“Ooh,” Santino lets out excitedly. I nod at him, letting him know that whatever thoughts he’s thinking right now may or may not be true, depending how far his thoughts are going.

“Logan, you know the rules.” Bryson kills the slight buzz I have from my third beer. He always has to turn his ethical-professional-bullshit cap on.

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. This night is going nowhere. I look around the place and spot the redhead, who’s leaning against the bar, staring directly at me. She waves with a smile. I grin back and stand. “I’ll be back,” I tell Bryson and Santino and head her way.

“I can’t help but notice we have a problem.” I slide onto a stool right next to her and get an eyeful of those big—

“Oh? And what is that?” She says in a sexy tone, looking straight ahead.

“We can’t keep our eyes off each other.”

Redhead’s back is flush against the bar. A smile creeps up the corner of her lips. Turning her head, she looks at me. “That is a problem. What are you going to do about it?”

I lean in closer. “I think I have a few things in mind. What time does your shift end?”

She doesn’t blink. Leaning in fully to me, her lips almost touch mine. “In a half hour,” she breathes out.

“A half hour it is then.”

“Your orders are ready, Tammy,” Tony says from behind the bar. Redhead, who now has a name, turns around and grabs the filled tray. She winks and then carries on.

I check her out as she walks away before straightening in my seat to face Tony. Tony is Uncle George’s good friend and owner of this small bar. Tony shakes his head at my victory grin. “You’re in the wrong business, son.” He tosses a towel, aiming for my face, but I catch it in time.

“Yeah, and what kind of business should I be in?”

His stubby hands lay flat on top of the bar. “Male escort.”

We both chuckle at this. It’s ridiculous. “You have to be a pretty boy for that shit. I’m far from it.”

“You’d be surprised. More and more girls are into this.” He waves a hand between us, shrugging in the process. “Scruffy, bad boy, tattoos. It’s a cliché role.”