“And now you’re my relationship guru?” I snort. “I don’t see any ring on your finger or better yet, through your nose with some female leading you around in circles.”
“Ouch. That sheila’s got you tied up real bad.”
“No, she doesn’t. It’s why I need to go.” I stare out the window, wishing it were true.
“How long you two known each other?”
“A little less than a week.”
“Fuckwit. You moved too fast.”
“Your point, Doctor Phil?”
Lucky glances up from the road, clear blue eyes meeting mine. “My mom and dad went at it all the time. Argued so loud the neighbors called the cops. It didn’t mean nothing. Later, they’d go into the bedroom and come out all smiles. I think healthy relationships need some arguing, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I’ll take your keen insight under advisement if you promise to shut the fuck up.”
“You’re a real bastard, mate.”
“Damn right I am.”
Much later, while I wait by my gate, I send a report to Slate and he calls me right back. “I thought you we’re going to let us handle things?” He sounds a bit pissed and rightfully so. I put myself and the guys in danger.
“There wasn’t much to be done.” I explain how Blakely called Young and tipped our hand.
“Fuck. She’s a handful.”
“You have no idea but she was right, Young went to check on his freezer.”
“We could use a good psychologist. Maybe I should offer her a job?”
“Not a good idea.” I shudder at the thought.
After I download the whole fiasco, I hang up and wonder if Blakely’s awake. Calling, I get no answer. Then, I’m back in the air, heading to New York.
Once I land, I try texting again and again, get no response. Fine, if she needs me to be the bad guy, I got big shoulders. Besides, I make it a rule to never beg. If she wants to talk, I’ll talk. I wait for my phone to ring and as I suspected, it stays quiet. When a woman you slept with doesn’t even want to hear your voice, it’s best to let her go.
My fucking gut clenches as I wait for a cab and think how I’ll never see her again. We never would’ve worked out. She’s a fucking psychologist and I went to online classes to get my diploma. She’s got an office just off Fifth Ave. and I’m the hired help, a glorified bouncer with a gun.
Shit. It’s time I stopped feeling sorry for myself and got a better job. I brought them a serial killer so maybe the FBI will be interested. I hate to keep relying on Patten as a pity-hire. I can go back once I figure out my market value.
For the next few days, I see Blakely’s pretty face everywhere I look. It’s worse than being haunted. I close my eyes and hers come to mind. I hear her screams of ecstasy when she cums and it makes me so fucking sad my eyes water.
One night, I drunk text her and get a text back.
Blakely: Dude, she hates your guts, give it up.
It just goes to show, you can’t make a woman fall for you by turning into a slobbering fool. I delete her number and consider reenlisting. I’m still tough enough for any of the special branches but I’ll be damned if I’ll do it while my head is messed up. I didn’t live this long by making rash decisions based on a fucked-up heart.
However, I do need work.
“Took you long enough.” Slate picks up on the first ring.
“Give me a break, I’ve only been home a couple days. Got anything?”
“What about the sweet psychologist? Don’t you want a little down time, or should I say get-it-up time?”
What is it with my pals and women? I’ll tell you. They’re all pussy-whipped and think I should be, too.
