No one had that cinnamon colored hair; nobody held a cigarette the same way Charlie did. Nobody ever had a book clenched tightly to her chest, and nobody’s laugh sounded anything like hers.Andno one ever looked at me the way Charlie did.
It had been years, and no one had ever come close to being anything like Charlie. And Joey, well that was a whole other different level of shit.
“You seriously won’t tell me about them?” Brooke asked, leaning back.
“Nothing to tell,” I said after I climbed up off the floor and walked away with just a small, backward glance.
Her mouth was still open; my cock just left her hanging.
I tucked myself back in my pants and buttoned up. Total loss of wood.
Now, don’t go thinking about me like I’m a grade A asshole, I’m really not. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk to Brooke, but I’m not the sort of man that can be forced into shit. I don’t like games, and she just tried to play one with me. You saw what she just did.
Why didn’t I just tell her? Of course, you would ask that.
There are just some things in my life I don’t want to relive. I don’t want to feel them again or have anyone else know about the worst and hardest parts of my life. Guys don’t want to rehash and talk something to death. And, if us guys talked about our stuff, it would be with someone we chose to do it with, not with someone who forced us into it. I didn’t want to tell Brooke.
I didn’t want to be that close with her.
I wouldn’t be that close to her.
I laid it all out on the line with Brooke when we first met for drinks after work one night—over a month ago. I told her point-blank I was not looking to get into a monogamous relationship. It’s not that I was a guy who messed around, because let’s face reality; I don’t have a bunch of different beautiful women jumping into my bed every night. That’s just frigging unrealistic. That crap only happens in movies and in girl porn, it just doesn’t happen in real freaking life. And, let’s face it, I’m just a normal guy. There’s nothing wrong with me, but I’m not anything special either. I’m not a player. I don’t have money falling out of my pockets. I’m not a rock star, movie star, cutter, drinker, drug user, bipolar, card-carrying man-whore club member, or anything else that’s trending right now. And what the hellare these things trending for? I’m just a city cop who doesn’t have mental or emotional issues; I see the filth of life firsthand, working day-to-day, and I try hard not to take that crap home with me.
Brooke and I had a deal. This girly talk and getting to know each other’s deep, dark secrets was not part of the deal. And I’ve known Brooke since she got on the job about four years ago; she was always a serial dater. I know at least three other guys she’s been with and I’ve never held them against her.
Brooke slithered up and ran after me. “Okay, okay, sorry, Delaney,” she said, pulling on my waist to wrap her arms around me. Yeah, I didn’t like that crap either. “I just wanna know you better. Just tell me who they are.”
“What the hellBrooke-Lyn? Stop with the personal inquisition of my life. You’re smothering the Hell out of me.”
She stepped in front of me, long, tan legs posturing, fist planted on her hip, the hem of my shirt she was wearing riding up over her thighs. ”It’s just that we’ve been together for a few weeks, and I kind of was hoping that you’d…”
“What?Change?” I asked.
“Well…a little, maybe…” she mumbled, looking down at something on the floor.
“What is with the female population of New York City? There’s nothing WRONG with me. I like who I am, and I don’t want to change.”
“I just wish we could, you know, maybe talk or…”
“What the Hell do you need to hear from me? All of a sudden, you want to be my shrink and listen to me cry about my messed up childhood friends. What next? You going to ask me what it was like when I went overseas? Want my body count?” I walked up real close to her face. “Stop looking for something more in me, when I’m telling you, I can’t give you anything else.”
“It’s not that you can’t. It’s that you WON’T!” she yelled aggressively.
“That’s right, becauseI don’t want to,” I said, calmly.
“Alrighty there, Detective Dickhead, I don’t even know why I bother!”
“That makes two of us.”
With a frown, Brooke started pacing in front of me, blocking my way out of the apartment. Yeah, that’s not a game either, right?
I’d been nothing but honest with her.
She started pacing faster, getting more agitated. Then—here’s my favorite part—she ran at me and shoved me with both her hands, hard against my chest.
Don’t worry, I’m not a little punk who would hit a woman back; I just stood there and let her get it out. After a while, I had to admit, it kind of annoyed me, but I didn’t have the heart to stop her.
“You!” she screamed, shoving me a last time. “You don’t even know my middle name. You don’t even know my favorite food, or color, or movie. And I know NOTHING about you, except for how big your dick is!”
