Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Sounds good. I’ll skip the potatoes.”
“Your loss,” Brad chuckles. “That’s one thing I don’t envy, Rust. Those weight cuts.”
“It’s not too bad for a heavyweight. Just eight to ten pounds, nothing major.”
“Yeah, but I just hate dieting in general,” he laughs again. “Dieting and dating,” he goes on with another laugh.
Feeling obligated to act normal, I say, “Still no luck in that department?”
He sighs. “Nah, not really. There was this woman at work, but it was an odd power dynamic with me being the store owner. It didn’t feel right, so I didn’t act on it. It was too inappropriate.”
In the rearview mirror, I exchange a look with Mary. She looks like she’s ready to burst when Brad says this. He’s such a good person that he didn’t act on his desire for an employee, but we can’t even hold ourselves back when it comes to family, something that will really violate the connection we’re supposed to share.
“What about you?” Brad asks. “Except for that Maddie crap, obviously.”
We’re talking as we often did growing up, like Mary isn’t there. It’s something I became used to being around her so much. Like me, she’ll get quiet, content to observe and listen. Yet, with this topic, I feel she’s analyzing every move. It shouldn’t matter. We ended things, killed them. It was over before it ever began.
“Ah, you know,” I say, not wanting to lie.
Everything feels out of place when I tell a lie to Brad. The world only started to fit together when we became friends. Now, it’s slipping out of sync, a sick system of pain that should never apply to us—a nonstop right hand to the jaw on repeat.
“No, I don’t know, actually,” Brad laughs, not a care in the world. “He thinks we can read his mind, Mary.”
“Oh,” she says and laughs. She’s suffering as much as I am, struggling to contain the pain she feels. Perversely, my instinct is to turn, touch her hand, and tell her everything will be okay. But I keep my hands on my legs and my gaze firmly aimed forward.
“He’s never taken anyone on a date,” Brad says, talking to Mary, his tone warm, just messing around. He doesn’t know it’s like twisting a corkscrew into my gut. He’s right, though. I didn’t take her on a date. It wasn’t a date. It was a mauling. A feast. A celebration of the warmth between us, the heat I never expected to feel.
“It was never my thing,” I mutter.
“You could have any woman you wanted,” Brad says. “Hey, not that I’m jealous or anything.”
“It doesn’t appeal to me,” I say, talking to Brad but really talking to my woman. She needs to hear this more than anyone. No, she doesn’t. End it, goddamnit, but I can’t. “I’ve had chances. Parties. Women love fighters. I’ve seen and been around it all my life, but I don’t care. I never have. I thought I was a robot when it came to women for a long time.”
“Not anymore?” Brad says, turning into the restaurant’s parking lot.
I realize my mistake. I said “thought” as in the past tense. That’s offering way too much information. I need to be more careful around him, my best friend. I need to try to limit what I say and think and the indications I give toward this sick thing we’ve done.
Thankfully, Brad is used to my silence. Parking, we step out of the car, and immediately, our mistake is made evident. Three separate people turn and gape at me, then one of them—a man this time, wearing a pink hat with an I Heart Violence tag on it—takes out his phone and walks quickly toward me. “Oh my God. Rust Hadley!”
The other two seem a bit more respectful, a man and a woman, waiting just behind the man with the camera. More people are turning toward us, like zombies, probably not even spotting me. They see people gathering, want to know why, and have a piece of the celebrity. They’re like parasites, but not all of them. Not the two waiting respectfully. Soon, there are ten or twenty people, just like that.
“Crap,” Brad says. “Guess dinner’s out.”
“Sorry, man,” I tell him.
“It’s all good.”
“Rust,” the first man yells, waving his phone at me. “What do you think about Maddie Maddox’s tease at making an OnlyFans account?”
I shake my head. “That’s completely meaningless information to me.”
“You don’t care about your ex making a porn account?”
“She’s not my ex,” I tell them.
Brad jabs me on the arm. “Come on. Leave them.”
“To all my real fans,” I say, looking through the crowd and spotting a few of them. “I wish I could hang around and take some photos with you, but as you can see, this fame-hungry world won’t let that happen.”
“Hear that, folks?” The man talks into the phone, presumably in selfie mode now. “That’s what Rust Hadley thinks of his fans.”