Page 66 of Rough

I watched as I used my toe to scribe letters into in the rug’s fibers. “You know you’re good-looking, and you use it to your advantage. You step into our lives all handsome and charming, and you screw girls like me – the loyal servants that’ll do anything to please their man – then you disappear.” I wiped away my design with my bare foot, and then looked up. “And we’re left to wonder what we did wrong.”

“I used to be like that, but I’m not anymore.”

“I don’t think I can take that chance. I can’t lose another man from my life. Or another piece of my heart. I think it’d kill me.”

“If I’ve got to live the rest of my life wondering what could have been, I think it’d kill me.”

“I just…”

He stood. My eyes followed him.

He crossed his massive tattooed arms. I read the inscriptions on his forearms and decided I liked them.

He inhaled a deep breath, and then let out an audible sigh. “When we met? I’m not going to lie. All I could think about was fucking you. I wanted to fuck you out of spite. Out of anger. I wanted to do bad things to you because I was mad about what you did to my bike. In the past, that was my answer. I never did one thing with a woman that I was proud of. Now? Now I can’t imagine doing anything to you but treating you with respect.”

He shrugged. “Give me a chance?”

I stood up. “Let’s give it a try.”

God, I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He lifted me from my feet no differently than a parent would lift a child. Then, he held me.

What little of me hadn’t already, melted into a puddle beneath my feet.

TWENTY

Pee Bee

Five minutes tops, my ass.

I looked in the mirror. The jeans were old, faded, and worn to the point the thighs were almost transparent. I threw them on the floor beside the others and grabbed another pair from the shelf.

The last pair.

As I pulled them on I realized why they were at the bottom of the stack. An ancient pair that were left from my college football days, they were far too baggy in the thighs, and fit me loose in the waist.

I looked like the clown that my father claimed I was.

Fuck.

I was supposed to pick her up in an hour.

Frustrated, I released the waist of the jeans. They fell to my feet. I grabbed one of the many pair from the pile, pulled them on, and threaded my belt through the loops. After stuffing my feet into my boots, I did a half-assed job of lacing them up and rushed to the garage.

Finding a pair of jeans is easy for someone of normal size. For me? It can be close to impossible, especially in a hurry.

My first stop offered plenty of options.

As long as I didn’t mind capris.

“You might try Casual Male XL,” she said apologetically. “Sorry.”

I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to pick her up in 40 minutes. Where is it?”