So Good for Me: Bad Boy Forbidden Love Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  “Oh, I’m there!” I say. “Oh, keep going!”

  And Lincoln fucks me harder and harder as the sweat glistens on his face and chest and pours onto me.

  “Give it to me, baby!”

  “I’m gonna cum!” he says.

  And after a few more thrusts, he arches his head and his face contorts.

  “Oh, man, fuckin’ man!” he says, as he breathes heavily.

  And I’m like one big explosion. Never before have I felt this way and I see the setting sun and the grass and the trees and the river all whirling into one big picture and then I’m spent.

  Lincoln breathes heavily and drops on top of my body. I’m breathing heavily, too.

  I grab onto his shoulders and hold him close to me.

  “Good boy,” I say.

  His heavy breathing slows as he rests on me as I stroke his back.

  Before I know it, he’s sound asleep.

  I look over at the big oak tree and hear Rexie let out a whiny yawn. He looks over at me and yawns again. He lies back down on the ground and falls back to sleep, which is exactly what I want to do after that vigorous sex session, myself.

  Chapter 14 - Amanda

  Lincoln hasn’t shown up for his physical therapy session. I went back to the examination room a number of times, checked with the receptionist, and she said he hadn’t checked in. She gave me a funny look, and I worry that the office knows I’ve been mixing business with pleasure.

  Fuck it, I say. We’re two grown adults, and if Lincoln wants to fuck me in the park, or the parking lot of the office, or fuck me in the middle of downtown, I don’t give a shit.

  I’m tired of living my life adhering to the silent demands of a still, latently sexist culture that can’t get over itself.

  You know, I’d never been the rebellious type. I remember my bedroom as a little girl, always pink and white with Barbie dolls and tea sets.

  I think back now and have to laugh.

  What kind of a fucking life is that to condition your child into?

  It’s a wonder I’ve made it this far. It’s a wonder sometimes I can cross the street without getting hit by a car.

  I feel like a loser. I feel like a loser because Lincoln fucked me and now it’s over.

  I head back to my office to check my phone and my email.

  Nothing.

  I want to cry but then pull back.

  No, I say to myself, you are not going to do this to yourself.

  I think of asking Diane, that nosy bitch of a receptionist again, but then think better of myself.

  I check my schedule and it’s clear for the rest of the day. I look at the clock on the wall and see that it’s 4:00 PM.

  Since it’s a Friday, I think I’ll check out.

  As I leave, I see Anne.

  “Hi Amanda,” she says, always beaming and smiling.

  If she was a man, I would have married her.

  “Hi,” I say.

  She touches my elbow.

  “What’s wrong, baby girl?” she asks.

  I kind of fidget and squirm like a little girl and say nothing.

  Anne laughs and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s as if she can already guess what’s wrong, so I don’t need to tell her.

  “Lincoln, right?” she asks.

  I say nothing and sway from side to side.

  Suddenly I feel like that foolish little girl with her name, or nickname, anyway – M-A-N-D-Y – in wooden letters on the wall, so I would constantly be reminded who I was as a nobody.

  I’ve regressed from strong Amanda to that little pink and white horror.

  My emotions are raw.

  “I need to go home,” I say.

  “Not to worry, love,” Anne says and hugs me.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll call Damien and see what’s going on.”

  At the sound of Damien’s name, I brighten.

  “Would you?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, you’re the best!” I say and kiss her on the cheek.

  I go out to the car and think what I need to get grocery shopping. I’m going to fix a nice meal for myself and Margie, if she ever comes home.

  I need to relax and not worry so much.

  I do worry I’ll never see Lincoln again.

  He can be so fragile, but, then again, so can I.

  And so can all of us.

  But if anyone can find out what’s going on with Lincoln, then I know that Anne and Damien can.

  I drive away and look at the golden and crimson sunset so rich with light and promise.

  I think I’m going to make it.

  I just really hope I hear from Lincoln soon.

  Chapter 15 - Lincoln

  The phone rings. It’s Damien. I hate to pick it up because I know it’ll be about Amanda. The gossip mill has really been churning overtime, probably. But I know I have to talk to him, or he’ll just keep calling. Damien can be fucking relentless like that, when he wants something.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Lincoln, where are you?”

  “Home. Just got back from the gym.”

  Honestly, that’s not true. I’ve been so down and out lately that I haven’t been doing anything. I’ve been lying on the couch in just a pair of sweatpants, as well as being shirtless. Rexie has been snoozing next to me.

  He’s so happy. I found out a little more about him when I took him to the vet for a check up. He was abused and seems to have run off.

  The vet said that now that he’s with me, he feels secure and comfortable. He’s been sleeping through the night, has been gaining weight, and looks bright-eyed and happy.

  Poor little guy, I think to myself. I’m glad I was able to rescue him. But right now, I’m not the best dad, and certainly not the best date, or whatever it is that I’ve been being to Amanda.

  I’ve been avoiding her, is what I’ve been doing. It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just the opposite.

  She’s probably afraid I only wanted a one-night-stand – or a one-day-stand, a roll in the hey or on the river’s edge or whatever you want to call it – but it’s not that. I’m really into her and I think I’m getting scared that I’m in too deep.

  I fucking hate when things feel out of my control. I just can’t deal with it all. The Steve Wilkos’ lie detector results and Maury Ptovich’s “You are not the father!” are all I can handle lately.

  And that’s really pathetic.

  “Lincoln,” Damien says. “You there?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Rexie yawns, repositions himself, and settles back down with a long sigh.

  I pat his head. He opens his eyes and pants. He’s such a good boy. It breaks my heart that anyone would ever abuse him.

  But I’m OK with just staying home and being with him. I’m protecting myself and him. We both have been through so much.

  “Meet me for a drink,” Damien says.

  “No.”

  “C’mon,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m straight.”

  “OK, then I’m coming over there.’

  I sigh.

  “Alright,” I say. “Where?”

  “Meet me at the old Ocambo Club.”

  “That dive in Brooklyn?”

  “It’s been done over and is a great place now and is called El Norte.”

  “OK,” I say.

  “How about nine?” Damien asks.

  “Yeah, that’s good,” I say. “That should give me enough time to pull myself together.”

  “Don’t disappoint me.”

  “I won’t,” I say.

  God, what a douchebag he can be.

  I hang up and look at the time on my phone. It’s six thirty. I lie back, yawn, and decide to take a nap. I’m gonna need all the rest I can get.

  I show up at the old Ocambo. It looks the same, but when I enter, I can see just how much i
t’s changed.

  I see Damien at the bar, looking very casual in a t-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap.

  “How ya doin’ bud?” I ask.

  “Good, man.”

  We embrace like straight men with the hands clasped between us. As we back off, I grab onto Damien’s shoulders and hug him like I should have at first – I’m grateful that he cares about me.

  He hugs me back.

  “What’s up, bud?”

  I pull back.

  “Nothing,” I say, feeling like a pussy for getting so emotional.

  Damien leads me over to a booth where we sit down.

  I try to compose myself. I feel like a mess.

  Just then Damien’s phone rings. It’s one of his clients. He’s constantly at their beck and call, since he handles so much money for them. That’s alright, though, because it’s made him rich, too.

  “Take it,” I say, and get up to go the bathroom.

  I enter the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.

  What an idiot I am. No prospects, no life, no Amanda, no MMA career.

  And I so do not want to go back to Texas.

  I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired of fighting the doctors about it. My body hurts and I’m tired. But I also can’t imagine myself retiring because it’d be like admitting I’m old and washed up. A has been.

  I take a piss and then splash water on my face. I look awful.

  I go back out and sit down with Damien.

  “How you doin,’ bud?” he asks.

  “Not good.”

  “That’s OK,” he says. “That’s normal and is part of the healing process. Physically, as far as your knee goes, as well as emotionally, with everything we’ve been through as vets.”

  Damien was always talking about healing from trauma. It was like the focus of his life now, ever since he found Dr. Mack and started getting treatment, or whatever it’s called. He’s always going on about PTSD and other issues. I just rarely want to hear about it. I’m not into that kind of therapy shit. I decide to change the subject.

  “How’s the job?” I ask.

  The server comes over and I order a Corona and Damien orders another Amstel Light.

  “It’s going great,” he says. “But I just keep getting more and more clients, which is both a blessing and a curse.”

  “I can imagine,” I tell him. “But it’s good you’re making a name for yourself.”

  “Yeah, and good that I’m keeping busy, too,” Lincoln says.

  The server returns with our drinks and places a bowl full of hot roasted shell peanuts, another full of popcorn, and an order of barbeque chicken wings on the table.

  “The chicken wings are on the house,” he says to me.

  He holds the tray to his chest, smiles, and then retreats.

  “I think he likes you,” Damien says.

  “That’s cool,” I say. “A lot of gay guys are my friends and fans,” I say, as I grab a fistful of popcorn. “I don’t give a fuck.”

  Damien grabs some of the shelled peanuts and opens them.

  “I know that,” he says. “I’m just saying that to reinforce how much of a nice guy you are.”

  I tear into a chicken wing and swig my beer.

  They are really good.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Honestly, I don’t feel like anything great.

  “I’m just normal,” I say and wipe my mouth with the paper napkin.

  “No, you are very special.”

  I laugh.

  “Which is what I want to talk to you about,” he says.

  By now we’ve finished our drinks and the server returns.

  “Another round?” he asks.

  “Yeah, man,” I say and give him a big smile.

  “Sure thing,” he says and leaves.

  “You know what, Damien?”

  “What?”

  “That guy looks like some kind of athlete,” I randomly say, pointing subtly to the waiter.

  He’s got long dark hair gathered in a ponytail, with a close-trimmed beard and moustache. And his chest and shoulders rival mine.

  Damien nods and downs the rest of his beer.

  “Did you know he was an Olympic finalist in figure skating?”

  “No way!”

  “Yeah,” he said. “His name is Matt, and he’s got the agility and strength that most straight men could only dream of.”

  “Cool,” I say.

  I’m feeling better now. I need to be out with people. And here our server, an Olympic finalist, is working to support himself.

  Why am I being such a baby? Compared to Matt here, I’m a nobody.

  Then again, I don’t want to end up waiting tables like him, after a long and successful career as an athlete. How depressing.

  “So, as I was saying,” Damien says, perhaps noticing my quick changes in mood and wanting to catch me before I slip back down into complete despair again.

  “Yes?” I ask and shove another fistful of popcorn into my mouth.

  “You know that a certain Miss Amanda Nelson is full of questions about you.”

  I sigh.

  I figured Anne had put him up to this. I was just waiting for it to come out. Or perhaps trying to avoid this moment although I knew it would be useless to try.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Matt the server comes back over.

  “Hey,” I say. “Damien tells me you were an Olympic finalist?”

  Matt laughs and places a fresh napkin in front of me and nods.

  “I came in fourth and was one away from a bronze medal.”

  “That’s awesome!” I say.

  “Thanks.”

  “I think you’re a cool dude.”

  “And you, Mr. Lincoln Drake, I’ve been following for quite some time.”

  “Really?” I ask and swig my beer.

  “Yeah. Enjoy,” he says and vanishes quickly.

  “I think you’ve embarrassed him,” Damien says.

  “Nah,” I say. “I ain’t no one to embarrass no one.”

  “So, you see, that you do occupy a certain place in the world.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Have I ever told you about my own mother?”

  I look at him.

  “A little bit,” I say, but I don’t really remember.

  “Well, listen to this.”

  Damien really opens up to me and tells me how his mother was an alcoholic who would get drunk and once he reached puberty would ask him to lie in her bed with him. And while she didn’t outright sexually abuse him, she would cuddle with him as if he was a surrogate boyfriend or father. He had never told anyone this before except for me.

  “How did that make you feel?”

  Damien looks over at a bunch of blonde college chicks as they enter the bar laughing and surge gaggle-like over to the bar.

  “Like my mother was lost and I needed to help.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Yeah, it is,” he says and laughs. He adjusts the brim of his cap. “Especially since she wasn’t even home that much. Most of the time, she was out drinking and cheating on my dad. But she was my mother. And every time she came home, Dad took her back with open arms, until the day he died of a heart attack, which I’ve always felt was likely induced by stress from having to worry about her. And yet I still couldn’t exactly hate her for any of it, because even though she was fucked up, she was my mother.”

  I think about my own fucked-up mother.

  “What does that mean?” I ask him.

  “It means I did what I thought I could do at the time to help her.”

  “Aren’t you mad at her?” I ask.

  I lean in closer to him. The blonde college girls have spotted me and giggle and point. I don’t know if they recognize me from MMA fights, they’ve seen or if
they just think I’m hot.

  It doesn’t matter, though, because I don’t want any of them. I’ve still got Amanda on the brain, even though she wouldn’t know it, because I’ve been avoiding her, like the big idiot I am.

  “Not really,” he says. “Or even when I am, it doesn’t seem to help.”

  “That’s fucked up, man,” I say again. I lean back against the booth. “Geez. Thanks for the big pep talk. Now I’m even more depressed.”

  “My point is,” he says, “is that maybe it’s not a bad thing for you to reconsider Texas and your own mom. You know I have resources through Dr. Mack, to help with depression and other issues vets face, so I’m not even going to push any of that on you since it’s not wanted. I just think that maybe this Amanda thing could be a good opportunity. When Anne told me that Amanda had told him what the issue was, I immediately thought it had something to do with your mom, so I wanted to talk to you about it because I don’t think you should let that hold you back from going to Texas with Amanda.”

  “No way,” I say. “I am not going to Odessa with Amanda.”

  “OK,” Damien says. “Suit yourself.”

  I say nothing and look around.

  I see lots of people enjoying themselves. Life ain’t so bad, really, I’m just in a funk and need to get out of it. Plus, I got Rexie, and Damien, and even Amanda.

  I sigh.

  “OK, I’ll think about doing it.”

  “Do what?” Damien asks and motions to Matt to come over to our table.

  “I’ll think about going to Texas,” I say and finish my beer.

  How many times was I going to tell myself I’d think about it? I know that isn’t really saying anything at all. It’s just as much commitment about the whole matter as I can give.

  “That’s your decision,” Damien says.

  Matt comes back over.

  “Another round is coming over, courtesy of those young ladies,” he says, and motions with his chin towards the bar.

  Almost a bronze medal, I think to myself. Well, almost a bronze is a thousand times better than never rejoining the game at all.

  And here this hot gay guy has accomplished more than most of the straight asshole dudes I know.

  It’s time to reconsider who and what is masculine, and who and what is not.

  Damien and I nod to the girls to thank them for the drinks. Damien waves and nods at them but I shake my head as if to say, “Sorry, girls, I’m spoken for.”