by JL Davis
During lunch, I go to the local sporting goods store and find they’re running some sales on apparel. This must be my lucky day. I don’t mind shopping like most men do. I enjoy it, actually. I find several t-shirts for work, a couple with collars, three button ups, and a pair of lace up boots. They look like expensive boots, but I’m not paying ridiculous prices for something I’m wearing for work.
I walk out with money left in my pocket for gas for the week and happy with my purchases. I can do this adult thing on my own. Luckily, I stocked up on groceries when I got out a week ago or I’d be starving. I have no extra money for food or anything else that might come up. I pray there are no surprises.
After work, I decide to pop in on my way home to see my parole officer. I need to check in about my new job. I knock on the door and it takes a moment for her to open the door.
Ms. Hartford pops her head out with a look of surprise in her now bugging eyes. “Mr. Ferguson, I wasn’t expecting you.” She looks down at herself and bites her lip before opening the door. “Come in.” I can’t believe what I’m seeing. She isn’t wearing a pantsuit. She’s wearing a tight, breathable tank and those little yoga legging things women wear at the gym that drive men crazy.
My surprise must be evident because Ms. Hartford’s face gives away her embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone this evening.”
“Don’t apologize. I didn’t know you owned anything other than pantsuits,” I chuckle.
“Aren’t you funny, Mr. Ferguson. Remember why you’re here and what I am capable of.” She stares into my eyes before taking a seat behind her desk.
“Guess what?” I clap my hands, excited to tell her the good news and startle her. I can’t help but laugh. “I got a job.” I reach in my back pocket and hand her my time card from this first week. Jim signed off on it and added a note on the bottom that I was a great employee and that there were no issues to report.
Ms. Hartford takes the card and looks it over. “This is the best news I’ve gotten all day, Cole!” She sighs and then realizes she’s called me by my first name. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t professional.”
“It’s fine, really. I don’t mind. I like the job okay. It will work until I find something better.” I shrug. “I brought you something. I hope that it isn’t inappropriate?” I dig in my pocket and pull out the balled-up napkin that’s protecting the bottle. I unwrap if from the napkin and hand it to her.
“Wow! This is the smallest bottle I’ve ever seen. I love miniature trinkets like this. If it is inappropriate, I don’t care. I absolutely love it. Thank you.” She investigates it more closely. “There’s a message in it.” She looks up at me confused. “Did it come this way?” She pulls the cork from the bottle.
“I put the message inside the bottle, and it wasn’t easy. I’m almost positive you’ll need tweezers to remove it. Do you have any here?”
Her face falls. “I don’t, but I do at home.” Her mouth forms a straight line with disappointment. I can’t lie and say I’m not glad she doesn’t have any here. I’d rather she read the message in private.
“If you don’t need me for anything else, I need to get home and shower. There is no A/C in that warehouse.” I grin and she glances up at me from her desk, but quickly diverts her eyes back to the bottle as a distraction. I know I affect her. I think it may even piss her off.
“Thank you for stopping by with your good news, and for the bottle. Tomorrow is our meeting day this week. You really could have waited, but I understand why you didn’t.” Ms. Hartford nods, her jaw tightens, hiding the smile that wants to break her face. That’s the way I see it. She wants me and she can’t hide that. I can see it all over her face, the flush tone painted across her skin. Her chest rises and falls rapidly; she’s affected, but I leave as I should.
I sit at my desk, staring at the little bottle I was given yesterday, waiting for Mr. Ferguson to arrive for his meeting. It’s Friday, which is usually a slower paced day for me. Today I normally visit the jails and prisons to meet with those parolees to discuss their cases and prepare on my end for court hearings.
A knock at the door causes my heart to jump into my throat. It went from a steady trot to a frantic gallop. Stupid heart. I set the bottle down and sigh as I walk to the door and let Mr. Ferguson in. I take a deep breath to collect my emotions. I feel like a school girl with a crush and it’s ridiculous.
As I open the door, he grins. “Hi!” he says sweetly. It’s like honey rolling off his tongue. What the hell, Brooke! Get a freaking grip on yourself. You can’t have these thoughts for him. It’s unethical.
I step aside and allow him past me. “Hello.” He’s trimmed his face, smells amazing, and even has on new clothes. He looks different compared to our other meetings. He’s more refined, like he’s trying harder, and more confident with himself. “How was anger management?”
He hands me a piece of paper from his counselor, Mya. She checked off what needs to be checked. She made notes that he participates, has potential, and seems to be a sweet man. This is different from any other parolee evaluation that I’ve ever received from her. What the hell is she trying to do to me? I hope he didn’t suspect anything with the unspoken responses she’d left. I’m going to kill her.
“I’m not so sure about my counselor,” he says with a hesitant tone in his voice.
“Why? What happened?” I ask. I try to sound concerned as I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. If he only knew his counselor personally. I’m not suggesting it, though.
“She seemed to be a bit personal in her questioning? Is that normal?”
“Your counselor needs to dig deep. She needs to learn your darkest secrets, needs to know what makes you happy, angry, sad, irritated, and other emotions to get to the root of your anger and to determine the best way to manage it, Mr. Ferguson.” I try to reassure him.
“Can we please move on to a first name basis here? Please?” He lifts a brow, waiting for my response.
I consider his suggestion. I don’t really see the harm in it. “I guess we can.” I nod. I’ve just never done it with any of my previous parolees. “When in court we must keep it professional, though.”
“Absolutely.” He smiles, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight as it reflects through the window. “So, Brooke, are you happy with my progress so far? I’m sure I’m easier than some of the others you’ve had.”
It’s a good thing I know what he’s talking about, because it sounds like he’s implying that I might be a little loose with morals where men are concerned. “I wouldn’t exactly put you in the same category as most of my other parolees. Most of them are rapists, murderers, and child molesters. I think it’s safe to say, you’re nothing like them. A few are pure evil,” I sigh. It’s hard to work with people like that every day. I shouldn’t be telling him about other parolees and I’m not sure why I did.
“What category would you put me in then?” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s flirting with me. Normally, I’d feel disgusted because he’s a parolee. I shouldn’t find him attractive, but I do. “I have another bottle for you,” he says, grabbing my attention, and digs into his pocket.
As Cole hands me the bottle, I notice another message inside. I still haven’t seen what the other message says. I left it here on my desk when I went home yesterday. I immediately place both bottles in a tissue and put them in my purse to be sure I don’t forget them. While in bed last night I remembered I’d left it and was very curious about what it said.
“Thank you,” I say reluctantly. I shouldn’t be accepting these bottles, but I can’t help myself.
Again, he affects me, my heart is racing and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I can’t control the way my body reacts to him. My body can’t deny him like my mind sure wants to, against the rationality of the situation, but I don’t know how long my mind can keep up the fight before it gives in like my body so desperately wants to right now.
I don’t think I have a category
for you per se. Your criminal background exists, but it’s also non-existent to a real criminal. I wouldn’t call you Gotti or anything.” I smile.
Cole chuckles. “No. I can’t say that I’m anything like that. I do like to gamble, though. Didn’t he gamble?”
“I’m not sure.” I shrug. “I was being sarcastic.”
“You’re good at that,” Cole admits, and crosses his arms. His big, strong arms.
“Thanks. I try.” I bow dramatically in my chair as if I were on stage.
“Don’t I need to take a drug test this week?” Cole asks.
I look in his file and thumb through a few papers until I find the chart. “You’re right. Not sure how I missed that.” He really gets me off task easily. Too easily. I open my drawer and hand him a test cup. “Down the hall and second door on the left. Let me know if you need any help.”
Cole gives me a surprised look and I feel my face erupt in flames. I can’t believe I just said that. It shocked him as well. He leaves the room without a word and shuts the door behind him. My head falls on my desk with a thud. I amaze myself with the amount of stupid that can spew from my mouth when I’m nervous or distracted. It’s as if I don’t think at all before I open my mouth.
Cole knocks before entering. He doesn’t say anything to add to my humiliation. I’m grateful for that. “Uh. Where would you like me to put it?”
“Oh. Sorry. The table at the back of the room, set it there on a fresh paper towel that I have stacked there, and I can take care of it. Thank you. Keep up the good work, Cole.” The way his name rolls off my tongue. Cole.
“Brooke?” Cole stares at me with a look of concern. I completely zoned out.
“Sorry. Yes?” I shake my head trying to get rid of these crazy thoughts of him that keep invading my mind.
“Same time next week?” he asks.
I look over my schedule quickly. “Actually, next week let’s meet on Thursday since that’s when your next anger management session is scheduled. That will save you some time and gas money,” I propose.
“That would be great. Thank you.” Cole smiles as he stands. My eyes dance up the length of his body. His collared tee hugs his biceps just right.
“Have a great weekend and I’ll see you next week,” I say cheerfully, as I gather my things to also leave for the day.
I’m so ready to get to the gym and work out. I have so much tension in my shoulders and lower back. There’s one other major area that’s been ignored too long, but that will have to wait until I get back home, showered, and comfortable in my own bed. This sexual tension could kill the weak, and I need relief after my meeting with Cole; badly. He drives me crazy inside. I want to scream. I don’t know how much longer batteries are going to pacify the problem. I really need a man. I need a companion, a friend, someone to love me, someone I can love in return.
I have my earbuds in, my playlist on blast and not a care in the world at the moment other than pushing myself harder than I did the day before. I’m in my own little world when I’m here. I don’t have to worry about work, my personal life, or lack thereof. I can just let go of all the tension, frustration, and sadness I hide deep inside.
I take a seat on a bench after my run on the treadmill, guzzle a bottled water, and try to catch my breath. I ran three miles today; a half mile more than I ran yesterday. It’s taken a long time to get to three miles and I’m proud of myself.
I tried so hard not to think about him. I ran my ass off, but it didn’t take long for Cole to invade my thoughts. He looked so different today, so confident, and that was surprisingly hot. He was dressed like a normal man his age. He looked so good in that black polo that hugged every muscle. His broad shoulders, substantial biceps, and six-pack looked as if the shirt were painted onto his golden toned skin.
Someone touches my elbow to grab my attention, instantly startling me and dragging me away from my daydream of Cole. I turn. “Cole!” I pull my earbuds from my ears. Is he stalking me now?
After my parole meeting with Brooke, I decide to stop by the local gym on my way home. Once inside, I fill out the paperwork and pay the start-up fee. I’m eager that the equipment is a huge upgrade from what I was used to using while in prison. As I glance around the room, I see they have five or more of just about everything. It smells nice and is very clean. I see countless people working out around the huge room. My eyes stop short when I see a familiar face. Brooke.
I walk over to an empty lat machine and take a seat. I didn’t even pay attention to the weight before sitting. It just so happens that it gives me the perfect view of Brooke while she’s currently doing squats and it’s tortuous, but I can’t look away. I’ve had to adjust myself twice already and I’m thrilled no one has taken the machines on either side of me. They’d receive quite the show between my legs.
I can’t help but notice her stance is not quite right. The way she’s standing, she will have lower back pain later this evening. I don’t think she would appreciate it very much if I were to walk over and assist her with any suggestions, though. It would probably piss her off.
I place the bar back on the hooks, grab my towel, and walk toward her. This should be fun. I kind of like getting under her skin.
“Hi, Brooke. Funny seeing you here,” I say nonchalantly. It’s not. I can tell she works out.
“Are you following me, Cole?” she says, a bit irritated. “Why is it funny to see me here?” She frowns.
This is off to a great start. “That’s ridiculous. I work out every day, as you can see.” I stare at her smugly. How dare her be so full of herself. She’s gorgeous, but so are many other women. I don’t need to stalk anyone.
“Full of yourself much?” She’s so cocky for a woman.
“Seriously? You just implied that I’m stalking you. Who’s really full of themselves here?” I counter.
“Touché.” Brooke eyes me. “I guess we’re both being ridiculous. Agreed?”
“Sure. Why not?” I shrug.
She sighs and then wipes a bead of sweat from her brow with the towel hanging around her shoulders. “I need to get back to it, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Do you have lower back pain in the night after a good workout?” I couldn’t resist. I had to.
“I do. How did you know that?” She eyes me cautiously, not sure where I’m going with this.
“I couldn’t help but notice when you’re doing your squats, your stance is off.”
Brooke doesn’t reply right away. She thinks a few seconds and then says, “Okay, Cole. I’ll bite. What am I doing wrong exactly?” She arches a brow. “Show me,” she orders.
“Your feet need to be a bit wider than your hips.” I demonstrate. “I noticed yours were much farther apart, which will cause extensive back pain over time.” I do a few squats just to show her how they’re really done. She’s an excellent student. Her eyes never left my ass while I squat down each time.
“My lower back has been killing me lately. I thought it was the stress from work or maybe my chair.” She shrugs.
“Yeah. They can’t all be like me.” I grin and then wink at her.
Brooke laughs; a real laugh from deep down in the pit of her stomach. I’ve not heard her laugh yet and it’s beautiful. Maybe even the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. She then smiles a genuine smile that I haven’t seen much. “If you only knew what I had to deal with on a daily basis.” She shakes her head. “You’re a saint.”
“Is that so?” I joke.
“I deal with murders, thieves, and sleazy perverts hitting on me, even in my pantsuits.” She giggles.
I can’t help it. She said it. I die laughing and she stops immediately. “Sorry. I wondered if you owned anything else.” I put my hands up in defense. “Then I saw you that day in your workout clothes.” I reach for my water bottle to distract myself because I shouldn’t have said that.
“I can’t look attractive in my line of work. I don’t want to attract…” She shuts her mouth, sympathy now on her
face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
I don’t want to be rude, but I cut her off. “It’s fine, Brooke. Really. I didn’t take offense to it. I’m not any of those things. I simply made a mistake when being there for my grandfather’s elderly friend. There’s no comparison.” I shrug.
I feel bad that I just lied to her, but I have to protect my ego. I am one of them, one way or another. And that bothers me. I don’t want to be classified in that way, judged in that way. This will be with me for a long time, if not forever, and I regret it only to an extent.
“I won’t lie. When I read your file, I didn’t expect you to be that different from the others. Regardless, you ended up in my office, but the more time I spend with you and get to know you, the more I realize that’s not true at all. I’m sorry for judging you in that way,” she says sweetly.
“I really appreciate you saying that, Brooke.” I smile weakly, not sure what else to say to that.
“I’m not a dreadful person, really. I have to be hard with the job, and yes, I judge. I have to because of the people I associate with every single day. It’s part of the job. I always think the worst. I can’t help it.” She shrugs.
“I don’t believe you’re a dreadful person, Brooke. I can see right through that hard-shell exterior.” I grin, confident in my assessment of her.
“The judging runs in the family, though,” Brooke says lightheartedly.
“What? I don’t understand. Was that a joke?” I stare at her, waiting for an explanation.
Brooke sighs. “I guess you didn’t put it together that my father is Judge Hartford?”
“Why should I, Brooke? I’m not familiar with all the judges, like a repeat offender, for instance, that would know them by name.” She is extremely judgmental and it’s hard to see past it at times.