Saylor

by Kelsie Rae

  "Babe..." he tries again.

  "Don't call me that. Don't call me anything at all. Will you just...let me go?" I tug my arm out of his hold.

  "You can't run from me, Reese," he challenges, blocking the front door with his half-naked, yet still massive frame. He’s always been more of a burly bear than anything else, and it seems he’s using it to his advantage against his pixie of a girlfriend.

  Bastard.

  "I'm sorry, okay?” he continues, lacking any real remorse. “It was a mistake. You were never supposed to find out."

  I scoff before shaking my head back and forth while ignoring the mistake who’s still hanging out in our freaking apartment. "And that's supposed to make me feel better? Really? That's the apology you want to go with?"

  "That came out wrong––"

  "No it didn't. It came out the exact way that it was supposed to."

  "Look, if you would just let me explain––"

  "Fine.” I cross my arms. “Go for it. I want to hear aaaaalll about the late night text messages, the cancelled dates, the no-shows at work when I had to lie to your brother’s face because you were too inconsiderate to show up for your shift. Or maybe you can tell me why I came home to see a girl in our kitchen with wet hair while you were finishing up in the shower with the bathroom door wide open. Would you like me to go on?"

  He groans before rubbing his hand across his tired face. "Listen––"

  "Nope. I changed my mind. I'm done. Like... done done. Now move out of the way before I really do hit you in the balls like I desperately want to."

  "You won't even let me talk!" he snaps. His anger is finally boiling over, but right now I really don't give a damn.

  Going head to head with the beast in front of me, I spit, "That's because I don't care what you have to say."

  I can see the indecision on his face. The slight twitch of his lip, begging to curl in disgust. The tension in his jaw. The iciness in his gaze. Still, I hold strong and refuse to cower. He really is an ass. After another few tense seconds, he caves, and moves over a few inches.

  "Don't be a bitch, Reese. It's not sexy."

  There's a small gap between him and the door, but I know I'll have to touch him if I have any hopes of squeezing through it. Which is exactly what he wants. To make me squirm. To make me uncomfortable. To make me feel weak.

  How did I not see what a bully he is?

  I shift my gaze from the tiny gap and up to his red face. "We both know you've never seen me as sexy, so why should I start caring now? I’m the cute girl, remember? The girl next door. Isn’t that what you told me? That I might not be sexy, but I was still screwable? You know what, never mind. I don’t really care what you think anymore. Tell your brother that I’m sorry, but I quit."

  “You can’t quit.”

  “Yes, I most definitely can. Thanks for your input though,” I return sarcastically. “I really appreciate it.”

  His jaw tightens. “What am I supposed to tell him? He needs you––”

  “No offense, but I don’t think that’s my problem anymore. Maybe you can convince your little friend over there” ––I wave my hand toward the skank in the kitchen–– “to handle the books free of charge while answering the phone like I did for your brother. She seems like quite the thinker.”

  Ignoring my snide remark, he drops his voice low. “We’ll talk later, Reese.”

  “Like I said, I’m done talking. Goodbye, Ian.”

  Holding my breath, I continue our little game of chicken and squeeze through the crack between the doorway and his chest. When my butt grazes his towel covered crotch, my spine straightens.

  He used to love make up sex. Said it was the best part about being in a relationship.

  Now it just makes me wonder why he was in one in the first place if that was the only benefit in his eyes. Although, I’m sure it didn’t hurt that I helped his brother with his accounting while we were dating. Maybe that was just an added perk.

  Doesn’t take the sting away or the fact that I’ve never felt lower in my entire life. How long has been juggling multiple women and why I was stupid enough to believe he actually cared about me?

  Because the answer is simple.

  He didn't.

  ***

  With my phone pressed to my ear, I curse under my breath. "Come on, Milo. Answer your freaking phone."

  "This is Milo,” the recording starts. “If you're hearing this, then I probably didn't want to pick up the phone. Text me."

  Beep.

  I don't bother to leave a voicemail because, let's be honest, my brother won't listen to it anyway. I've already sent him a dozen text messages and he hasn't responded to those either. Before I can talk myself out of it, I dial his best friend, Jake.

  The damn thing goes straight to voicemail, too. Just like Milo’s.

  With a deep breath, I raise my hand and knock on the door in front of me while praying I’m at the right address.

  Please be home, Milo. Please be home.

  It took me an hour to get here from Ian's and my apartment. I'd hoped that hour would've been enough time for Milo to call me back. But apparently, fate hates me today, so I'm not exactly surprised to see an almost naked stranger on the other side of the door as it squeaks open.

  Speechless, I take in the stranger from head to toe.

  When I catch myself staring at the 'v' on his lower abdomen that I was pretty sure didn’t actually exist out in the wild before this exact moment, a throat clears throat and I peek up at him.

  With his head cocked to the side, and his amusement on full display, the stranger mentions, "Usually I take the girl out to dinner before I let her imagine me naked like that.”

  Like a bucket of ice water has been poured over my head, I purse my lips and motion to the guy’s muscles and perfectly tanned skin are on full display. “Well, there’s not much left to the imagination, so you’ll have to forgive me.”

  “Who said I was complaining?” He smirks before leaning his broad shoulder against the doorjamb.

  How is he so freaking toned?

  “Can I help you, sweetheart?" he prods.

  “I’m uh, I’m looking for Milo.”

  “Milo?” he repeats. I can hear the smile in his voice as I swallow thickly and force myself to hold his hypnotic stare.

  I feel like I’ve fallen into a lion’s cage and the predator is stalking closer, backing me into a corner with nowhere left to run.

  “Umm..” I shake my head and try to focus. “Yeah. Is he home by chance?”

  "Sorry, babe. Milo isn't here."

  "Of course he isn't," I mutter under my breath, shifting my weight between my feet. "How 'bout Jake? Is he home by chance?"

  With a crooked, yet arrogant as hell grin, the bastard chuckles. "Milo and Jake? I didn't know they were into sharing––"

  "Ew. Gross.” I shudder. “No, I'm Milo's sister––"

  "I'm sure you are. But I have company and your boys aren't here. Normally I’d invite you in, but since I don’t do sloppy seconds and I already have company..."

  The wide open door slowly begins to shut before I slap my hand against it. My palm burns on impact, but I stand my ground.

  "No, you don't understand––"

  "I understand perfectly. You're a girl who's looking for two different men, neither of which happen to be home at the moment while simultaneously wasting my time that could be spent buried deep inside my house guest.”

  My eyes pop. He did not just say that to me.

  “Babe, what’s taking you so long?” A gorgeous blonde appears from the other side of the door. She doesn’t even bother to look my way before sliding her hands along his abs and nibbling at the exposed skin along his strong jaw. It’s like I’m a ghost with how oblivious she is to my presence. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if I don’t let this guy close the door, she’ll start dry humping him within seconds. And I can’t really blame her. The guy’s hot. The problem is that he knows it though, which is the only rea
son I’m not dying from insane jealousy as her manicured fingers toy with the hem of his gray basketball shorts.

  Wait, is she really about to dive into his pants when I’m standing two feet away from her? Is he really going to let her? I mean, I know she looks like a lingerie model and all, but seriously?

  I’m right here!

  Thankfully, my brother’s roommate can still see me, proving that I am not, in fact, invisible and decides to throw me a bone. “Try SeaBird down the street. They like to hang out there." Motioning to my hand that's still preventing the door from closing, he adds, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

  The door closes despite my feeble attempt to keep it open and I’m left alone on the front porch of my brother’s house in the middle of a strange city with what little hope I’d been clinging to sliding from my grasp.

  I’m so screwed.

  A soft moan vibrates through the front door. It’s quickly followed by a loud thud that causes the gold knocker attached to it to rattle.

  And apparently, I’m not the only one who’s getting screwed.

  Dropping my head toward the sky, I count to ten then turn on my heel toward my car that’s parked in the driveway.

  SeaBird, here I come.

  ***

  The place smells like the beach, complete with coconut, rum, and a hint of salt. The combination is almost enough to ease the ache in my chest with memories of happier times before my phone buzzes with a text.

  Ian: Babe. Come home.

  My grip tightens around the screen before I type my response.

  Me: We’re done Ian.

  I don’t know why I’m even bothering to reply, it’ll only encourage him to keep sending bullshit apologies.

  Oh, wait. That wasn’t an apology. It was him being his usual controlling self. How could I forget?

  With a huff, I shove my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, march toward the bar, then find an open seat.

  “Hey. What can I get ya?” a voice yells over the live band playing a cover song in the corner. Finding the voice’s owner, I’m met with a tattooed Adonis. His arms are etched with ink, stretched on both sides of him as he leans a little closer to hear my order, but I’m too speechless to come up with anything.

  Again.

  Dude. What is in the water here? And do they bottle it? Because I’m pretty sure I could make a fortune by selling it on the black market.

  His straight white teeth dig into his lower lip in an attempt to keep a teasing smile at bay as he catches me checking him out, but it’s pointless. The damn thing still makes an appearance as he prods, “You look like you’ve had a long day. Are you a whiskey girl?”

  “I’m an any-kind-of-alcohol girl when I’ve had a day like today.”

  Rapping his knuckles across the polished counter, he replies, “Well, then. First one’s on me.” Then, he steps away to grab my drink. And boy, do I need it.

  What the hell was I thinking? Did I really just throw away my whole life, my future, today? Breaking up with Ian is one thing, but he was practically my boss. Now I’m homeless, I don’t have a job, or a future career for that matter. Hell, I didn’t even grab clothes for tomorrow.

  I’m an idiot.

  An idiot who stayed with the wrong guy for way too long all because I was afraid to leave him.

  But I deserve more than a shitty boyfriend/boss who cheated on me. Don’t I?

  Where the hell is Milo?

  I swivel around on the soft brown barstool and begin my search, but the place is packed for a random Thursday night. Bodies are grinding against each other in perfect rhythm with the base as I hunt for my brother in the crowd.

  Milo, where are you? I want to yell, but I don’t waste my breath.

  “Looking for someone?” the bartender calls as the small shot glass clinks against the dark, lacquered counter in front of me.

  I nod before picking it up and swallowing the amber liquid in one gulp. The burn is a welcome distraction from the buzzing in my back pocket. Annoyed, I dig it out of my pocket and slap it facedown against the counter when I find Ian’s name flashing across the screen.

  Leave me alone, asshole.

  “Who are you looking for?” the hot bartender presses. “Maybe I can help.”

  “His name is Milo. Milo Anders. Or Jake Jensen. Either of them will work, actually.”

  As soon as their names roll off my tongue, a spark of recognition flashes in front of the bartender’s eyes that’s quickly followed by a quirked brow. “What do you want with them?”

  “I’m sorry, is it normal bartender behavior to be so nosy?”

  “Maybe. Depends on the day and if I’m serving a drinks anything girl or not.”

  “Oh, so because I’m a little desperate for alcohol and have a vagina, you’re allowed to be nosy?”

  He laughs, taken back by my bluntness. “Was it that rough day, Drinks Anything Girl?”

  My expression sours before I nudge the empty shot glass a few inches toward him. “You could say that.”

  “Wanna talk about it?” He raises a whiskey bottle into the air, then pours a generous amount into the tiny cup that’s ten sizes too small.

  After throwing it back, I answer, “Oh, you know, just your usual sob story. Girl meets guy. Girl falls in love with guy. Girl ends up working for guy. Guy turns out to be a cheating rat bastard. Girl escapes to big brother. That kind of thing.”

  Eyes widening, the surprised bartender looks me up and down. “Which means Milo or Jake is your older brother.”

  I wave my finger through the air like a miniature celebratory flag. “Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.”

  “So you’re not sleeping with either of them?” he clarifies, his tone still laced with disbelief.

  My face scrunches as I picture either of them touching me in a non-platonic way.

  I shiver. “Why does everyone keep jumping to that conclusion?”

  “Everyone?” he challenges.

  “Hey! I need two rum and cokes please,” a voice orders behind me. I turn to see a pair of beautiful girls dressed in leather skirts and tank tops with sky high heels that make their legs go on for miles. Day-um. I am so underdressed.

  “Yeah, they’ll be right up,” Hot Bartender answers them before lowering his voice and adding, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time.”

  The band starts a new song and I watch the singer hum into the microphone before diving right into the first verse a few counts later. This one is an original, or at least I think it is. It’s soft and smooth with a haunting edge that makes me want to give the entire band a giant bear hug. Closing my eyes, I let the harmony wash over me and get lost in its lullaby while feeling more at home in a strange bar than I’ve felt in my apartment with Ian in a long time.

  “Alright. Big brother it is,” the bartender announces, shaking me from my reverie while reminding me of our unfinished conversation. “The question is… which one fits the bill?”

  “Ooo, I like this game.” Apparently, the alcohol’s making me way more intrigued in the current conversation than finding my asshole brother who has yet to make an appearance. I rest my elbows on the hard surface, and lean closer. “Guess.”

  Tapping his forefinger against his cleft chin, he considers his options. “Well… you have virgin skin which immediately puts you in the Jake category, and you’re tiny as hell which would also put you in the Jake category.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek to keep from cracking up and giving the answer away because he’s so freaking far off with his investigative skills.

  Detective, you are not, sexy bartender.

  With a look of triumph, the guy wags his finger at my face. “Aaaand there’s my answer.”

  I pull back. “Excuse me?”

  “The nervous tick.” He motions to me again. “Not only is it exactly like a certain tattoo artist I’m friends with, but the dimple etched into your cheek is a dead giveaway. Sorry, Drinks Anything Girl. But I
think you just handed me the key to crack the code without even knowing it. I’m Gibbs, by the way.”

  “Reese,” I return, offering my hand across the bar top for him to take. His calloused grip is warm and strong. But there isn’t a zing that I’d initially expected. Probably because my asshole ex has ruined me for all healthy relationships, but what do I know? With our palms still touching, I dip my chin to a freshly inked skull tattoo along the back of his hand. “So, is that how you know my brother?”

  Following my gaze, he inspects the piece of art before shrugging. “Nah. I knew him way before he ever started tattooing, but yeah. This is his work.”

  “You knew him before he started tattooing?” I ask before ending our handshake to toy with the rim of my empty shot glass. “You sure about that? I feel like I’d remember you.”

  “I’m not exactly someone you bring home to meet the folks.”

  I want to laugh at the irony, but push it aside as I divulge a family secret that I’m sure he’s already privy to if he knows my brother as well as he says he does. “We didn’t have folks at our house. We had a pair of alcoholic toddlers who expected us to clean up their vomit.”

  “Touche.” There’s an intensity in his hazel eyes as he pins me in place, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it means or why I want to lean closer. Sensing my hesitation, he adds, “Maybe it was you he was keeping me from.”

  A shy smile makes my mouth curve up on one side. “Maybe.”

  “Hey, asshole. What are you doing talking to my baby sister?” a familiar voice growls from across the bar.

  My neck snaps toward the culprit.

  Why hello, Milo.

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  About the Author

  Kelsie is a sucker for a love story with all the feels. When she's not chasing words for her next book, you will probably find her reading or, more likely, hanging out with her husband and playing with her three kiddos who love to drive her crazy.

  She adores photography, baking, her two pups, and her cat who thinks she’s a dog. Now that she's actively pursuing her writing dreams, she's set her sights on someday finding the self-discipline to not binge-watch an entire series on Netflix in one sitting.