Dreamy Distraction (Quest for Love Book 1)

by Emily J. Wright

  “Are you kidding?” Todd says. Thank God! “Of course, we didn’t have any.”

  “Oh, God!” I gag and almost throw up in my mouth.

  “How else we could have known who came first and lost the game? FYI, it was always you. You were always the two-pump chump when it came to her.”

  “See, that’s the bond you two have.” Jeremy taps on our thighs at the same time and then looks at me. “So, why are you trying to ruin this friendship . . . Todd?”

  Classic misdirection!

  “Me? You mean him.” Todd points at me to divert Jeremy’s attention onto me.

  “No, it’s you,” Jeremy says with surety. “What’s the matter, Todd?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s the matter. He called me a money-hungry whore.” This time he points at me with the intention of poking me in the eye, but luckily, I lean back.

  Bastard!

  “Isn’t everybody?” Jeremy says. “Besides, you started it. You called the blonde who . . . What are we calling her now, again?”

  “The blonde who is not far away,” I say, blowing a flying kiss. May it travel to her home and graze her Cupid’s bow lips!

  “Yes . . . that. You called her a slut,” Jeremy says. “Are you jealous of her?”

  “What?! No! Why would I be jealous of someone who I haven’t even seen?” Todd takes offense to the question, but there seems to be some truth to it. Why else would he demean her?

  “Maybe you feel that she is taking away Brandon from you. Just like how he felt when you suggested him to let you open an office in Los Angeles.”

  “Absolutely not! No matter where he goes, he’ll always come back to me in the end. We own the burial plot together.”

  Aww . . . that’s sweet. But what the hell was I thinking when buying a burial plot next to my friend? He’ll never let me rest in peace. And where will my wife rest? Cramped up with me in the same coffin? Hmm, maybe that’s not a bad idea. As long as it’s Honey, I am okay with it.

  “Then, there is only one plausible answer left. . . .” Jeremy interlocks his fingers and places it under his chin. I think he is close. He has cracked the mystery of Todd’s unusual behavior. “. . . You are jealous of him.”

  “What?! Now, you are just talking trash,” Todd says, rolling his eyes.

  “It’s true. Professor Able has already established that you do what Brandon does. You see him in love, and you want to experience what he is experiencing. But there is no woman in your life. So, you are projecting your anger onto him.”

  “Excuse me, Jeremy! I have plenty of women in my life. While his dick is in cobwebs, I am back on the saddle again. I have everything I need.”

  “You mean, shallow sex?” Jeremy asks.

  “Is there any other kind?” Todd replies with a wink.

  So childish!

  “Yes. It’s called making love.”

  “Damn it!” Todd punches the armrest in frustration. He always says Black doesn’t crack, but he is cracking up to none other than our favorite Brit.

  Jeremy is getting good at this. Now, I am regretting burning his psychology books.

  “Come on, you can tell us. It’s a safe space,” I say. “Your anger can’t just stem from the mere fact that I called you a money-hungry whore. You are not yourself lately. What’s bothering you?”

  Todd clear up his throat. “Lately, I have been dreaming of cute little babies.”

  “Hmm . . . It can be explained,” Jeremy says. “You are over 30. Sperm count is on the decline. You want to sow your seed before it’s late. You dream is a manifestation of your desire to be a dad.”

  “They are bi-racial.” He reveals further.

  “You like white women. So, it’s plausible.”

  “Not bi-racial of that kind. They are Black and Asian.”

  “Well, it can be explained . . . uhm . . .” Jeremy was doing so well, but he finally hit the wall. Now, he is just humming. “. . . I got nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I ask.

  “No. Sorry. I have no idea what cute, little, half Black-half Asian babies were doing in his dream. Can’t even take a guess.”

  “I . . . I . . . I . . .” Todd clears his throat again and again. He wants to say something but is hesitating.

  “Do you have phlegm or boulder in your throat?” I shout. “Speak up!”

  “I am trying. Give me a moment, damn it!” he shouts back and gives his throat one big clear up. “During my sex fest three months ago, I was in Bangkok getting a handjob at a massage parlor. There, the handjobs are supposed to be rushed—like milking a cow or churning butter. But that girl was different. She was sensual in her approach. Erotic. She even smiled at me and licked me clean after finishing me off. She wasn’t supposed to do that, but she did that anyway. The thought of her has crossed my mind every now and then.”

  Unbelievable! He likes a masseuse who gives a happy ending to the customers, but he called Honey a slut.

  “What do you think I should do?” He facepalms.

  I have never seen him like this. “Go after her,” I say.

  “Brandon is right. You should at least meet her once to see if there is anything.”

  “Really?” Todd raises his head. “Do you think I like her? I can’t, right? She works at a massage parlor, for God’s sake! I can’t imagine how many horny dicks she has jerked off so far.”

  “People have known to fall in love at odd places, with a person they never imagined they would,” Jeremy says. “Look at me. I fell in love with a cigarette girl in the casino full of cigarette smoke. And he fell in love in a dream. It doesn’t get any weirder than this.”

  “I think I am gonna go to Bangkok and meet her,” Todd says, standing up from the couch.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I am sure. I feel somewhat different for her.” It’s called love, doofus. “I have a feeling that if I don’t go to Bangkok now, I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

  “Then, go home and start packing. I’ll book your tickets for tonight.”

  “Thank you, Brandon.” He hugs me out of nowhere. “And sorry for calling her a slut.”

  “It’s all right.” I hug him back, and tapping on his back, whispers, “Think of it this way . . . if you end up with that masseuse, it would be perfect cosmic revenge.”

  I am going to miss the chocolate. But it’s all for the best. Now, the ‘masturbation buddies’ will pursue their love interest in different parts of the world. And this is the game I want to finish first.

  Chapter 22

  I LOOK AT THE SKY FROM my balcony. It’s completely dark tonight. Clouds have taken over, and the moon and stars are totally invisible.

  I am thinking about Todd; he must have taken off for Bangkok by now. I am proud of him, and a little bit envious. He is not interested in world problems, not the best person to talk to on political matters, and has a shoddy character. But at least, he is smart enough to know that he likes a girl and went after her.

  Whereas, for me, it took a near fatal accident and a spotless mind devoid of any memories to realize that I love Honey. I don’t know how many years of my life I have wasted denying this feeling. Maybe she was single back then. Maybe if I had told her how I feel about her, I wouldn’t have been standing here all alone. Her hand would be in my hand while we look at the New York skyline together.

  Jeremy arrives with a bottle of sparkling water and a glass of Scotch whiskey in his hand.

  “What are you thinking?” he says, handing me the sparkling water bottle.

  “About Todd.” I take a deep breath and exhale. “He is crazy, right?”

  Jeremy takes a big sip of his drink and with a jerk of his head, says, “Tell me about it.”

  “I see your glass is filled up to the neck. Poured a quarter-bottle in this one, huh?”

  “After today’s mind-boggling session, saving the meltdown of ‘chocolate-vanilla,’ I think I deserve it.”

  “You certainly do,” I say, raising my bottle to him out
of respect. “I am sorry for burning down your psychology books. I feel so guilty about it now. You certainly have the passion and skills for it, along with a trustworthy personality. You are basically cut out by God himself for this job.”

  “Don’t feel guilty about it,” he says. “You took away my books, stopped my paycheck so that I can’t buy more, but you forgot all about the e-books. Haven’t yet figured out what a kindle is, huh?

  “I have been back for four months, Jeremy. I know what a kindle is. But I didn’t know that you knew.

  “Just because I am old, it doesn’t mean I don’t know about the technological advancement happening around the world. I have embraced the tech sector and its products with open hands. I have more Instagram followers than you.”

  “It’s on my agenda. Right now, I am knowing my way around Myspace.”

  “Myspace?” he chuckles. “Make a jump to Facebook already. Otherwise, people will call you old.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Elon Musk,” I say, pulling out an envelope from my pocket. “Now, before I was belittled for my lack of knowledge on social media, I meant to give you this.”

  “What is this?” he says, opening the envelope. “My paycheck or consultation fees?”

  “I think you have already established that you don’t do any work around here anymore. So, no paycheck for you, sir.”

  “All right, consultation fees, it is.” Jeremy pulls up the check to his face and lets out a laugh. “A check for $25,000?! Brandon, either you don’t know how much a butler or a shrink cost, or you are just trying to bankrupt yourself?”

  “It’s not a paycheck. It’s your spending money.”

  “Where will I spend that kind of money?” He laughs, flicking the check.

  “Yourself. Your family.”

  “My family is in London.”

  “About that . . . I have booked you a cruise—15 Night Caribbean cruise. It will start a week from today from Manhattan itself and finish at New Orleans. There, you will get your ticket for the first class, non-stop flight to London.”

  I thought Jeremy would be happy, but he is not. He put the check back in the envelope and places it under his whiskey glass on the parapet.

  “Is this my compensation package? he asks hesitatingly, anticipating the worst. “Are you firing me?”

  “What?!” I exclaim. “I could never think of firing you even in my dreams.”

  “Then, what it is?”

  “My God! What’s so difficult to understand here?” I want you to take a holiday. You have worked so hard for me over the years, bore my insults, but still took care of me, before and after the car crash. I think you deserve a trip. It’s just my way of saying thank you.”

  “You want me to take a trip now? Now, when you need me more than ever,” he says, surprisingly. “You are moving to Long Island in a couple of days. You have no idea what you are up against. Maybe Honey knows you, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she hates you, maybe she felt the same way for you once. I mean the variables here are countless. With Todd gone, you need someone on your side. And who else it would be other than me? I am moving in with you in that murder-suicide-vehicular manslaughter house.”

  “No, you are not,” I call aloud. “I am not taking you to Long Island.”

  “Why? What are you so afraid of?”

  “I am afraid of you dying alone.” I accidentally blurted out after Jeremy gets on my nerves, refusing to listen. “There . . . I said it. Are you happy now?”

  “Brandon, I don’t understand.” He feels abandoned. I can recognize that look on his face because I wore the same one when I woke up from coma.

  I take a deep sigh. It’s going to be difficult explaining to him that it’s for his own good.

  “When you were mediating earlier, you said you were leading a wifeless, childless life and would be dead in a couple of years. And it hit me. How lonely were you at the time when I opened my eyes in the hospital? So quiet, your eyes floating with sadness. You ached for the company so much that you continued working for a sadist like past me . . .”

  My emotions are getting the best of me today. I have to share my feelings, my fears with him, else I would be carrying a burden on my heart in Long Island.

  “. . . Sure, everything is fine for you now. But what if Todd gets the masseuse? And if I do something good with my second life, maybe I will get Honey. Then what? We will get on with our lives. Get busy. And you will be your old miserable self again. I know that you don’t fear of dying alone, but I can’t see that happening to you.”

  “I know what you are trying to say,” he says, “but as a man in love yourself, you are in a position to understand that I can’t get rid of my feelings for Alexandra even if I wanted to. Nobody can take her place.”

  “I am not asking you that. Find someone that you can be with, without smudging up the memories of Alexandra. If not for you, then do it for my peace of mind. Do it for some poor woman that is aching for some company.”

  “At my age? Brandon, I am 62. I am old enough to be a grandfather, and you want me to find myself a woman.”

  “Age is just a number, Jeremy. You still get an erection, and without the blue pill—I must add.” Even in a tensed moment like this, an unwanted laugh escapes me. It always happens whenever the topic of Jeremy’s erection comes up, which is more than often it ought to be. “You have a full set of hair, knows how to cook and clean, and even have the strength in your arm to scoop someone off the ground. I think you would make an old broad very happy.”

  “And where will I find that said woman?” he asks. “Certainly not on Tinder!”

  “Why do you think I booked you a place on that cruise? It’s a 15 days’ mixer. You will meet a lot of women there—young, divorcee, widow, silver-haired. There is no way they will pass off the stallion like you. And even if they did, London is waiting for you. Hook up with some snobby British women, test the dating waters, see if any of your old girlfriends are still alive. And if even that doesn’t work out—the chances of which happening are very rare—I will set you up with Honey’s mother or grandmother or some neighbor. And don’t forget Todd. He could hook you up with his girl’s aunt—a hot, sizzling, semi-retired, experienced, milking machine.”

  “Maybe hold on to the last one.” He sniggers. “I don’t want a woman from the hand jobber’s family.”

  Jeremy starts laughing out loud at Todd’s expense, and so do I.

  Oh, Todd! I miss you already.

  “And before the cruise, you have the apartment all to yourself for a couple of days. Go wild. Throw staff parties. Invite Ashley8—”

  “Ashley8!” he mumbles, and a smile breaks out on his face. Even after getting his ass handed to him, he still couldn’t help himself getting smitten by them. Those eight are the true vixens.

  I elbow him to get him out of the spell of Ashley8. “Call everybody from the building. Maybe you get lucky before you get on that cruise.”

  “Or be real, and call some friends over that I met in the chat room while discussing Sigmund Freud?”

  “Or that,” I say, hesitantly. “But make sure they are not psychopaths and stab you in the face when you open the door.”

  “I’ll see to it.” He nods. “So, is this goodbye?”

  “Yes, until we meet again. Three musketeers—one in Bangkok, one in Long Island, and the last but the wisest one in London. May we reunite soon and be successful in our love quests!”

  THIS IS THE END OF the book, but not the story. Brandon Bryce will return this fall in Book Two of the Quest for Love series with some new characters, while Jeremy and Todd take their trip on the other side of the world. But best of all, you’ll get to meet Honey Hornell—the real one, for the first time as the story continues in ‘Playful Seduction.’ Stay Tuned.

  For the time being check out the Blurb of the next book below.

  It’s well known I am famous among the women for all the wrong reason. But that never stops them from jumping in bed with me. What can I say? I am a
chick magnet. Women are drawn to me. They just couldn’t help themselves from getting attracted to me.

  I met with Honey with the same thought, but the only thing that I attracted was her knee to my groin. At that moment, I wanted to ask her so many questions—How can she manage to look beautiful even with the facial expression of an enraged bull? Has she ever kicked someone’s ball before with his pointy knee and if yes, then how long it will take for them to drop?

  But while slithering in pain, on the floor of her living room, I only managed to ask her ‘Why?’

  I have my boundaries set for the woman that eventually end up hating me—getting hit by their shoes, but only in our first meeting, she pushed me way out of it. And, if that was not enough, she didn’t bother to explain her action. Apparently, she didn’t want to go down the memory lane and relive what happened seven years ago between us. She is not much of sharer. She was so resistant that she put a rifle on my forehead and threaten to shoot me if I don’t leave her house.

  I did not see that coming.

  Do you think I backed down?

  Absolutely not.

  I helped her with the safety of her hunting rifle and led it to my heart. If she is going to shoot me, that’s where I like to get shot.

  “I hate you.” She said the one thing that I didn’t want to hear from her.

  And then I drown in my guilt as she went on telling me what happen seven years ago, on one dark evening.

  It was heavy. It was bad. It left me with no chance to ever getting her. The road to her is blocked for me. And, that hate in her . . . That one hurt more than her knee.

  I was packed. Ready to leave from Long Island and her life. I may live without ever seeing her, but not looking at the blaze of hate in those deep blue sea eyes that I so adore.

  But luckily Jeremy popped out to give his last wise advice before leaving for the cruise “If the road is closed for maintenance, you change the route, not the destination.” That one I took to the heart hard.

  Sure, she hates me, now.

  Sure, there is nothing sweet about her, unlike her name.

  Sure, things would not be easy for me.