Surviving Love

by K. F. Breene

  “Stop.” Mike put up his hands. “I don’t want to know.”

  Greg shook his head with a pained expression. “She insisted it would feel good, but…”

  “Bro, stop.” Mike laughed, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Nah, man, it was weird. I wasn’t into it.”

  Mike fell onto the table shaking with laughter. “Why would you tell someone that?”

  “Well? I gotta get these things out. If you can’t tell your best mate, who can you tell?”

  “Your shrink?”

  Greg nodded dourly. “Yeah. Way up in there, too. Ruined the moment. I couldn’t even finish—”

  “Stop. Seriously, stop!” Mike grabbed his stomach, unable to stop the chuckles at the put-upon expression on his friend’s face. “You got problems, man.”

  “Just saying. Beware. That chick is kinky.”

  The door swung open again. In stepped the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. Her curvy body was wrapped in tight black material, begging him to explore all her secret places. Her eyes fluttered as she took in her surroundings, her gaze landing on his a moment later. Her plump red lips turned up into a beaming smile. His groin tightened and his heart started to hammer.

  “Holy crap, bro. She’s got a hold on you,” Greg said, staring at him. “This is a first.”

  “Always has had. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “And you haven’t landed her yet?” Greg took a chug of his beer. “It’s not like you to have to try very hard to get a girl.”

  “I’m in friend status. Jake said to hang out there until she makes a rebound mistake.”

  Greg grimaced. “Hard to cross back over from friend status. Not sure that’s the best approach.”

  Sara’s smile didn’t falter. She gave Mike a wave while letting Sam direct her to the bar.

  Mike gritted his teeth as Sam’s hand drifted to her back. He struggled against the urge to walk over there and rip Sara away from the other man’s touch. Sam was harmless, but the problem was, Mike knew he was also interested. The younger man hadn’t shut up about her since the day she’d arrived. Mike knew Sara needed to make that rebound mistake, but the thought of another man touching her knotted his stomach and made the small hairs on his arm stand on end. He was possessive of her in a primal way he’d never felt before. It was taking all of his willpower not to give in to that feeling.

  “Judging by that expression, she is off-limits.” Greg gave Mike an assessing stare. His customary lopsided smile worked up his face.

  Mike couldn’t help his own grin. He was transparent when it came to her.

  “What’s up with that Christie girl? She single?” Greg glanced at the bar.

  “Yeah. Last year she was into Sam, but he had a girl. This year it looks like it’s me. She seems to go after the unattainable.”

  “Well, I’m not going to go flirting with Addy to get Christie’s attention. I don’t want to get a finger stuck up—”

  “Now you’re just trying to make me punch you,” Mike interrupted, chuckles racking his body.

  A moment later, after the bartender delivered three beers, Sara, Christie, and Sam made their way over. Mike bounded up to grab a few more chairs as he saw them approach.

  “A little overanxious, hmmm?” Greg muttered.

  “Yay, Mikey!” Sara exclaimed with glimmering eyes. She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. Butterflies worked up his ribcage. “It’s been way too long. Seriously. I’m really mad under this smile. We have to see each other more often. That was our agreement!”

  “You sure are scary when you’re really mad,” Greg said, unsticking the label from his bottle.

  “Hi. Greg, right?” Sara asked, stepping away from Mike. It took everything he had not to reach out and drag her back. “You’re in charge of the horses? I think I signed for some feed you ordered.”

  Greg popped up and stuck out his hand. “Yes, ma’am, you did. Yup, that’s right. Caught that tear in the bag. Got me a free bag plus three-fourths of that other one. Good catch.”

  Sara smiled shyly as she shook his hand. She shrugged and sat in the chair next to Mike. “That’s my job.”

  “Hey, Greg,” Sam said, sticking out a hand for a shake.

  “Hi.” Christie gave him a wave and sat next to Sara, thankfully leaving Sam next to Greg.

  Mike reclaimed his seat, doing his best not to stare at the beauty next to him. Then he didn’t have to worry about it when she turned his way, so gorgeous his stomach did flip-flops. She appraised him as she said, “Look at you!” Her gaze dipped to his torso. “What happened to the rest of you? Jesus, you’re all bumpy and muscly. Although I guess that shouldn’t shock me with the size of your arms.”

  Greg snickered.

  Sara poked a delicate finger at Mike’s pec, and then felt along his stomach. His breath hitched and his groin tightened even more, now painfully hard. He wanted to lean into her. To let her feel him as he tasted her skin, so warm and hot. So feminine.

  “Seriously, you make me feel fat,” she said, her sweet smile making his heart beat faster. “It feels like you’re made of rocks. No wonder my face hurts when I lean against you.”

  “My turn?” Christie asked at the same time as Greg said to Sara, “Care to check me out?”

  “The Special Forces whipped me up into shape,” Mike mumbled, focusing on those red, red lips. The heat from her touch soaked through his button-up shirt and into his skin, leaving a trail of fire where her hand roamed. His breath was forced out in shallow pants as he fought for control.

  “Who would’ve thought little Mikey would grow up to be a heartthrob?” Sara laughed, then took a swig of her beer and glanced around. “This place is nice. Yay, pool tables. I haven’t played pool in forever.”

  It felt like cold water was poured over his head when her attention was taken away. He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself, trying to ease the ache in his pants. It didn’t help.

  “This place is all right,” Greg said, glancing behind him at the pool tables that took up the middle of the bar. “It’s a good place to let your hair down.”

  “Hey, Mike, when are you doing your retreat?” Sam asked. “That’s coming up, right? What is it, a four-day-long trip?”

  Mike nodded, noticing Duke’s gaze sliding toward Sara. Mike leaned forward to block the view. Staking his claim would begin right now, publicly. It would end when Duke gave up, or Mike made him.

  Chapter 8

  “Hello? Earth to the muscle show!” Sara gave Mikey a sound slap in the arm to reclaim his attention. His spun-honey eyes, sparkling in mock outrage, turned her way.

  “What’s with the violence, woman?” he asked with a quirked grin.

  She giggled, leaning her head on his shoulder for a brief moment. “What’s with the model pose?” she asked, running a hand over a jutting bicep the size of two of her fists put together. “Striking a pose, Madonna?”

  “Just giving you ladies something to salivate over.” Mike laughed in that carefree way she’d always loved, but didn’t sit back. He leaned over her possessively in subdued aggression. It reminded her of the days he scared away the bullies.

  Her mind immediately flashed to Duke, sitting at the end of the table on the other side of the bar in a tight shirt oozing hot sex.

  She shivered in disgust.

  Forgetting about bad news, she took comfort in Mikey’s presence. She’d desperately missed her security blanket this last month. Bad thoughts had been creeping back in, stronger than ever. Trying to force her to deal with them. Begging her to move on.

  But moving on meant accepting why Phil had left. Deep down, she just wasn’t quite ready for the solidity of the truth.

  She felt a small nudge from Mikey. Black-fringed eyes looked at her, a small crease between his brows. He grabbed her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and squeezed. The spark of electricity in their touch hummed up her arm. The spicy tingle welled in her stomach, heating her from the inside out. H
ome.

  “Steady on,” he said as he put their hands on his knee. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed into that lovely feeling. It had only been a month of limited contact, but God she’d missed him.

  “So.”

  Sara opened her eyes to Greg assessing her.

  “Staring problem?” she asked in a dry voice.

  “Ha!” He shook his head, glancing at Christie. “I blame you for that comment.”

  “Me? What did I do?” Christie asked, aghast. “I had my yapper shut, you ape. You’re constantly picking on me!”

  “Constantly picking on me, you are,” Greg imitated in Yoda’s voice.

  “Nerd!” Christie pointed at him. “Look at the nerd, everyone.”

  “Careful with that finger, Christie,” Mikey said with the hint of laughter in his voice. “You never know what he might want you to do with it.”

  Greg’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. A second later, an evil glimmer lit up his dusty green eyes. “Did you tell Sara all about your writing process, Mr. Frost? I bet she’d love to hear all about your book dealzzz. Plural.”

  “Oh yeah!” Sara turned, and then laughed as Mikey lowered his face to try and hide the embarrassment. “I am so proud of you for that. How did that happen?”

  Mikey sighed, making Sara smile harder. She knew he was resigning himself to the fact that he’d be badgered until she got answers. And he was dead right.

  “Had an agent approach me about writing a book. Figured there might be interest.” He squeezed her hand under the table. “I just put some experiences to paper and let an editor clean it all up. Not too hard.”

  “Oh, not real hard, no.” Sam snorted. “No big deal—got approached for a book deal and now teaches the most sought after survival class in the country. Easy.”

  Greg chuckled. “He’s a dick with the modesty.”

  “That’s awesome,” Sara exclaimed, patting his large shoulder. “And you were a Ranger, right? Like a G.I. Joe?”

  Sam and Greg started laughing. Christie, who had been nodding, paused to stare at the boys in confusion. “G.I. Joe were Rangers, you guys. She’s right. Right, Mike? My older brother made me watch that show. I’m pretty sure…”

  “What about the A-Team?” Greg asked with a snicker. “They your heroes, too, Mr. Frost?”

  “Hilarious,” Mikey said dryly, looking away.

  “But Rangers are elite, right? Or was it Special Forces…” Sara asked, slapping Mike’s arm again to get him to take notice. “Aren’t they the best? You were always the best athlete in your grade. Your brothers used to hate you for it.”

  “Aww, you’re embarrassing him.” Greg slapped the table as he laughed. “Look, he’s all red-faced.”

  A cockeyed smile was working up Sam’s face.

  Mikey leaned more heavily on the table, his substantial shoulders rolling. His head came around and he looked Sara in the face. A commanding stare shocked into her, having her back straightening and her stomach doing strange flips. Her smile dwindled; she was confused with the transformation from the sweet boy from her memories, to this powerful, robust man.

  He used her silence to say, “As I recall, you swore you’d never be a cheerleader on the sidelines when I played sports. You planned to be the water boy, right? A useful job? So… make yourself useful, and go get me a water. I have to drive later and need to tone down the beer intake.”

  Mouth dropping open, Sara cocked her head and stood, staring down at him. That strange flip-flop in her stomach happened again. “But only because you have a good memory, and are right. But being a pushy jackass doesn’t count as a sport. F.I.Yyyyy.”

  “I’m coming!” Christie bounded up. “We need shots, anyway. Plus, you used jackass. Literally my favorite word. Well, anything with ass in it deserves an honorable mention. Did you ever see Waiting for Guffman? ‘I hate you! I hate your ass-face!’”

  Sara stared at her friend for a moment, unable to help a smile.

  “Guess you had to be there,” Christie said.

  “Or something.” Sara looked down, seeing Mikey’s smug grin. His humor lit up his eyes from the inside out, practically glowing with life and feeling. He really had become a handsome man. And all his great achievements! He was a rock star. His mother must pat herself on the back daily—she’d always told Mikey’s dad that little Mikey would make something of himself one day. He would shine in a way his brothers couldn’t. She’d been right.

  Sara vowed to one day shove that in each of his brothers’ faces!

  She gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder, and then couldn’t help bending to hug him, looping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing. “Little Mikey’s all grown up!”

  “You just ruined that hug,” Mikey said as his warm palm covered her arm.

  “Shut up, you love it.” Straightening up again, leaving one of her hands on his shoulders, she said to Greg, “He was the most affectionate kid you’d ever meet. Always cuddling. Isn’t that right, Mikey? Why is your face red? Is that not macho enough for your new, grown-up image? Greg, seriously, if he wasn’t holding my hand, he was complaining that it was too dark and he needed a cuddle. Big softy, this guy.”

  She patted his shoulder firmly. “Oh, that’s right, you needed a water. Let me just go get that for you, Mr. Snuggles.”

  Sara walked away as Greg said, “Dude…”

  “You do know it’s FYI, right?” Christie asked quietly as they made their way to the bar. “For your information? Not FIY.”

  Sara laughed, the warmth in her chest bubbling out like champagne. “I know. We were playing office one time and he used that acronym. FYI. Except he got it wrong. He was telling me some stupid fact, trying to prove me wrong, and he said, all haughty, ‘Um, F-I-Yyyy, I know what I’m talking about.’ I laughed so hard at him.”

  To Christie’s blank expression, she said, “Guess you had to be there.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Christie flagged down the bartender, currently staring at Addy’s substantial chest. “So, Mike is really sweet around you. It’s a whole different side of him. Sweet, but, like, possessive. Totally hot. But I can see what you meant about the brother and sister thing. I can’t tell if he digs you or what.”

  Christie leaned over the bar to yell, “Three Jäegers and five Buds, please.”

  “No shots,” Sara exclaimed. The burly bartender ignored her as he wandered toward the end of the bar to fill Christie’s order.

  “Seriously, Christie, I don’t have a head for alcohol,” Sara said.

  “Time to get a head. Get it? Get ahead? I’m hilarious.”

  “No, honestly. I don’t want a head. To get ahead. Great, now I sound like an idiot, too.”

  “Just for that, I’m not going to take it easy on you.”

  Sara moaned and sat on an empty barstool. “He’s being a good friend. Mikey. Like he always was. You can’t have the kind of friendship we had as kids and not share some kind of deep bond. Not with Mikey. Thank God I found him now. I really need him, now more than I ever have.”

  “God felt your suffering and answered your prayer. He doesn’t let us sink too far before giving us a hand back up.”

  Sara stared blankly. “I can’t imagine that’s it. I haven’t had all that much faith for the last few years. Kinda gave up on that whole side of things. Doesn’t really seem like anyone up there is listening. Not to me, anyway.”

  Christie rubbed Sara’s back. “I’m not devout or anything, but I do believe. And I know that when we lose our way, He knows. And if we’re true of heart, He’ll help. So trust in that. There’s a reason you landed here at this time in your life. Open your heart and listen up. God’s will, girl. He won’t lead you astray.”

  “Is God gunna pay your bill, too? ’Cause I need thirty-two bucks.” The bartender leaned against the bar with a bored expression.

  Sara and Christie both reached into their bras for money. Neither dress had pockets.

  After the bartender got an ey
eful, and then a stink eye, he lumbered away to get change and a water. Sara didn’t miss his eye roll when she’d asked for a water.

  She let a big sigh tumble out of her mouth. “Well, God’s will or no, I’m here and battling through it. I’d lean on Mikey regardless, because when he’s around I don’t know any other way. Just wish I was the same woman as that girl he used to know.”

  “You are. Somewhere in there, you are. You just need to let her back up to breathe, is all.”

  Sara didn’t know. She hadn’t been that girl for a very, very long time. She didn’t even remember that girl’s dreams or aspirations.

  “’Kay, ready?” Christie said, holding up a shot of gooey black liquid.

  “No. I don’t wanna,” Sara whined.

  “Do it!”

  Sara dropped her hand to the bar and pinched the sticky shot glass with her thumb and forefinger. Liquid dribbled out of the glass and onto the bar.

  “My stomach’s already turning,” Sara muttered, bringing the evil glass closer to her lips. The smell wafted past her nose—licorice infused with gasoline. Her stomach flipped over, a precursor to future events should that stuff make it all the way down.

  “Nope.” Sara paused and put a hand on her stomach. “I don’t know that I can go through with this.”

  Christie grabbed Sara’s shoulder, wobbling a bit more alcohol out of the glass. “Cowboy up. You can do this.”

  “Shouldn’t we do this with Sam?”

  “Nah. Shots are a girls’ affair. C’mon.”

  “Why?” Sara stalled.

  “Because guys make a show, and girls make it fun. C’mon!”

  There was no way Christie could make this fun.

  And what kind of parent and role model would Sara eventually be if she couldn’t ward off peer pressure at thirty? How could she tell her eventual teenager to stay strong, and do what was right, when she couldn’t do it herself?

  But then, with Sara’s choice in men, what were the odds she’d have a teenager…