Any Man I Want

by Michele Grant

  “Hey . . .” I pulled her to me and tucked her into my side. “C’mon now. If you don’t tell me what’s broken, I can’t fix it.”

  She sniffled and curled into me, resting one hand on my chest. “I’m what’s broken. I did this.”

  “You did what?”

  “It’s my fault that Kevin went nuclear and because of him, Renee took her shot and now we’re all having to fight for our reputations. Because of me. I saw an article online last night saying you could do better than a two-bit washed-up model who was more soiled dove than solid designer. They said I was like an anchor around your neck dragging you down.”

  “I take it that was a direct quote?”

  “Yeah.” She sighed.

  “That’s total bullshit and you know it,” I said angrily.

  “You could do better than me.”

  Katrina had a healthy ego and sense of self-esteem, so it thoroughly angered me to hear her getting down at herself. In that moment, I realized how much of a toll Kevin and Renee’s mud-slinging had done. I’d been by her side almost every day since this whole thing started and I’d never seen her falter or doubt herself. She’d taken everything in stride, moving forward and staying focused on the end game. Every new accusation or embarrassment that was lobbed at her, she appeared to deflect the hit. I should’ve known that it would catch up to her sooner or later. No one could continue to hear themselves disparaged day after day and not internalize some of that. I mentally kicked myself for not supporting her better and making sure she knew she didn’t have to shoulder it all alone. I decided to correct that now.

  “There is nobody better than you. Not for me. So I don’t want to hear what some bitter journalist who never had a shot with you has to say. You know better and I know better and that’s all that matters. You’re not in this alone. I’m here for you to lean on. If you need me to prop you up, hold you together, whatever. I got you.”

  “For how long?” she asked in a small voice.

  Without a pause, I answered, “As long as you want.” I waited to see if she wanted some formality attached to that statement. I knew the minute I saw her set her suitcase down in my home and start redecorating that I was ready for her to be Mrs. Parks. I also knew I was all in, waiting for her to catch up.

  “What about what you want?” she queried.

  “I want you for as long as you’ll have me.”

  “Why?” She looked genuinely confused.

  “You fishing for compliments?”

  “No, just thinking. You see me like no one else does and it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

  “What’s to be bothered about? You’re smart, funny, sweet when you feel like it, fun, you like football, you make amazing chicken wings, you can be a girly-girl and a girl who hangs out with the guys, you have the same values as I do, you get me, and you’re hot. Even in that ratty LSU T-shirt you’ve hung onto for all these years.”

  “You gave me that shirt,” she reminded me.

  “I can get you another. Even one that doesn’t have holes in it,” I teased.

  “I like that one.”

  “Have it your way, diva.” I was not going to argue about a T-shirt.

  “Hmm. Bringing me back to my first question: Do you ever wish I was less trouble?”

  “I never wish you are anything but what you are. Except maybe when you run off and commit crimes without telling me.”

  She peered up at me through her lashes and ran her hand down my chest. “Not ready to let that one go, huh?”

  “Katrina, when other people put you at risk, I know how to handle that. When you put yourself at risk, it undercuts me. I can’t take care of you. And yes, before you say it . . . I know you can take care of yourself. But I like being the one to make sure you’re safe and sound and happy.”

  She huffed. “You make me sound like a pampered princess.”

  I cleared my throat and looked up at the ceiling. Katrina has been protected and pampered from the day she was born. On some people, that manifested itself in a spoiled attitude and deluded self-importance. With Katrina, it showed through as self-confidence, a belief that she was right (even when she wasn’t) and a determination to get her own way.

  I, on the other hand, grew up with a bit of struggle and had made it through on the other side. That had given me self-confidence, a belief that I was right (which I usually was), and a determination to get my own way.

  “Carter Parks, are you calling me spoiled?” Katrina asked incredulously.

  Sensing this conversation could go bad and I didn’t have time for it today, I patted her arm and slid out of bed. “No babe, I’m saying you haven’t had to struggle. Which is fine; I don’t want you to struggle.”

  “I’m not some pretty little helpless kitten that sits on a cushion to be kept from harm.” She swung off the bed and slammed her hand onto her hips.

  Oh, here we go. “I didn’t say you were. No one recognizes and admires your independence more than me,” I said, though I sensed there was nothing I could say that would defuse the ticking time bomb that was her temper this morning.

  “But you think I can’t stand on my own feet. Just like my father and my brothers, you’re underestimating me. At the first sign of trouble, you swoop in to save the day. You show up in Barbados, announce we’re going to be together, and whisk me away. You and the men go off to meet with some super-spy while the little women are supposed to sit by the phone and wring our hands?”

  I knew there was no good response and thankfully, I didn’t have to come up with one. Katrina was on a roll and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise even if I wanted to.

  “You know what, Carter? I don’t need you to handle me, take care of me, or fix me. I’m a grown woman.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t think it was prudent to point out that she wasn’t really acting like one at this moment.

  “Okay?” she shrieked.

  “Okay,” I repeated.

  “Don’t placate me. Or patronize me,” she hissed.

  “I’m not,” I answered simply

  “Is that what this whole thing is about?” She gestured with her hands back and forth between the two of us.

  “What whole thing?” I repeated the gesture.

  “This relationship? You and me hooking up after all these years.”

  Now I was getting riled up. “Hooking up? You call what we’re doing hooking up?” That seemed to be an understatement.

  “Whatever. Is this about you taking care of me?”

  “I thought we were taking care of each other.” I spoke carefully and deliberately.

  “I’m not talking about the sex!” she shouted.

  “Neither am I!” I raised my voice as well.

  She stared at me, chest heaving in agitation, and I stared back. Either she was genuinely upset or she was still in a spin over the article she read or she was picking a fight. Whichever it was, I didn’t have time or patience for it. I thought we were building something here. For her to refer to it as a hookup stung. A lot. Stung to the point that I had to take a mental step back. I was all in; I wasn’t sure where she was. I wondered if I had put too much of myself on the line with her. I didn’t like the feeling. It was foreign to me, not knowing where I stood and feeling uncertain. Instead of leaving myself open to taking any more hits, I felt my guard going up and I shut down.

  She continued. “I need to believe this is more than you having some sort of hero complex with me playing the damsel in distress. I don’t want to be some sort of project for you. I need to believe that you believe we stand on equal ground.”

  I was over it. I’d never treated her as anything less than an equal. If I had a tendency to be protective, I wasn’t going to apologize for that. Maybe that was her issue, maybe she’d dated one asshole too many. “I’ve been straight with you from the beginning. I am what you see. Believe what you want.” I stepped in the closet and started pulling on shorts and a T-shirt.

  She followed me. “You’re walking out?”
r />   “I’m going to the gym and then I’m going to work.” Entering the bathroom, I splashed water on my face, rolled on some deodorant, and reached for the toothpaste.

  “We’re in the middle of something here,” she argued.

  I swished mouthwash and rinsed. “I thought we were. Come to find out we’re just hooking up.” I sent her a look.

  She threw up her hands. “I don’t need this. I’ve got enough going on that I don’t need a pouty boyfriend on top of it all.”

  “Okay,” I said. I wasn’t going to argue with her anymore. I didn’t even know what we were arguing about at this point.

  “Okay what?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, whatever.”

  She stormed into the closet and started jamming clothes into a suitcase. She looked up at me. “I’m moving back home.”

  I shook my head. “Of course.” I refused to show her how much this hurt.

  “Of course?”

  “Of course, princess. A little bump in the road and you’re out. Heaven forbid you stick it out and figure out what’s worth saving. The minute it gets a little too real, you run.” That’s fine. I was used to it.

  “I do not!”

  I wordlessly pointed to her suitcase. I pulled on socks and Nikes and walked out of the room and downstairs. Striding to the refrigerator, I took out the ingredients for an energy smoothie and starting prepping them. I heard Katrina slamming around upstairs and reached forward to switch on the television. If she was going to go, I didn’t need to see it or hear it. Tossing the ingredients into the blender, I punched the button and tried to reign in my anger. I was really pissed off. This was how it was going to end? After all these years of waiting, we had a few good months and that was that? I felt blindsided and cheated. It never occurred to me that Katrina and I wouldn’t go all the way. I did everything right. We were friends first. I sowed all my wild oats. I gave her time to figure out who she was. We had our own lives that meshed well together. Dammit, I had done everything right. Why was it never enough?

  Pouring the smoothie into a travel cup, I drank half of it down and slammed the lid on with an angry twist. I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have left myself open for this kind of painful rejection. It was like dealing with my parents all over again. You let them in, they take what they need and then they walk away. I was done being that guy. Done.

  I plucked my keys off the counter just as Katrina hit the bottom step in jeans and a T-shirt. A rolling suitcase and duffel bag rested beside her. She stood there with a stubborn tilt to her jaw and an angry glint in her eye. I felt the exact same way. So be it. Done.

  “I’ll come back for the rest later. I’m leaving,” she announced, sliding her purse onto her arm.

  “Me too.” I jingled my keys. Stopping to turn off the TV, I kept moving toward the back door.

  “This is it? Aren’t you going to ask me to stay?”

  I paused without looking at her. “I never asked you to leave.”

  “You want me to go?”

  “I. Never. Asked. You. To. Leave,” I ground out.

  “You’re not going to fight for me?”

  At this, I set down the travel cup and turned toward her. “Why don’t you fight for me? For us? Grow the hell up, little girl. I’m too old to play whatever game this is. You woke up this morning feeling some kinda way and I don’t know how to deal with it. I want you, I want us. I’ve told you that and I’ve shown you that. I am who I am. If that’s too restrictive for you or whatever, go ahead and go. Because whatever this is right here, right now? Not working for me.”

  She dropped her purse and prowled toward me like a hunter stalking its prey. When she stood toe to toe with me, she looked up. “Carter. Ask me to stay.”

  “Tell me you don’t want to go,” I countered, not giving an inch. We stared each other down, waiting for the other to break. I waited for one moment and then two before making a point of checking the time on my watch. With one last look at her, I began to retreat, giving her every opportunity to say something. Finally, frustrated with both of us, I threw up my hands and headed for the door. I was reaching for the doorknob when she launched herself at me. I had to take a step back to catch her since I didn’t see that one coming. She wrapped her arms and legs around me and whimpered into my neck.

  “I don’t wanna go. I like it here. I like you here. I like you and me here,” she gasped out while bawling.

  This woman . . . I exhaled in relief. I tightened my arms around her and nuzzled the side of her neck. “I like you and me here too.”

  “You can’t make me go,” she mumbled, gripping me tighter.

  I walked over to the sofa and sat down with her still wrapped around me like a python. Quietly, I repeated, “I never wanted you to go, baby.” I rubbed her back while she calmed down. Finally she loosened her grip and swiped at her wet cheeks. I took my thumbs and wiped the last of the tears away. “What is all of this about, Kitty?”

  “I got scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “That you’re going to figure out I’m not worth all of this drama and walk away.”

  I peered at her in confusion. “So you decided to pick a fight and bail?”

  “When it ends, I’d rather be the one to end it,” she explained.

  “Nice. Why does it have to end?”

  “Doesn’t it always?” She shrugged.

  “What if we have another five good months, five good years, or five good decades first? You wanna miss out on all that in-between time?” I didn’t understand her logic.

  “I didn’t think it through. I just got scared. Are you mad?”

  “Yeah. I am,” I answered honestly.

  “So we’re over?” Her breath hitched.

  “No, Audelia Katrina. I can be in a relationship with you and not adore you every second of every day,” I explained with far more patience than I felt.

  “You’re not adoring me right now?”

  “No. I’m not,” I answered honestly.

  “You’re thinking I’m a spoiled, pampered princess who’s not worth the trouble.”

  “I’m thinking you’ve twisted yourself into a million knots and decided to tie me up in the middle. You put us—me—through something this morning unnecessarily.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  I kissed her forehead and lifted her off of me. “I know you are. I’ll see you later on tonight, okay? I need to go to the gym and work some of this mad off.” I stood up and jammed my hands in my pockets.

  “I could help you out with that... some angry makeup sex?” She gave a wry smile.

  One side of my mouth lifted in a half smile. “Maybe later.”

  She nodded slowly. “I’ll just unpack. I think I’ll work from home today. So . . . I’ll be here if you want to call or talk or anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be right here. Not going anywhere,” she reiterated.

  I leaned over and kissed her softly. Her hands came up to grip my face and she deepened the kiss. Our lips and tongues spoke desperately, saying things we weren’t ready to speak aloud. With one last clinging kiss, I lifted away. “I hear you, baby. I hear you.” I scooped up my smoothie and walked out without a backwards glance.

  22

  I might have messed up

  Katrina—Wednesday, July 7—12:21 p.m.

  I swung the door open and exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank God. Get in here.” I grabbed Chris and Beau by the arms and dragged them inside. I led them to the kitchen island and directed each of them to sit. I slid plates with shrimp and crawfish po’ boys in front of them and poured glasses of iced tea for both of them. I plunked a basket of waffle fries in between the plates.

  They both looked at the plates, up at me, and then at each other. Beau leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest and Chris pursed his lips. They gave me accusatory and suspicious looks.

  I ’fessed up. “Okay . . . so, I may have messed up.”

  “Vraiment? I th
ought you called me up all hysterical and whatnot because you were dying to feed me. The meal is a dead giveaway; an obvious bribe,” Beau drawled.

  Chris sighed. “What did you do?” He looked around. “You didn’t kill anyone, did you? Because I’m not about felony accessory after the fact.”

  I glowered at the both of them and scooted their plates forward. “You eat. I’ll talk.”

  Beau picked up the sandwich and sniffed it. “Is it poisoned?”

  “Shut up, Beauregard!” I nervously picked up a dishcloth and started wiping down the spotless counters I’d cleaned twice already. “I saw an article online last night.”

  “The one from the sports blogger about how Carter could do better?” Chris asked around a huge bite of sandwich.

  “Yeah. That one. I guess you saw it?”

  “The guys in the locker room saw it. We all thought it was crap.” He finished one half of the sandwich and started on the other.

  “I didn’t see it.” Beau said swirling a waffle fry around the rémoulade sauce. “But anyway, you saw it and what? You freaked out?”

  “A little bit. I woke Carter up this morning and asked him if I was more trouble than I was worth—”

  “You are,” Beau answered at the same time as Chris said, “No way!”

  “Anyway, somehow we got into this fight about him trying to protect me and thinking I’m spoiled,” I continued.

  “You are spoiled,” Beau said matter-of-factly.

  “I am not!” I adamantly denied

  “Really?” Beau challenged me. “Have you ever worried about your next meal, your next job, your light bill, whether there are people in the world who love and will take care of you? Ever?”

  “No, have you?” I asked my eldest brother.

  “Mais non, because I am spoiled. But I embrace that about myself.” He smirked.

  I looked at Chris, who gave a shrug. “I can’t help you. I’m spoiled too. Carter and Gramps always made sure I never wanted for anything.”

  “Anyway, the fight got all twisted up and the next thing I knew I told him this was just a hookup that wouldn’t last. I accused him of some stuff, packed a bag, made a few more nasty declarations, and told him I was leaving him.”