Callous

by Xavier Neal

  “Keep staring at my ass all you want to C.J. It’s never gonna happen....” There’s a hint of playfulness to her tone, as always.

  We’ve been doing this round and round shit since the day we met at TKO, the bar where most of my surrogate family works. While I’m behind the bar, Maxx helps coordinate events, Stuart takes pictures of the amateur fights they host, Tony another friend works with Maxx on computer crap and Erin keeps us all dressing in theme during the fights. While this bouncing back and forth banter is normally fun, I’ve got 30 days before I have to return to Maryland and most likely not come back for more than a visit.

  Wetting my lips I approach her slowly, intent clear on my face. Erin does her best to hold her ground as she begins to back up towards the front door, hoping to keep space between us, but ultimately becoming trapped. When her back hits my front door, I place my hands on each side of her and lean my face down. “I beg to differ.”

  Erin swallows and my eyes fall on her chest that’s rapidly moving.

  Imagine how fast it’ll move when she’s coming for me.

  “Beg to differ all you want, C.J. Doesn’t change anything. Give me the envelope.”

  My lips lean down beside her ear. “How about we change everything?” I glance to see her closing her eyes at the heat of my breath. “Dinner. Tonight.”

  “And if I say no?” her defiance continues.

  Definitely one of the sexiest things about her.

  “You won’t.” I graze my lips against her earlobe.

  A small whimper sounds like it wants to come out, but instead she says, “Time?”

  “7:00.”

  “8:00,” she counters and moves her head so her toffee colored eyes are facing mine.

  “Wear a dress,” I lean away and hand her the envelope.

  Snatching it, she gives me a bitter smirk, “If you’re lucky.”

  The second her hand turns the door knob, I reply, “I know I am.”

  Flustered by the response, she stalks out of my front door leaving me with a huge grin on my face.

  I may have 30 days before I have to return to hell on earth, but at least the fall down may finally be worth it.

  Chapter 3

  Erin

  Why did you let me agree to an actual date with him? Have you lost your mind? I don’t wanna go out with him. That would totally undo all the work I have put into the last few months of making sure not to cross that boundary with him even if I may want to. Which, I am not saying I do. Stop that. Stop giving me that look.

  Approaching the front door of an over-sized mansion, I adjust my makeup kit that’s slung over my shoulder and try to push thoughts of C.J. to the very back of my mind, after all I have a job to do.

  You know if he wouldn’t have been so forceful and dominating I would have continued to say no. If he wouldn’t have decided to finally take charge and be sexy about it, I still would’ve said hell no. Ugh. And you were no help, are no help! Whatever!

  I give the doorbell a ring and am promptly greeted by a butler.

  Totally Alfred style. Like from Batman. Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have let that pregnant woman talk me into an all-night marathon with her and my brother last week.

  “You must be Miss Hart. Please come in. Miss Delacourt and her party are expecting you.” He waves a hand to usher me in. Once inside, I try to keep my jaw from falling open at the sight of the house that could eat mine for a midnight sack.

  And I don’t live in a shack. This looks like something people vacation to in the Hampton’s. To be clear, we’re not. We’re in Texas. Mind you at this point in a gated community, but still.

  I follow the butler up the white grand spiral staircase, down a long hall with framed portraits, and allow him to open a set of double doors where there are five women in designer workout clothes, holding champagne flutes with bitchy smirks on their faces.

  Ah. The classic they think they are better than me faces. Well they’re not. And not just because I style and design people for a living, but because they aren’t the only ones that come from money. When our parents died, they left more money than we even knew they had behind. Enough to where neither Luke nor I would ever have to want or work for anything. Enough money that they put a clause in giving Logan and Maxx, who were basically family at that point, a share when they finally got married. Yeah. Even my parents knew back then those two were supposed to end up together.

  “Erin!” The bride to be squeals joyfully hopping up. “I’m so glad you’re here!” Jennifer flounces over, her freshly dyed blond hair bouncing as she gives me a phony air hug that makes me wanna gag.

  Gag for both of us please.

  “I get paid to be.”

  “You’re so funny.” She waves a playful hand at me.

  I wasn’t kidding.

  “Ladies, let me introduce you to the hottest up and coming stylist. She’ll be doing our makeup for the dinner this evening. Also, for our Bridal Brunch, our bachelorette party, the rehearsal dinner, and of course the wedding. Erin Hart, meet my wedding party!” She squeaks, raises her glass and then has another sip of champagne.

  It’s really too early to be drinking and that’s coming from someone who believes it is 5 o’clock somewhere as soon as the clock strikes noon.

  “That’s Jill,” she points to a blonde with a bobbed haircut.

  If they all have “J” names, I might poke my own eye out with a makeup brush.

  “Janice,” she points to another blonde with curly hair. The action continues. “That’s Jess.” Jess flashes a phony smile as she waves her manicured nails at me, honestly looking like the bitchiest so far. “And Genevieve, with a G.”

  Really? Well played, Universe. Well played.

  “Ladies, you remember how amazing I looked at my engagement shower?” Jen flips her hair over her shoulder.

  “The one in Palm Springs?” Jill questions.

  “Or the one in San Francisco?” Genevieve ponders.

  “No, the one here. Downtown with Greg’s frat family,” she refreshes everyone’s memory, and they nod when it hits them.

  Lord have mercy, it’s gonna be a long shift.

  “Erin did the whole thing. The bold dress and the perfect makeup. Remember my hair?” She gushes and touches my arm again.

  I try not to cringe.

  Nope. Don’t like being touched if it’s not invited. And with that said very few get invited.

  After listening to them praise her look and fawn over how excited they are to have me now, I finally start to set up my station that’s gonna turn her entourage from Desperate Housewives Trashy to Sex in the City Classy.

  No, it’s not an easy job, but someone’s gotta do it. Preferably, someone with skills like me, who can charge outrageous prices and still have people pay. It’s $1,000 a person per session per hour. And while I don’t do it for the money, it is quite a perk.

  Each woman is given a little over an hour of my time in which I give each a distinct but flattering look that fits not only their style, but flatters their very different shapes. As I’m finishing up Jennifer because she insisted she’s the freshest, Jess prods me with questions in her less than pleasant voice.

  “So you do this because you actually enjoy touching strangers hair and faces?” The aversion in her voice causes me to physically bite my tongue and concentrate harder on the mascara I’m distributing.

  “I do this because I enjoy making people feel as fabulous as possible and building confidence in others,” I inform her.

  What? It’s partially true.

  “So your husband must make a pretty penny to let you live off this little hobby,” her voice says from behind me.

  My lips press together to keep from snapping.

  I wanna pop her in the mouth. Anyone wanna second that?

  “I’m not married, and, more importantly, I make bank on my own.” I twist the mascara lid closed and allow Jennifer to stare at her reflection. To the client in my chair, I ask, “What do you think?”

&nb
sp; “I look so fucking good!” Jennifer squeals clapping her hands together, the third glass of champagne has clearly gone to her head by the amount of her giggles. “Erin! You are worth every penny.”

  “Yup.” I start putting the items back in my kit.

  “So why aren’t you married?” Jess pushes again leaning against the edge of the vanity area closer to me.

  “Are you?” My voice attempts to stay steady.

  “No,” she snips. “I came close last year, but the guy left me at the altar. Better yet, right before it was time for me to walk down the aisle.”

  Anyone actually curious as to why? Oh don’t give me that look like I’m the bitchy one. I mean I am, but you can hear her, right?

  “It was terrible,” Genevieve adds. “Still can’t believe Christian did that.”

  “Yeah well,” she smacks her lips. “Anyway, after that I started seeing this delicious heart surgeon, and he’s gonna pop the question any day now, so yeah. I’m almost married.”

  “Almost isn’t the same as actually married,” I snap the box closed and offer her a polite smile that is anything but. Twisting my head in Jennifer’s direction I sigh, “Payment?”

  “Gilbert has it ready for you on your way out.”

  “Thank you,” I tilt my head at her. “I’ll see you again in a few days.”

  Exiting the house with my $6,000 check in hand, I do my best to pick up the pace knowing how much I hate getting caught in traffic and how, thanks to the extra time I had to waste with The Real World: Housewives edition, I’m gonna be rushing to get ready for this date I can’t believe I agreed too.

  What is wrong with me? Am I really that desperate? Let’s do the sex math together shall we? When was the last time I got laid? Yes, it’s making me cringe that I don’t remember! Why are you asking if it was before C.J.? Don’t be nosy. I don’t need you to remind me I brought the damn subject up.

  The drive home is long and painful with the radio playing traffic mix mash ups that make me wanna mash up the D.J.’s brains for thinking some of these songs are a good idea to be spliced together.

  As soon as I open the front door, I fight the urge to smile at a picture perfect moment that if anyone ever asked, I’d deny that I’m going to miss. Logan, Maxx, and Dean are on the couch yelling at one another over a video game. Shaking my head, I ignore the feeling of my heart dropping.

  This is my family...and soon these moments will just be another memory to sit on the shelf alongside my parents. Sure, they’re not gonna be dead like my parents, but it’s still gonna hurt like hell to not come home to this anymore.

  Continuing into our house, I stroll through the kitchen area, snagging a bottle of water from the fridge. It is an open concept and on the other side of the downstairs living room.

  “How!” Logan screams, tossing his controller on the couch beside him like the overgrown child he is.

  Looks like a Fitness model. Talks like a Porn Star. Behaves like a spoiled five year old. Sad, I know.

  “How is it you beat me every time?!” He shrieks at Maxx who giggles into her hands trying to stifle her laugh. “You may be my wife. You may be the mother of my children. But you...you, Mrs. Kellar, are a cheater.”

  “And you’re a sore loser,” I interject strolling through the living.

  “I am not,” he counters. When I give him a sarcastic look, he folds his arms across his white t-shirt covered chest. “Fine, but so are you.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Need I remind you of the Candyland incident?” Logan lets a shit eating grin crawl on his face.

  I hate him.

  “What’s the Candyland incident?” Dean turns around, his 16 year old eyes glistening in amusement.

  It’s so weird the Kid aka Dean looks just like Kellar, talks just like him, acts just like him, but shares no DNA. It’s like he was cloned. Totally scary movie style!

  “Nothing,” I insist and keep walking.

  “You see, your Aunt Erin—”

  “Shut it, Kellar.” I point a stern finger at him.

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll have Maxx let me paint you like a clown while you’re sleeping.” The threat makes him chuckle until he looks at her and she doesn’t deny that she would let me.

  See. Chicks before dicks. And trust me, he’s a dick.

  “That’s messed up,” Logan grumbles at her. “First you cheat, now you’re gonna let Erin paint me like I’m some sort of doll? Where’s the love in this marriage?”

  “You’re such a drama queen,” I sneer while Dean and Maxx can’t seem to get their laughs under wraps.

  “Says the girl who flipped over the coffee table and made it rain Candyland cards because she had to go back down the ladder.”

  “You flipped over a coffee table?” Dean tries to catch his breath.

  “Ah. We must be talking about the Candyland incident,” Luke, my brother says, as he strolls in through the front door looking exhausted in his bright blue nurse’s scrubs.

  “It’s a stupid rule!” I toss my hands up in the air.

  “And this, Kid, is why we don’t play board games as a family,” Luke states approaching where I’m standing next to the kitchen bar.

  “How long ago was that?” The Kid questions while trying to dial back down his laughter.

  “We’d all just started living together. I mean, shit I had just turned 18,” I answer.

  “Mouth,” The four of them remind me in unison.

  “Really?” My face sarcastically tilts again, “In unison?”

  Giggling, Maxx turns almost all the way around, “Yeah. That was probably the first month we all lived here together. You took that loss hard.”

  “That’s because when we were kids dad used to tell Erin that the ladder was magical and if she slid down it, she could slide right back up and not move her piece.” Luke explains tossing the mail on the bar counter as he goes through it. Before I can respond, he finishes with, “She hated losing even as a kid.”

  “Oh and you didn’t? You think that do-over rule in Monopoly is real?” My words cause his jaw to drop.

  “So nobody in this family takes losing well?” Dean asks a smile still on his face.

  “Stop smiling,” I fuss at him and head towards my room.

  Maxx is suddenly on my tail following me inside. Once there, she shuts the door and I hand her the envelope before she can ask me for it. Sweetly she says, “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. What’s in it?”

  Ignoring my question, she folds her arms across her chest, cradling it. “Is it true you have a date with C.J.?”

  Big mouth; I knew I should’ve said no.

  “Ugh,” I grunt and slide my heels off. “Yes. Why do you know that? He couldn’t hold it in any longer that I finally caved? What is he- a gossip magazine?”

  Maxx smirks and leans against the back of my door. “More like Logan and Dean were hoping to do a boys’ night out with him, but he had plans. Since he doesn’t date...ever,” her over emphasizing is unnecessary, “we all figured it must be you he’s taking out.”

  “He dates,” I mumble strolling out of my bedroom through the master bathroom straight for my closet on the other side.

  “No, he doesn’t,” her voice follows me. “The only girl he’s been out on a date with since he walked into the bar is you. Remember your other date—”

  “That wasn’t a real date,” I clarify moving around some of my more casual dresses.

  No, I don’t wanna talk about it right now.

  “Well, whatever that was, that was the last time he went out on a date.”

  “Stop that,” I fuss over my shoulder at her. “It’s not that big of a deal. We’ve hung out before; this time we’re just gonna hang out at a place that serves food in nicer clothing.”

  “Uh-huh,” Maxx mockingly agrees. “So this is what it feels like when the shoe is on the other foot.”

  “It is not on the other foot.” I grab a little black dress off the hanger quic
kly. “C.J. and I are nothing like you and Logan. Y’all were best friends for forever, too stubborn to notice what was right in front of you and we are—”

  “Close enough for the pot to call the kettle black.”

  “Get out of my room,” I point to the door. “Go. Go do pregnant lady things in pregnant lady places and let me get ready for the one and only date with C.J. I’ll ever have.”

  “Whatever lie you wanna tell yourself.” When I reactionary glare she continues, “A word of advice,” Maxx says her hand now on the door knob. “A semi wise, semi bitchy person once told me to play the game and see where it goes. Sure the situation was a little different, but the principle is the same. Play the game and see where it goes...”

  I remember saying those words to her and I want it on record I wasn’t bitchy about it.

  ***

  With a deep breath, I prep myself to knock on C.J.’s door- something I’ve done what feels like a hundred times.

  Why am I letting this get to me so much? Nothing’s gonna come from this. It’s just dinner and some wine. It’s simple. We’ll go out, see that we have no chemistry outside of our playful hatred for each other and then go back to our normal lives. That’s all this is.

  I knock softly and promptly C.J. answers the door, in a pair of dark jeans and a black button up shirt fitted to the point that his biceps are crying out for my touch. My teeth bite my bottom lip to distract my hands from acting on the impulse.

  Too bad my pussy didn’t get the memo to not go wet from just looking at him alone. Seriously, look at him. He looks like he belongs on the cover of one of those romance novels Maxx is always reading. Not gonna lie, if C.J. was on the cover of one of those books, I’d bury it under my pillow for personal use. And so would you.

  C.J.’s blue eyes light up as he opens the door wider for me to enter. “Come on in.”

  “Oh, you weren’t gonna make me wait outside for you, like the dog for the mail man?” The snap is followed by C.J. lightly chuckling.

  I notice the dimmed lighting, the candlelight flickering on the walls of the open kitchen area, and the few candles that are settled on the dining room table. Not sure how to take all the romantic gestures, I stand frozen as he takes a few steps away from the door.