Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4) (81 page)

“Maybe it’s not over. Maybe this is just one huge fucking fight. Whatever it is, I don’t want to talk to him. Not tonight. And now I’m here, with you. Tonight, you’re my snuggle buddy—so get your tatted ass off the floor and lend me some sweats.”

I frown up at her, feeling overwhelmed by all that just happened in the last ten minutes.

“I sort of hate you right now. Just so you know,” I mutter, taking her hand and standing to my feet. “I was kind of hoping to be alone tonight, not pretending to feel sorry for you with your boyfriend problems.”

“Hey.” She stops me from walking past her, gripping both of my shoulders. “You get a bitch pass for that because I know your heart is broken—but I am a
fabulous
snuggle buddy, so fuck you.
And
—I’ve barely heard from you in two weeks. Your lame ass texts don’t count, either. I didn’t come up here just for me. I needed to see for myself how my baby sis was doing. I was going to plan a sneak attack for tomorrow, but shit happened and I’m here now. Good thing.
Clearly
, you aren’t sleeping.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Not tonight. I just—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough. You’re still snuggling with me.”

“Whatever,” I concede. “But I get to pick the movie.”

Benjamin:
I’m getting fucked up tonight. You in? 9. The Pub.

When Benjamin’s text had come through, I had just arrived home after a long day at the office. Nevertheless, it didn’t take me more than a moment to make up my mind. After a quick change of clothes, I was out the door—
fucked up
sounded like a good idea.

Perhaps if I get drunk enough, my dick will start to cooperate.

I haven’t fucked in sixteen days. It’s certainly not the longest I’ve gone without sex, but this time it’s not for lack of trying. Lately, every time I go out, it’s as if I struggle with impotence—not physically, but mentally. No matter where I am, no matter how much I want to fuck, there isn’t a woman out there who piques my interest. And just when I think I’ve given up and I decide to dip my cock into the next mediocre woman who looks my way, the ache in my chest returns, killing my desire to even approach someone.

Later, when I’m home alone, my dick gripped firmly in my hand,
she
is all that I see. I try not to think about her, but my desperation to find a release is so great, I’m forced to surrender to what works. The image of her exquisite, naked body, covered in a thin layer of sweat as she writhes beneath me, my name on her lips—
fuck
—I’m hard now just thinking about it.

I reach down to adjust myself as I walk into the bar, my eyes scanning the room for my brother. I’m not sure about the reason behind his text, but my guess is that it has to do with a beautiful Fitzpatrick woman. If I’ve guessed correctly, we have that problem in common. While I doubt copious amounts of alcohol will help solve our issues, at the very least, it’ll help us forget for a night.

I find him at the bar, a beer in one hand, his fingers spinning his phone around and around in his other. When I drape my coat over the back of the stool next to him and take a seat, he looks over and tips his chin up at me.

“Hey,” he mutters.

“Hey.” I signal the bartender before I ask, “What’s up?”

“Harper. She broke up with me.”

“Shit,” I reply, jerking my head in surprise as I take a closer look at him. I’ve been through breakups with him before—it’s why I don’t understand why he would put himself through the cycle all over again with another woman. Same shit, different day. Only, right now, he doesn’t look sad. He looks pissed. He looks
determined
.

“She won’t answer my calls. She’s not at home. She can’t hide from me for forever, but she’s doing a pretty damn good job of avoiding me tonight.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. The bartender comes to take my order and I’ve got a scotch in my hand in less than a minute.

“I don’t know how you do it,” says Ben, breaking the silence.

“Do what?” I ask after a swallow.

“Pretend you don’t give a shit.”

“I’m not
pretending
anything.”

He laughs and shakes his head at me. “Bullshit. You want to talk about that beard you’ve got going on?”

I reach up and run my hand over my mouth and jaw. I haven’t shaved since the Monday after Teddy walked out. I can’t explain why, exactly, only that it didn’t feel right anymore. Then, after it had filled in to the length that Teddy prefers, I let it keep growing. For myself, I suppose. It is
my
fucking face, after all. It’s filled in quite nicely. I like it, and I intend to keep it—maintaining the full but
clean
look.

“I’m a man capable of growing a beard. It has nothing to do with her.”

“Yeah?” he asks with a smirk. “And when’s the last time you got laid? You seem kind of tense.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, giving me a squeeze, and I shrug him off.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, I guarantee you that I’ll be getting my dick wet a whole lot sooner than you, brother. I’m
not
pretending. I want my woman back, and I won’t stop until she’s mine.
You
, on the other hand…”

“Are you done?” I ask with a glare. “I thought you invited me down here to drink, not to act as though you know a damn thing about what’s going on with me.”

“I have every intention of getting shit-faced tonight—I may have just lost my girl. I’m going to get fucked up, I’m going to sleep it off, and then I’m going to fight like hell to get her back. It’s not my fault you waltzed in here
begging
to be my entertainment for the night. You’re a walking bleeding heart—and you know how I know? Because I’ve been there, and you’ve given me shit. So consider this payback. And by the way, you don’t wear heartache nearly as well as I do. If I were you, I’d just admit that I was in love and get my girl back.”

“How many times do I have to tell you—”

“There’s a dull pain, right? It’s there even when you don’t think about it. You carry it with you, day and night. Maybe you ignore it, try and trick yourself into believing it’s a figment of your imagination, but she left a wound—an invisible wound. It’s
real.
Am I right?

“And she’s in your head,” he continues, not allowing me to speak. “She’s
always
there, even when you wish she wasn’t—lurking in your memory. She’s probably the biggest fucking cock block you’ve ever gone up against, am I right? You hear her voice, you see her smile, you
almost
feel her touch—except it’s all just up here,” he mutters, pointing at his head. “Which is driving you mad because you’re pretty good at keeping your shit locked down. Except the problem is, when it’s love—when your heart infiltrates your brain, there is no escaping it.

“I’ve got to be getting close, right?”

“Enough,” I mumble, not wishing to hear another word. He’s got it wrong. I’m fine. I’m not as weak as he is. I’m not susceptible to the symptoms of
love
like my dear brother.

“And by the looks of it, I’d even go so far as to assume that she’s got you second guessing who you are, anymore,” he goes on to say, ignoring me. “You let her in. She
changed
you. She’s a part of you, now—and you can’t figure out which way is up because she’s gone.”

“Fuck—
enough!
” I bellow. “It’s over, Ben. She walked away. She made her choice.”

“You forced her hand!”

“You know
nothing
,” I seethe.

“Shit,” he sighs, shaking his head at me. “Jude—I won’t claim to know everything, but I do know one thing. You’ll never be the same without her. And that’s a fact.”

“Drink your beer, Ben. Just drink your fucking beer.”

A
fter a shit weekend, getting back to the office on Monday was welcomed. The fact that I was happy to put up with a bunch of necessary business tasks, shelfing my designs for a couple of days, should be a sign that something has to change. Now, as I lean over the conference room table, staring at a blueprint, I see nothing, and I wonder what the hell is happening to me. It’s like there’s this mental block preventing me from doing what it is that I’m good at, and I can’t get around it. My focus is still shit, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be if I just…

It’s been almost three weeks since Thanksgiving. Never in my life has it taken me this long to move on. And never has a woman in my past prevented me from seeking a new woman to warm my bed. Benjamin is sure that my relationship with Teddy has
changed
me. What she’s changed is my damn conscience. Now, the idea of calling Diana or Cierra—women whose bodies I know well—seems
wrong
. Yet, I cannot deny the fact that I don’t want someone new. I’ve
looked
for new and have nothing to show for it.

What Teddy has changed are my damn preferences.

I want adorable but alluring.

I want cute but sexy.

I want
shy
but
wild
.

I want greedy but not desperate.

I want…
an exceptionally welcome beauty in my bed
.

My problem has never been that I don’t know what I want.

My problem now is that I know exactly what I want.

My mind. My heart. My
soul
is still in her possession.

I want it back.

“Knock, knock,” says Logan, pulling me from my thoughts. I look up and find her standing in the doorway, her hands resting around her protruding middle. “I need a minute. Mind if I come in?”

I stand up straight, folding my arms across my chest, offering her a nod of approval.

“Right,” she mutters, closing the door behind her. She pulls out a chair a few seats away from me and sits. “Two minutes. I’m just going to be Logan, and you’re just going to be Jude—all right? I want to be honest—friends are honest.”

I want to tell her that she should give up on the notion that she and I are actually friends, but I say nothing, waiting for her to proceed.

“I know we don’t talk about it—no one in the office talks about it—but you’re a mess. Whatever went down with you and Teddy—”

I hold up a hand, knowing already that I’ve heard enough. “That’s none of your business.”

“Yes, actually, it is. If you would let me finish, I could explain how
your
unhappiness is effecting
my
career. You’re not
here!
You’re not
you
. Your brilliance is—
buried
in your misery. I want my mentor back. And it’s quite obvious to
everyone
that my mentor wants the love of his life back. And I get it. You’re
you
. You don’t beg or grovel or whatever, but do what you have to do. This is so much bigger than just
you.
Consider it a favor. Get her back, and then come back to work.”

Her rant strikes a nerve. She’s never been shy about telling me how she feels, and I’ve taken it in stride. But today is different. Today, it
stings,
and my patience vanishes as my anger rises to the surface. I close the distance between us and tower over her, not at all
moved
by her determined expression.

“We are
not
friends. I am your boss, and you are my employee. My personal life is none of your fucking concern. And if you are not capable of growing under my direction, then perhaps you’d be better off at another design firm.”