Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) (9 page)

“Time for a subject change. I work three jobs. I’m a trainer, if you hadn’t notice my rocking bod, I freelance articles sporadically for a health and fitness magazine and, I’m in a band.”

“Oh, my God, really, what kind of music do you play?” Michael moved his good hand to still her lips with gentle fingers; they felt like raw electrical wire to her.

“Uh, uh, uh, no questions, just tell. That’s not how this works. If you’re a good girl, I might accidentally answer your questions, but not yet. First, you need to tell me something along the same lines about yourself.”

“Spoil sport.” Tori was eating up this light atmosphere they’d managed to create—a feeling she’d never experienced with Richard, or anyone else for that matter. “Fine, I just quit my job with a major water sports event organizer to open a clothing store for fit women with my two best friends, but I volunteer as a grief counselor. Only a few people outside my family know that, and now, you.”

The ticking of the clock was deafening. Michael seemed stunned or freaked by that information.
Damn it, too much, too soon.
She knew that info was heavy, but she was compelled to share that little tidbit. No rhyme or reason why, but something told her to.

“Really? That’s…”

“Uh, uh, uh. That’s not how any of this works, remember. Now you, Wingman.”

“Fine, but maybe you can accidentally elaborate? Let’s see. I dropped out of college. Never finished. Got certified as a trainer but that’s it. Academic underachiever right here, sexy, huh? Does ignorance turn you on? Because, I’ve got it in spades.”

Joking tone or not, it was obvious to Tori that his lack of traditional education was a sore spot for him. At some point, someone made him feel inadequate about it, and she had a sneaking suspicion she knew the culprit.

“Well, F.Y.I., degrees are not indicative of one’s overall knowledge or even IQ. I have two degrees and I feel like an idiot more often than not. My brother Walker has a genius IQ, yet not a single credit hour. He tattoos and pierces people for a living and, other than his current situation with Erika, is content as he can be.”

“What are your degrees in?”

“Oh, so we’ve moved to a question and answer format? Noted. Business and psychology. What’s your band called?

“Superficial Sinner. Just the one brother?”

“Yep, younger. Same?” Dang it, it was out before she could think. Not the subject she wanted to chat about. Maybe he would keep the rapid fire pace, and skip right over this one.

“Yep, just the older half-asshole. Age?” Michael kept up the pace, but the cloud hanging over him now was practically visible.

“In my thirties, you?”

Smiling that devastating smile again, he replied with a just-woke-up morning voice. “Twenties. This boyfriend, serious or casual?”

“Why?”

Placing his finger on her lips once more, he shushed her. “Uh, uh, that’s not how this works.” With that, he dropped a quick feather-light kiss on her lips the instant his finger slid away. “Maybe because I want to know if I have a shot at being the next man to make you smile like you did earlier…”

“Fine, neither. It was serious on my side, not on his, maybe it never was. By this time tomorrow, he will have an ex designator. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking to fill the position he vacates anytime soon, so get that thought out of your mind, mister. What about you; girlfriend, wife, groupies?”

That rich rumbling sound bubbled up from him again and it was still panty melting. “Hahaha, not currently, not yet, and do you really want an estimate? Why is he going to be an ex tomorrow?”

“Because he’s an emotionally abusive taint biscuit, who is unable or unwilling to move forward, and I finally wised up. Do you like being on stage and having the whole room focused on you?”

“I used to, now, not so much, but I do love the outlet singing and songwriting provides.” She interrupted before he could pose a question.

“You write songs, too?” Michael just waggled his finger and shook his head groggily no. The medicine was starting to pull him down into that leaden fuzzy, pain-free place.

“Why did you decide to counsel people?”

“Junior Prom. Boyfriend that didn’t understand the word no.” Shit why did she answer that question? No one knew about that. Well, except for the asshole with the hearing problem. The fact she answered that question, even involuntarily, opened up something between them, she hoped. At the very least, it gave her the confidence to pose the question she had wanted the answer to practically from the moment they made eye contact. “Why do you have that haunted look in your eyes?”

Not realizing she had brought her hand around to his temple, she lightly circled her thumb there, waiting for an answer, or waiting to see if he could even formulate one. Many people couldn’t. It wasn’t that they didn’t know why, they just had trouble taking what emotion it was a partner to, and wording it to speak aloud.

The silence stretched out for so long, she thought she had lost him, either moved too fast or the medicine claimed him, until an unsteady and unsure voice shattered it. A hollow, haunted voice, one that if she didn’t witness it whispering past his lips would’ve never believed it came from this larger-than-life man.

“A string of people who didn’t comprehend no. My fiancée who couldn’t or wouldn’t say no to my best friend’s cock and most recently, a sleazy waitress in a hotel room who wouldn’t accept no.”

Michael barked, “Game over.” and rolled away in a huff. Tori knew it was hurt, embarrassment, and the fact that he’d just exposed a herd of demons to a virtual stranger that had him halting the Q & A.

Tori’s heart broke as she struggled to comprehend his confession. A cheating fiancée is one thing, but cheating with the best friend is a betrayal squared, especially for a man. Women tell their friends everything, their BFF’s know all in that aspect. Men? Men are different, they don’t do late night gab sessions over pints of mint chocolate chip, and they expose themselves on a different level to significant people in their lives.

For lack of a better description, women make a conscience choice to let someone in. They pick a best friend first and then chose what to share; men, as a rule, don’t operate that way. They meet someone first, casually, then over time, and almost accidentally, they share parts of themselves with another through their actions and just living and hanging out. It’s a slow as kudzu progression and, typically, men don’t realize they’ve let someone in until they are already so deep, they have the power and the knowledge to destroy him.

Come to think of it, that was really the beginning of the end for her and Richard. Even with all the time they’d been together, he never let her in, not even the insignificant ways. He purposefully kept her out.

Tori’s internal pity party was interrupted by what sounded like sniffled breathing. Oh shit, Michael was hurting. Having just laid his heart bare was too much for him in his current state. The combo of alcohol and painkillers brought out the emotional side of him obviously, or maybe he needed to get it off his chest and once she opened the floodgates, he let it rip.

Good for him, he needed to speak the words, even if he might not remember in the morning. Needed to let that pois…
wait, did he just confess to being raped?
She’d missed it, so caught up in the dynamic of betrayal between his fiancée and best friend she totally overlooked the implication. Shit, she was better than that. Having dealt with rape victims through counseling, she was trained to spot these things. Most rape confessions that weren’t reported to police came to her the same way—casual mentions, usually sandwiched between two lesser confessions or self-judgments.

Off her game was an understatement. This man had an effect on her she couldn’t describe nor resist, but she shook it all off to focus. First and foremost, he was a victim and she was a counselor. She could help him cope, maybe even convince him to seek out another professional since she was obviously not the one for the job. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t at least help him tonight.

T
he weight
of her hand was almost nonexistent, but way too significant in its presence. He was hoping the fog in his brain made him imagine speaking those words to the one woman in the world he didn’t want to see him as a lesser man, a broken man. But, the touch of her hand, coupled with her feather soft voice, dashed that hope definitively.

“Michael? Would you like to talk about it?” She pled. Any other time, any other stage in their relationship, and that concern would mean something so much more, but here and now? It meant she pitied him, saw him for the pussy he was.

What do you mean relationship?
They didn’t have one, and thanks to his big mouth, they never would. Not beyond this night, anyway. Not beyond his past. What woman could get over that? Hell, what woman would want to? He couldn’t satisfy his own fucking fiancée or she wouldn’t have turned to his best friend. Oh yeah, there’s that, too. He couldn’t even secure the loyalty of another man he’d known since high school. If he could be sexually assaulted by a slip of a woman, after getting his first cockstand in months, what kind of fucking man is he?

In that moment, Michael couldn’t decide who he was most pissed at. Betrayers, all of them. Fucking betrayers, even his own body betrayed him. That was the icing on this whole fucking shit cake, his own body allowed him to do something he didn’t want to do. His heart and mind said no, but his body said Hell yes. And why? Because of the woman attached to the sweet voice trying to coax a confession from him. His body had been Benedict Arnolding him for months in a different way, because of Tonya and Shane, but then, his body decided that wasn’t enough torture. Because of
her
.

She did this. If she hadn’t awoken his heart and body, that sleazy bitch wouldn’t have been more than the waitress who brought him his cheeseburger and got a twenty percent tip for the effort. A voice inside him coaxed him to lash out, hurt her back, but she broke through again and that inner voice lost some influence.

“I’m a good listener and I never judge. I’m bound to keep it to myself, no matter what.” Her hand moved from his bicep and he mourned the loss of her touch until he felt her body scoot closer and her hand land on his head and begin twirling and caressing his hair. How could he hate someone like her? Someone comforting him the way he liked. Other than his mother, no one else had put forth that much effort toward his emotional well-being.

“You’re not a lesser man because of other peoples’ choices. They do not get to decide who you are, and you cannot let them determine how you see yourself. That power has always, and
will
always belong to you, you just have to find it.”

God help me, who is this woman, and what in this life did I do to deserve to find her?
She must have read his mind and knew what he was going through, because her wisdom just kept coming, and answered his protests before he could speak them. She was trying to heal him. Him?

Touching local fame wasn’t motivating her—as it did so many women pretending to be interested in who he really was—nor was it sleeping with a trainer or a free gym perk—none of that. Sure, he could tell she appreciated his body. He wasn’t cocky, well, yes he was, but he was also honest. It was none of those outward things enticing her to play with his hair and tell him everything was all right. It was just
him
. This beguiling woman saw inside of him and didn’t run for the hills, instead, she scooted closer to offer him the contentment of her presence and played with his hair the way he’d told her his mom used to.

Michael didn’t know what to do with all that. Trying to comprehend it was like trying to swallow bitter medicine. Knowing it was for the best didn’t stop him from fucking gagging each time he attempted to swallow it down.

God, she was everything gorgeous and pure in life, the polar opposite of him in every way. Well, this him, anyway. He wasn’t always like this. He was just like any normal man, happy-go-lucky. Sure, everyone had baggage, but it wasn’t so much that it weighed them down, they dealt with their shit and got the fuck over it, but for some reason, he couldn’t seem to do that this time. It wasn’t just this time that was responsible, it was a culmination of his whole fucking life, and the latest shit was just the straw.

“My brother tried to drown me when we were kids. Not drown me exactly, but refused to save me after he pushed me in. Just stood there laughing and watching. The lake was so clear, I could see that he spoke, but underwater I couldn’t make out the words. I have a pretty good idea, though. After dad pulled me out of the lake and I was alone with him again, he told me he wished I had died in the water or better yet, never been born. How fucked up is that? I’m someone his own mother or brother can’t even love.”

Michael didn’t know why he’d just confessed that, but he had fucking diarrhea of the mouth and just kept going and going.

“I haven’t swam in an open body of water since. All the competitions I’ve done, and aced I might add, and I can’t fucking do a triathlon. I want to so badly, but I come up with an excuse every single time. But the truth is, I’m a fucking pussy who can’t go in the water.