Brawler (2 page)

I need to talk to Venessa; for some reason she can see past his verbal diarrhea. Funny, she always came to me for advice until Rogan. Those two have the oddest yet perfect relationship. They share everything, they leave no room for bullshit. See, I have a theory about that. Neither of them has had to deal with exes and bad breakups because they’d never had one. When those two met? All bullshit went out the window. They never had feelings for anyone else so there was no drama, no baggage, no misunderstandings. They started with a clean slate; everything for them was new, and it was honest. There’s something about those two, you’d have to see it to believe it but one thing’s for sure, they live for each other, and it’s a beautiful thing to see. My best friend found that one guy, the one she’ll allow to touch her, love her, and bring her back when she needs it. Rogan found that one girl, the one who sees past what’s on the outside, the one that loves him, and the guy lives for her happiness.

Me, well, I have always had the worst taste in men, always. Is a girl like me even an option for a guy like him? Probably not, but it doesn’t change the way I feel. The four of us are meeting at Russell tomorrow to start training now that Venessa was cleared for some physical activity. Being in close proximity to him does things to my body, I can’t deny that, but maybe I’ll get lucky and we’ll train silently?

“Hellooo?” she asks on the first ring.

“Hey, you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Is Rogan listening?”

“Maybe not right now but, he will,” she says, laughing. “Never mind, he’s totally listening.”

“That’s so fucked up,” I say. “Hey, Rogan.”

“Hey,” he says.

“When’s the wedding?” I throw out there smirking, because if you say wedding anywhere near her, she melts down and it’s fucking funny.

“Why would you say that!” she squeals. “Fuck, Rogue, I think I’m itching, are these hives?”

“No,” he says, laughing.

“You’re evil.”

“She’ll marry me eventually,” he says, “Got her a puppy, though, named him ‘Boner.’”

“Uh,” I say, “Who named him Boner?”

“I did,” he says with pride, as he should. Because Venessa can’t have children and he doesn’t like to share, so a puppy is perfect for them.

“Don’t blame that shit on me,” she says. “He got him for me from the pound yesterday, but Boner started humping my leg so he put him outside to cool off.”

“He’s a puppy,” I say. “He can’t help it.”

“The only one humping her leg is me,” he says, and I hear Venessa laughing her ass off. Like I said, perfect.

“So, I called to talk about Jonas.”

“Who the fuck is Jonas?” she asks “Oh right, Rafe. I’ll probably never get used to that.”

“What’d he do now?” he asks growling.

“He hasn’t really done anything, yet …”

“Then what’s the problem?” she asks.

“The problem is, he will!” I squawk back.

“Macy,” she says, “It’s not too often I hear you get worked up about a guy, but thing about Rafe is, he tries, yeah? He just fucks up
a lot
. I think you scare him a little, to be honest.”

“
I
scare
him
?” I ask “V, the man makes no sense. One minute he’s there before I can trip on a crack in the sidewalk, and the next he’s offering to assault me with produce then  have me clean his bathroom!”

“Why would you clean his bathroom?” asks Rogan.

“Right?” she says.

“That’s my point!” I shout.

“Spill it, Macy,” she says. “What’s the real problem?”

“I don’t think I can partner with him,” I say. “I can’t work with someone who thinks I’m all
Sex and the City
when I’m really more like
8 Mile
with a penchant for nice shoes.”

“Hmm,” she says, thinking. “You’ve given this some thought, yeah? Here’s what I think. I think you don’t like the idea of having to prove yourself to someone. Such is the life of an overachiever, not that I know shit about that. He’s a cop, Macy, and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you, yeah? Show him you’re a bad mawfucka. We aren’t cops, so you and me have a learning curve. Show him your curves, Macy.”

“Mawfucka? Seriously? What if he still thinks I can’t do it?” I ask, biting my nails, which reminds me I need a manicure.

“What if he does?” she counters back.

“Didn’t we have this conversation before?” I ask.

“You two have the same fucking conversation every time you pick up the phone,” says Rogan

“Feel free to hang up,” she says, then she pauses before she yells, “Would you get out! I’m trying to pee!”

“Not likely, it’s just pee,” he says. “Macy, he’d kill for you. Think about that.”

“Okay, I will,” I promise. “Hey, V?”

“Yeah?” she says.

“I can’t go down for another cop,” I say with conviction.

“So don’t,” she says, hanging up the phone.

Problem is, I already have.

Looking around my living room, I find myself depressed. Not only do I have to pick up all the pillows I’ve thrown (which sucks because I hate messes), I’m depressed that I even own that many pillows. What’s most depressing is that I’m no closer to getting off now than I was when I met him months ago. Is it tacky if chicks get hookers? Is that an option? Chicks get hookers, right?

S
hit.

Fuck.

Balls.

That’s how I feel when it comes to
her
.

She hates me.

Why shouldn’t she? I can’t talk to her for shit. I’m always hurting her god damn girly feelings. The chicks I usually try to hook up with would rather fuck than talk, and when they do talk, it’s to insult me. Problem is, I rarely hook up at all.  Okay, so it’s been a while. They start off interested in my face and my body; chicks dig cops, right? It’s when I open my mouth that I ruin everything. Thing is, I know I’m a decent-looking guy, but my looks only get me so far. Every time I make an effort to talk to her, she scrunches up her nose like I just shit myself, and her whole body tenses. Yeah,
that’s
the effect I have on her. Fucks with my head, big time. I get that chicks read those certain types of books and watch those specific flicks where the guy says and does all the right shit. That ain’t me. Truth? I ain’t ever met a guy who does, but whatever. Chicks like that type of shit, but they don’t get they’re brainwashed, neither. So when I guy like me finds a chick he wants to talk to, he fucking
can’t
because she’s already programmed to shut him down.

I’ve never met a chick I even wanted to talk to, until
her
.

She’s fucking beautiful. Smart as hell.  She’s classy. She speaks her mind. She’s also a lot fucking tougher than she looks. She’s also way out of my league.

When we were offered Shadow Squad, my worry for her reached my mouth and of course pissed her off again.     Am I the asshole for not wanting her hurt? She’s a nurse! You can’t compare her to Venessa. Shit, you can’t compare anyone to Venessa. But Macy, she’s
not
Venessa. Even the thought of her in the field makes me sweat bullets. The thought of her anywhere that I’m not makes me feel anxious, and the fact that I don’t know what to say to make her smile depresses the shit outta me.

Last week I was tailing her and she was ignoring me and almost tripped on some uneven cement.  I pulled some superhero shit I didn’t even know I had in me. To thank me, she, of course, snapped at me for calling her a klutz. Well, what else would I call her? I wasn’t the one about to fall on my ass, she was.

She is a good listener, though. That freaks me out, too. She’s always dissecting what I say, and it makes me nervous. I know what I want to say, but with her I just can’t fucking say it.

Did I mention she kicked my ass? Yeah, well, I’m still coming to terms with that. You can’t look at her and think badass. You look at her and think runway model or smoking-hot teacher. One look at Venessa, you know there’s something off about her, like she’s looking for a reason to put you down. Not Macy, though; she just looks sweet and quiet. Reminding myself it doesn’t take much to remove that sweetness, and it’s the quiet ones that can put you on your ass I shake my head because yeah, way out of my fucking league.

Since I’m exposing myself here, here’s what it comes down to … She’s so fucking good at everything she does, I just want to be the one better at something for once. It should be me walking into danger so she can sleep at night. I just want to be the guy she runs to like she did in that basement. And? She calls me “Jonas.” Not even my parents called me that.

I want to be the guy who defends her. She wants to be equals or some shit. How can a fuck-up like me ever convince a lady like her that I’m worth a shit?

Picking up my phone, the irony is not lost on me that I’m calling my partner for advice. My partner, you know, the one who’s more socially stunted than I am? Yeah, that guy.

“What?” he says on the first ring.

“Well, hello to you too,” I say. “Got a minute?”

“Make it quick,” he says. “I’ve got Boner to take care of.”

“I’ll be coming back to that later,” I say. “But, uh, I need advice.”

“I bet you do,” he says. “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” I defend. “I just can’t get her to like me, man, and it’s pissing me off. Every time I open my mouth she makes this face like I just picked my nose and tried to shake her hand with it or something.”

“Where do you come up with this shit?” he asks “Hang on …” I can hear him set the phone down and mentioning his boner again. What is it with him and his dick all of a sudden?

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I say back.

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“How did you know that’s why I was calling?” I ask, confused.

“Because I, or rather we, just talked to her an hour ago,” she says. “You’re calling for advice, I take it, so even though I’m guessing there’s a girl code I’m supposed to know about but don’t, I’m going to tell you a few things, because watching you two is worse than Boner humping my leg.”

“What are you two doing over there?” I ask, appalled. “I hope you both are double-bagging it.”

“Why would we—” she starts. “Never mind, listen … Macy is an independent woman, yeah? She looks girly and stuff, but she isn’t, and you need to remember that. You have a way of making her feel like she can’t take care of herself, and that will get you tazed again.”

“What’s wrong with me wanting to take care of her?” I ask.

“It’s not wrong,” she says. “She’s a part of this team, too, and you need to treat her like you’d treat me when we’re working.”

“Not possible,” I say. “You two are not even in the same league.”

“Actually,” she says, “We are, you just refuse to see her any other way. Listen, Rafe, she’s weary of cops as it is, yeah? Since I turned eighteen, it’s just been the two of us. When I tell you Macy has had shit luck with men in the past, it’s because she’s had men that pretended to be one way and ended up another. She is tough and capable; she just prefers to avoid confrontation. But when she’s forced to …”

“Okay?” I ask. “What are you telling me?”

“To be yourself,” she says. Like that helps? “If you show her the real you and she still doesn’t feel the same, then you can say you tried, yeah? Macy is the best person I know, Rafe, but you have to let Macy be Macy, and believe me, she’ll want the same from you.”

“I don’t think the real me is going to get me any oral favors here, Venessa,” I say.

“Let me put it to you this way,” she says, laughing, although I don’t know what’s funny. “You get her into you by being phony and she finds out you played her? Shit, Rafe, it doesn’t even bear thinking about! She will flat out kill you, and I’ll YouTube it.”

“Be myself,” I say. “Shit.”

“I have to scratch Boner,” she says, disconnecting.

What is it with those two and boners? Fucking weird.

Be myself, fine.

Shit.

We are meeting over at Russell tomorrow, where Venessa trains, to get some time in as a unit and plan our next move.  I’ll impress her with my skills and show her I can complete a sentence and flex my muscles at the same time. Chicks dig multitaskers.