Unsocial (5 page)

Okay,
I need to get my shit together and form words.  It’s obvious the star of all of
my future fantasies is getting a lot more than impatient.  It’s time I form
words.  I stand and hold out my hand out with anticipation for his touch….
just
stop, Brooke, he’s a client.
“Yes, I apologize.  You’ve just caught me on
my lunch.  But I’m Brooke Porter.  Can I help you?”  I really need to get a
hold of myself before I look any more needy or horny.  I’m really not sure what
look is on my face.

He
takes my hand firmly and gives it a brief shake, but not before I notice how
utterly huge and strong his is wrapped around mine. 
More totally inappropriate
thoughts come to mind.
  I need to stop.  I really need to stop this.  I
cannot be having this kind of reaction around every hot male that walks through
these doors.  “I’m Dylan Monroe.  They told me coming in that I need to speak
with you about home visits and shit.  I don’t get this.”

Dylan
Monroe? From the “Monroe” file. Holy shit
. “Well, the
judge ordered…..”

He
cuts me off abruptly, “I know what that prick ordered.  I just don’t get it. 
They’re my family.  It’s simple, I should get them.  How can you guys justify
splitting up a family, especially at a time like this?  We just lost our
parents.”

Okay,
he’s not so happy, obviously.  I need to diffuse this.  I offer him what I hope
is my warmest and friendliest smile.  I need to make him feel comfortable.  I’m
grasping for every professional anecdote I know of to set him at ease.  I offer
him the chair beside mine.  “I know your family should be with you, and I’m
going to do everything I can to make that happen.  It’s just that the judge is concerned
regarding your age and the fact that you’ll be in custody of four minor
children all of a sudden.”

“That’s
bullshit.  Adamson is a jackass.”  There sounds like definite history here. 
“You look young Ms. Porter.  Younger than I do.  Do you think Adamson would set
up all this shit if you were in my position? How the hell does my age
disqualify me from raising my brothers and sisters?”

He
is really worked up about this.  “You can call me Brooke.  And I don’t know. 
I’m not the one in your position.  No one said you aren’t qualified to raise
them.  But I’m not the one with them all of the time Dylan.  However, I’m the
one with the responsibility of making sure that this transition you’re all
going through is smooth for everyone.”

He
continues to glare at me.  He’s hostile, and part of me understands it.  It’s
perfectly clear he loves his family, and I know that separating them would be
devastating at a time like this.  I need to make him trust me.  “Dylan, I’m not
here to keep you from being granted guardianship.  I’m going to do everything I
can to help you and your siblings stay together.”

“That’s
crap and you know it.  You’re going to dig for anything that will keep me from
getting my brothers and sisters.”

“That’s
not true, Dylan.  I’m simply going to help you create and maintain a safe
environment for the children.”

His
face falls leaving a bewildered and hurt look, “You think I would hurt them? 
They’re my family.”

“I
don’t think that, but we have to satisfy the courts that they will be cared for
and nurtured and kept absolutely safe when you’re granted guardianship.  In our
line of work, it’s often the blood relatives that can cause the most damage to
children, whether intentionally or unintentionally.  I assure you, I’m on your
side.”

He
rubs his fingers over the stubble on his jaw.  “Fine, so how is this going to
work?”  His voice still indicates a level of distrust that I know I’m going to
be working to bring down.

I
relax, but only a little, “Well, we’re going to have to schedule home visits.  They
will be weekly until it is decided if we can move to bi-weekly appointments.
I’ll just be looking to make sure everything is good to go for when you get
full guardianship.”

He
sighs in frustration and leans against the back of his chair, “Fine, so does this
count for this week’s visit?”

I
laugh lightly, “I’m afraid not.  I need to see where you live and introduce
myself to everyone.  I want to get to know them so they feel comfortable with
my visits.”

He
stands clearly ready to leave, “Fine.  Does tomorrow afternoon work?”

I
look down at my desk planner.  Of course, there’s nothing on it.  “Yes,
tomorrow afternoon would be perfect.  I can be there around two if you like.”

He
nods, “Okay, we’ll see you then.”

Before
he walks away, I give him my friendliest and most sincere smile.  “I promise to
make this as painless as possible, Dylan.  I don’t want you to see me as the
enemy.”  I’m trying everything to reassure him.

He
grumbles something as he walks away.  Then enters Marla and Paige.  Marla
shakes her head in wonder, “I really, really hate you right now.  I mean, you
should have seen my first client.  He was short, fat, and bald.  Here you get
tall, dark, and drop-the-panties handsome.”

“And
if that’s not working for you enough, how about angry and brooding.  Damn!” 
Paige grins at me wistfully.

I
just look at them both like they’re crazy.  Yes, Dylan Monroe is all those
things, plus about a million other delicious adjectives, but it’s clear that he
hates me.  I did notice him check me out, but a guy like that I’m sure checks
out every woman.  “You guys are seriously jealous of a client that hates my
guts?”

They
both chuckle and Marla says, “Oh, sweetie.  They all hate us, and I could look
past all the animosity if they looked like that.”

After
the visit with Dylan, the rest of my first day passes pretty unremarkably. 
Unfortunately, this allows thoughts of him to flit through my mind on repeat. 
Finally, it’s time to head home, and I’m ready.  I need to kick my feet up in
comfy clothes with a glass of wine and unload this day on my best friend and
roommate, Alexandra. 

When
I enter the apartment, she’s in the kitchen putting the final touches on our
dinner.  I love to cook, but Alexandra, not so much.  However, I’m letting her
have this one because being the kickass friend she is, I’m getting a
celebration dinner for the first day of my career.  She knows exactly what I’ve
gone through to get here since we’ve been partners in crime since we were
children. Then we went to college together, and it was pretty much a given that
we would end up roommates.  “How was your first day?”

“Ugh.”

“That’s
it? ‘Ugh?’  That’s all you’ve got after your first day on the job?  No, ‘you
won’t believe what happened’ or ‘I have the most exciting career ever?’  Come
on B, give me something.  Otherwise, the fettuccini is going in the garbage,
which would be a travesty because I used your grandma’s recipe and I went over
the grocery budget and I missed a half a day of work so I could…..”

I
cut her off, “Okay, okay, okay.  Stop.  You know I can’t talk about the
details.  Let’s just leave it as very frustrating.  Apparently people out there
don’t like social workers, like, at all.”

She
pours me a glass of wine, “Of course, Ms. By-the-book Brooke.  I’m not
expecting details.  But you know that makes sense that most of your clients
will feel that way.  I mean, you are meeting them at some of the worst times in
their lives.  They’re struggling, and you often times hold the outcome of their
fate in the palms of your hands.”

“That’s
just it Alex.  Our job is to help them through these difficult times, and they
don’t get it.  And that just frustrates the hell out of me.  Shit, I don’t want
to bust up families or deny them extra food stamps or housing.  It’s just
getting them to see that.”

“Okay,
I know just the thing to get you out of this first-day funk.  We’re going out
after we eat.”

I
glare at her pointedly.  Alex is always up for going out.  For her it never
gets old.  There was a time where our roles were reversed, and I was the one
who wanted to go out.  Of course, my time for rebellion happened in high
school.  Her transformation to the wild side came in college.

It
started with coloring her hair a dark auburn from her original color of
blonde.  Then she moved to piercing her belly button after which followed her
nose.  It wasn’t until she started turning up with little pops of ink that the
timid and shy Alexandra Choskey from high school was no more.  And college was
about the time I decided I needed to get serious.  My grandmother’s health was
bad, and I needed to make changes.  And much to my friend’s disgust, our times
of going out and living it up were far and few between.  “No way, I have to
work tomorrow.”

“Oh,
come on, Brooke.  You need to get all dolled up with me and go out.  We can hit
a couple of clubs.  I’ll call a couple of the girls…..”

“I
can’t Al.  I’m exhausted.  What I really want is to take a bath with a glass of
wine and try to relax.”

“What
happened to the badass Brooke who used to sneak out of her grandma’s house
after midnight to meet her boyfriend?  You used to tell me about riding his
motorcycle to clubs in Westport.”

“Yeah,
well, that was high school, my friend.  And if I recall, I tried to get you to
go out then.  You wanted to stay home and read.  Let’s face it, our wild-child
sides bloomed at totally different times in our life.”

For
some reason, I felt the need to be a rebel when I was a teen.  I think it was
kind of expected of me given who my parents were.  They had me when they were
sixteen, but since they couldn’t or didn’t want to take care of me, they
dropped me off at my maternal grandmother’s house and took off when I was a
couple of weeks old.  I grew up in the same house as my mother, with the same
neighbors, and going to the same school.

I
heard the talk, wondering if I would turn out like my mom.  I have to say I did
the rebellion thing up nicely.  Fortunately, I escaped that period unscathed,
and more importantly, I escaped it without a baby, not that Adam, my high
school boyfriend, and I didn’t “practice.”  I was a total brat then.  Then my
freshman year of college my grandmother got really sick, and I needed to shape
up.  I owed her that after she took me in to raise her daughter’s child.  She
died two years ago, and now that she’s gone, I’m determined to make her proud
of me, and that meant taking my job seriously.

After
I eat pasta with Alex and we’ve made small talk and laughed about our days, I
pick up my wine and stand, “I’m gonna go take that bubble bath now and try to
read some of a good book.”

Alex
fakes a yawn, “Okay, Grandma Brooke.  You have fun with that.”

I
roll my eyes at her sarcasm and head to our bathroom.  What I really need to do
is figure out how to curb my reaction to one Mr. Dylan Monroe before I see him
again tomorrow.  And I really need to figure out a way to make this
‘relationship’ more amicable.  He can’t continue this animosity toward me, and
I need to show him that.  What I really need to do is keep reminding my horny
self that there is a line that cannot be crossed here. 
I need bubbles and
wine, pronto.

Dylan

I
wake up and stretch my cramped body on the living room couch.  I let Jackson
take my parent’s room because I don’t feel comfortable sleeping in there. 
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t believe in ghosts or any shit like that, but with
all their stuff around it just seems strange.  The problem is my six-foot-plus
body on this damn couch.  There isn’t enough room in this house.  Jackson and I
are used to our four-bedroom house in Oklahoma City where we had plenty of
personal space and every creature comfort our money could buy.  Here in this
house, we’ve got six people in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom ‘space.’  It seems
like everyone is living on top of each other.  I give my body one last stretch
and glance to the table beside the sofa.  When I see the clock, I go into an
immediate state of panic. It’s one in the afternoon, and Brooke,
I mean
,
the social worker is going to be here in one hour.

I
jump off the couch and grab a shirt off of the oversized chair I’ve turned into
a makeshift closet in the living room. It was a far cry from the walk-in I have
in my house in Oklahoma.  Sliding the shirt on, I holler for the kids.  Michael
comes out of his room, “What’s going on?”

I
start trying to pick up the mess that has accumulated in the living room. 
Another luxury I’m missing is the cleaning service.  Jackson and I don’t clean;
we pay for that shit.  “Where is everybody?  The social worker I told you guys
about will be here in less than an hour. We have to get this place cleaned up.”

Luke
walks in yawning.  He looks like he just woke up as well judging from the bad
case of bed head, sweats, and a muscle tee.  “Why the hell are you yelling,
Dylan?”

I’m
really trying
.  “Watch your mouth around the kids.”  And all I
get for this is a sarcastic teenage laugh. 
Fuck my life.

Cassie
and Gabby file in behind him looking around confused, most likely at my frantic
attempt at cleaning.  At least, they’re both dressed for the day, as is
Michael.  “Look, guys, the social worker will be here in an hour. I need your
help cleaning up, please.” I turn to Luke, “Take a shower.”  As he turns away,
“And clean the bathroom when you’re done.”

“What
the
fuck ever,” is all I get from him.

Michael
whines, “No fair! He doesn’t have to help?”

“He’s
got to shower, and then he will help.”
Yeah right.

Luke
disappears in the one bathroom in the house to shower, and the kids help me
pick everything up.  Thankfully Cassie seems familiar with the duty. After
returning from the kitchen with a trash bag, she starts throwing away take-out
containers, pizza boxes, and empty bottles.  Michael is picking up the pile of
dirty clothes, or at least, I think they’re dirty.  I look over at Gabby to
find her silently stacking stuff on the coffee table. 
How the fuck am I
going to explain her behavior?

We’ve
settled into somewhat of a routine over the last two weeks.  I try to talk to
all of the kids often. Cassie and Michael are the most responsive. Gabby still
will not talk; she just continues to nod her head yes or no, but her face
remains mostly emotionless.

She
has started showing brief smiles, snarls, and pouts, but these have been the
only changes since the accident.  I would be lying if I said this didn’t worry
the hell out of me.  I have no idea how to reach her to even start helping
her.  That’s why I decided they need counseling.  I’m not equipped for dealing
with this.  The three younger kids are going, but Luke refuses.  The first one
I took them to suggested I admit her to a psychiatric hospital because she
wouldn’t communicate at all.  That wasn’t happening.  I don’t think keeping her
away from her family will help, so I changed therapists.  The new one seems to
be a much better fit if I could get him to quit trying to drag me into his office.
Gabby doesn’t talk to this therapist either so I have no idea what goes on for
the hour they’re all together.  I’m just happy with the gradual changes.  I’m
not lying to myself; it’s going to be a slow process.

Luke
fights me on everything, and it’s crystal clear that he is pissed that I wasn’t
around for three years.  He refuses to trust me.  I know this because of just
about every interaction we have.  I ask him to do something, and it usually
results in a mumbled, ‘fuck you.’  I know he’s hurting.  I know he’s pissed.  I
also know I would love to kick his disrespectful ass all over the back yard.  The
sad thing is that I see me in Luke ten years ago.

Back
to the task at hand.  I’m working on putting the piles of dishes in the
dishwasher when Jackson walks in and looks around at everyone cleaning, “What
the hell is going on?”

“We
slept in too late, and I have that appointment today.”

“Ah,
right, with the uptight chick with a stick up her ass?”  I told Jackson last
night all about my meeting with the social worker, Brooke Porter. She is going
to be a huge pain in my ass for the next year. I can tell she’s stubborn and
determined just by our first conversation.  I can also tell she’s got a smoking
hot body underneath her straight-laced business suit.  Too fucking bad, she’s
relegated to ‘enemy’ territory.  Under different circumstances, say her not
trying to takes my siblings away, I would be talking her out of her clothes.

Yesterday
she had her black hair pulled into a tight bun on top of her head rocking the
whole naughty librarian look.  The professional pantsuit totally showed off the
perfect curves of her tight little ass, and underneath that
buttoned-to-the-neck silk blouse, I knew there were some spectacular tits.  I’m
a guy; these are always the first thing I notice on a woman.  I’m always
scouting out lucky number, whatever.  But this girl is the total package
physically.  To top off the stellar body, she has beautiful brown eyes,
soft-looking skin, and lips that were made to do sinful things all over my
body.

What
topped it all off was the way she noticed me too.  I know my looks get me what
I want with women, along with my bank account.  I didn’t miss the way her eyes
took in everything and got wide and glassy as they roamed my body.  Every woman
in the social services office noticed me.  The lust was not one sided. While
she was checking me out, my cock went rock hard.  I decided then that Karma was
a nasty, dirty bitch to put this woman in my path. I’m used to seeing and taking
what I want, and this girl is hands-off.  She was responsible for deciding the
fate of my family.
Like I said, she’s going to be a pain in my ass.

I
nod, “Yeah, so you have to go.”

He
crinkles his brow, “Go where?”

“Anywhere,
but here, trust me. She’s not going to like you. You’ll probably scare her.”

He
laughs knowing exactly what I mean, “Is she really that bad?”

I
nod as I turn on the dishwasher. “Yes. I’m telling you; this girl is wound way
too fucking tight. And I know you, you’ll tell her so.”

He
makes himself a sandwich, “Okay, I’ll go. I need to call Joe and check up on
everything anyway, but we need to talk about opening the new garage when I get
back. I’m ready to get things going.”

I’ve
decided I’m moving to Kansas permanently because there is no way I can take the
kids from everything they know. I had planned on helping Jackson run the garage
while he was there and I was in Kansas over the phone and traveling there for
the VIP clients but after long nights of discussing business we’ve talked
ourselves into expanding our business to Kansas.

It’s
going to be long, hard work searching out the location and getting clientele. 
Jackson plans on moving up here as well to help me get shit rolling, and we’ll
give Joe a healthy raise to keep things going in Oklahoma City.  He’s more than
capable of running things full time, and Jackson can travel back and forth to
oversee operations.  Next week we’re planning a road trip for me to pick up my
bike and some other shit from home as well as pick up my ’68 Camaro.

“Alright,
we will talk about it when you get back. Now get out of here.”  He grumbles as
he grabs his keys off of the counter and leaves the house. I know he isn’t
upset or offended. Jackson and I have been friends for a long time, and not
much gets to him.

Luke
finally walks out of the bathroom, and to my surprise helps us finish picking
up without any smartass comments. Just as I come in from taking out the last
bag of trash, I hear the doorbell.  “Okay you guys, just be good. This is
something we have to put up with for a year, but it’s important.”  Then I
remind myself, just one year.  Just play nice, and keep my horny thoughts, and
hands, to myself.

They
follow me to the door and line up in the foyer, and I get this odd fucking
thought when it reminds me of
The Sound of Music. 
I shake it off and
open the door. 
And there she is. 
She’s standing there with a nervous
smile on her pretty face, her hair is up in that fucking bun again, and I can’t
help but wonder what she would look like with her hair down. Spread on my
pillow.  Brushing my chest.  Grazing my stomach.  There are those damn horny
thoughts.  Truthfully I don’t even know if she has shoulder length hair or long,
sexy hair that goes down to the middle of her back, but I sure am having some
fine visuals either way.

She’s
wearing a tight skirt that does nothing to hide her curves even though it comes
to her knees.  And that buttoned-up-to-there blouse showcases some high and
tight tits.  She couldn’t hide her fine-ass body in a potato sack.  I find
myself wanting to pout because it’s summer for Christ’s sake, couldn’t she show
a little more skin. Not that I should be thinking about her skin, or tits, or
ass, or hair. 
I need to get laid, yesterday.
 I move out of the doorway
and motion for her to come in, “Ms. Porter.”

She
walks in cautiously.  I purposely crowd the door, to intimidate her of course,
and my senses are slammed with her scent and the light brush of her little body
as she slides past.  The top of her head comes to my chest, and I catch the
smell of flowers.  I don’t know shit about flowers and what they smell like,
but I feel an investigation at a florist to identify that flower in my future. 
When her chest brushes against mine, my whole fucking body goes tight.  Obviously,
this little intimidation tactic backfired in the most spectacular of ways.  My
body is on high alert.  She exhales as she passes, she’s not unaffected
either.  That really shouldn’t please me as much as it does.

Her
eyes go to the kids lined up like the Von Trapp family, that they aren’t, and
then back to me.  I decide to step in, “Guys, this is Ms. Porter.  I told you
she would be coming to see us….”

“You
can call me Brooke,” she cuts me off.

I
nod remembering she told me that yesterday, “Okay, well you know I’m Dylan” I
point to my brothers and sisters who haven’t said a word, “And these are my
brothers and sisters.”

She
walks over to them, “Hi, I’m Brooke Porter, I’ll be your case worker.”

They
all say “hello” politely, and Brooke goes on. “Well, I’ve read your file so I
can probably guess your names.”

She
points to Luke, who is standing with his arms crossed, and with a devastating
smile that no red-blooded, teenage boy can ignore, “You must be Lucas.”  He
rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed, and I know he is going to give her a hard
time. Luke is angry, and I can’t blame him, but he better get a grip and not
fuck this up.

“I’m
Luke; no one calls me Lucas.”

Brooke
just nods, “Okay, I’ll remember that.”

She
turns to Cassie, “And you are Cassandra?”

Cassie
smiles politely, “Yes, but I go by Cassie.”

Brooke
smiles at her, “Okay, great.”

Then
it’s Michael’s turn. “And your name is Michael, but do you go by Mike?”

He
shakes his head and with a goofy laugh, clearly not unaffected by her, says,
“No, I go by Michael.”  I swear his voice got deeper.

Brooke
turns to Gabby and says, “And you are Gabrielle?”

Gabby
just stands there staring blankly.  Brooke’s eyes meet mine. I clear my throat,
“We call her Gabby.”

Brooke
looks concerned
but moves on. “Okay.  Is there
somewhere we can all sit down and get to know each other?”

I
nod toward the dining room, and we all head in there to sit at the table.
Brooke sits at one end, and I sit at the other. She clears her throat; she’s
nervous. “I just want to get to know you guys a little better, so I have some
questions. Before I start, I just want you to know that I’m here to help all of
you adjust to Dylan becoming your guardian.  All of you, Dylan included, are
free to ask me for advice, or help, anytime you have concerns or questions.  I
think if we get to know each other better, and you learn to trust me…..”  Luke
scoffs at that, but she ignores it and goes on “I can make this easier on all
of you.”

Seems
like Luke isn’t finished, “Help us? Please, you’re here to get in our business
and watch every move we make.”

I
look over at Luke and shake my head angrily, “Luke.”  He looks over at me and
rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else.