Page 8 of Jacob Michaels is Not Crazy

Lucas knew who he was.

He had saved my life.

Fuck he was sexy.

But did I think that I could love him?

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Lucas and I were cheese and chalk. We had nothing in common. He was some boy born in the country—so was I—but that’s where it ended. He was country through and through. He liked working at his grandfather’s hardware store and performing duties as a substitute teacher. And he liked living out on the lake in seclusion. And, for fuck’s sake, being a vegetarian.

But, my God, wasn’t he sexy?

Wasn’t my body drawn to his?

Could I look at his lips without wanting to press mine against his?

Could I look at his body without wanting to feel my tongue drag along the length of it?

Didn’t I, even as I stood in the bedroom at Oma’s house, want to feel his hands grab ahold of me. Anywhere. He could grab me anywhere.

I shivered as I ripped my shirt off in frustration. Lucas was not going to become a thing. He was just a distraction in my journey to turning back into Robert Wanger—er, Rob. I just wanted to be Rob and romantic or sexual interludes were out of the question. That was not why I had come back to Point Worth. Sure, as Oma had pointed out, I had come to Point Worth hoping to get a little love and friendship back into my life. However, not that kind of love. I didn’t need a man. I had me. Regardless of what Oma thought, that was more than enough. I didn’t want some guy dictating my future. One man—Jacob Michaels—had already done that for a decade. And I was done.

I just want to be Robert Wagner.

Welling up with tears, I rolled my pants down and stepped out of them. I started to cry because I didn’t know how to be Robert Wagner. Because I had no idea who Robert Wagner was. I hadn’t been him for at least ten years. And, even when I was Robert Wagner, I had no clue who he was. I was a man with two names and no idea who I was supposed to be. Tears were leaking down my cheeks as I stripped off my underwear and carried all of my dirty clothes to the hamper.

Less than thirty minutes later, I was drying off from my bath and sliding into fresh pajamas. Then I was sliding under the crisp, clean sheets of the bed. Sleep. Sleep always helps.