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Thinking of Rachel brings a smile to my lips. We made up last week. Things between us are fine. At least, they seem fine. I don’t even know why we argued. Rachel apologized to me and I apologized to her, understanding her worries and telling her there is nothing to worry about. Of course, that’s not necessarily true. I recently discovered a liquor store about two blocks down from my apartment and I’ve been standing outside it every night, tempted to go inside. Every night, I convince myself to go home. I don’t know how much longer that will last, and I’m unsure if I should tell Dr. Forrester about it, given how happy she is with my improvements. I’m on my own with this. I’ve always been on my own. I think the main thing I need to do is stop walking toward the liquor store. However, I live downtown and there are so many bars. I feel temptation all around me.
But I can’t tell Rachel that. I told her not to worry. If I tell her I’m struggling, that will negate the whole “don’t worry” part of our conversation. I sigh and press my head against my locker, feeling depleted, exhausted. If only I had someone to talk to about this. Maybe I should join an AA meeting, but word could get out.
“Her tits were so fucking big.”
I wince and glance over my shoulder, watching Brody raise his hands in order to describe how big the breasts were of the woman he hooked up with. I don’t know how he convinces these ladies to get into bed with him. Well, given my own history, maybe I can understand a bit. It’s not all that long ago I was a complete ass. Until I met Rachel. Then I turned into the cuddly bear she enjoys kissing so much.
Still, I don’t think I was this much of an asshole in my glory days.
“Her tits were obviously fake.”
The men around him laugh and shake their heads while they continue to dress. “Hate it when they’re fake,” says Jeremy.
“But skinny bitches don’t have huge tits,” says Mark.
“That’s why they need to get breast implants, but they still are nothing like the real thing,” Brody says while nodding, as if he’s a booby connoisseur. “God, I love motor boating tits. Wish I could bury my face in them day in and day out.”
The men burst into fits of laughter. I don’t understand what’s so funny. Women’s bodies are definitely something I enjoy looking at and touching, but I don’t find them particularly amusing. It’s like Brody enjoys belittling his hookups, like they’re terrible for wanting to have sex with him. I think that says more about him rather than them.
“The sex was pretty meh,” Brody continues. “But I made her squirt.”
“Oh, man!” Jeremy shouts while smacking his leg, his mouth gaping open. “How the hell did you do that?”
Brody shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a master in the bedroom.”
I highly doubt that. Most likely Brody is lying about these sexual excursions. I doubt the girls squirt, let alone get off. He doesn’t seem like much of a giver in the bedroom.
“Well, go on,” says Mark while smacking Brody with his jersey. “Don’t stop. What happened then?”
Brody scoffs. “I kicked the bitch out of course. And made her take the sheets with her. Told her if she ever wanted to see me again, she needed to clean the fucking mess up.”
Ugh. What a fucking asshole.
“Bitch messaged me this morning,” Brody says while holding up his phone. “Says the sheets are washed and dried already and wants to know when we can hook up again.”
The men nod in approval. I can’t believe they are eating this shit up. This can’t be real. Brody has to be lying. And if he’s not, someone needs to record this and blast it on social media so that no woman ever has to deal with his pigheadedness.
“Are you seeing her tonight?” someone next to me asks. I can’t remember his name. He usually keeps quiet but follows Brody around like a lapdog.
Brody smirks. “Of course I am. To get my sheets, not to fuck. Like I’d ever fuck that bitch again.”
The men begin laughing, but are immediately stopped by Adrien, who shouts, “Will you shut the fuck up, Brody? I’m getting tired of your yapping.”
All eyes turn to Adrien, who’s standing in his jeans with his shirt bunched in his hands, looking like he’s about to use it to strangle Brody.
“If you don’t like it, then don’t listen,” Brody say while narrowing his eyes at Adrien.
Adrien straightens as he stalks toward Brody, shoving his finger in the other man’s face. “Enough. Another word out of you and maybe your invite to the team barbecue will just get lost in the mail.”
Brody puffs out his chest while smacking Adrien’s finger away. “Like I fucking care, Adrien.”
“Oh, I think you do care,” Adrien says with a smirk. “Because you know my fiancée’s reporter friends will be there and they will be writing an article about how lovely and family-oriented the Bears team is. And,” Adrien adds while leaning in, “it won’t do any good for your image if you’re somehow left out.”
I watch Brody grind his teeth, his gaze shifting into a deep scowl.
“Tell me you don’t care,” Adrien asks with a dark chuckle. He takes a step back and crosses his arms, regarding Brody as if he was an annoying little brother.
Brody’s hands fist. “You’ve really become an asshole since you became a family man, you know that?”
