I shrugged, pausing long enough to toss a few pieces of buttered goodness into my mouth. “Even the thought of going out to a bar or spending the weekend on a beach with a sexy, hazel-eyed, dark-haired, muscled stranger has me riddled with anxiety. I’ve officially forgotten how to socialize.”
Her drink, which she’d been lifting to her face, froze an inch away from her mouth. A disturbing smirk graced her lips, and her eyebrows were closer to her hairline than her eyes. “That is quite a specific description of a stranger, my dear Madison.”
I waved my hand flippantly, dismissing her observant—and irritatingly correct—assumption. There was no way I was going to tell her about Garrett, my rude but hunky as hell wall neighbor. “It was just an example.”
“A very precise one. What an imagination you must have.” She wiggled her brows. “I suppose when the only thing getting you off is your hand and imagination, you have no choice but to get good at—” She ducked, cackling and dodging my attempt to smack her.
I shook my head, laughing despite myself. It was true, it’d been years since anyone other than myself had touched me. I didn’t usually mind, but there were definitely days when I craved the feel of a man’s hands sliding across my skin, the brush of lips along my neck, and the eruption of butterflies during a breathtaking kiss.
But I didn’t let those days trick me into thinking I needed a man. I didn’t. Jamie and I were scraping by just fine, and as much as Layla liked to joke, my hand and imagination worked a hell of a lot better than any man ever had.
“Teasing aside, Mads, do you really have no interest in dating again?”
“I don’t know. Relationships take time, and I don’t have that to give to someone right now. Not to mention, unless I meet a guy at the grocery checkout who isn’t sneering at my EBT card, or some nice single dad enrolls his child in Jamie’s class, I don’t go anywhere to meet someone.”
She tipped her head back, pondering that. “What about online dating? That’s how I met Sam,” she said, referring to her ex-boyfriend.
She suddenly sat up, growing more excited as she worked through her thoughts aloud. “Actually, it’s perfect for you. You can post the truth about your situation so only those who don’t care will contact you, and then you can weed them out from there.”
“I don’t think men our age use those sites. They just pick up women downtown near the college.”
“Which is why you need to look for an older man.”
My mind instantly flickered to Garrett, like a string had yanked on my thoughts and plopped me at his feet. I shook the image of his chiseled features and muscled biceps away, busying myself with brushing kernel pieces off my lap.
“Can I put ‘looking for sugar daddy’ in my bio?”
She spread her hands out in the air, mimicking a banner, “Must have a big dick and deep pockets.”
I drained the last of my wine. “If I can’t fit inside his pockets, I don’t want him.” We tried to keep straight faces, but failed, erupting into laughter.
“And they said romance was dead.”
I froze at the sound of that voice. A familiar rasp that rumbled through the air and danced across my skin. Leaning forward to see past the side railing of the porch, my eyes latched onto the arresting, damn near haunting, view of its owner.
Cast mostly in shadow, with the porch light illuminating his face like a beacon, Garrett stood a foot away from the railing, staring right at me. His hands were tucked into his pockets, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, and a cigarette was perched between his lips.
He looked untouchable. Unattainable. The kind of man your mama warned you about, but the kind you’d willingly crawl on your hands and knees for anyway. He was dressed in only a plain white shirt and black sweats; his feet bare on the cement. It was obvious he hadn’t planned on coming over. He’d likely just stepped outside for a quick smoke when he overheard our immature conversation.
I was struck speechless, but Layla didn’t miss a beat. “There’s nothing wrong with telling someone what you’re after up front. Honesty is always the best way to begin a relationship, wouldn’t you say…?” She stretched out the last word, holding her hand out and tilting her head in an obvious indication she was waiting for his name.
He didn’t give it to her.
He just continued staring at me with that same flat expression, and I swore beneath it was a hint of disappointment. My skin itched, and I felt like sinking down into my chair and hiding behind my legs.
Garrett pulled the cigarette from his mouth, plumes pouring from his nose. “Is it honest to sit there objectifying men for their bank accounts and dick sizes knowing tomorrow you’ll be the first to ridicule men online for objectifying women for the size of their tits or homemaker status?”
My eyes felt like they were going to fall out of my head, and I suddenly regretted my extra glass of wine. I couldn’t come up with a single, decent response. “We were just joking,” I said, hoping to prevent his face from growing any angrier. It did the opposite.
“If a man said that, you’d call it an excuse and tell him to do better.”
I moved to argue, but stopped, letting my mouth hang down like a fish for a second before snapping it closed. He was being a dick about it, but I could see his point. If I’d stepped out of my home to have a moment of peace and overheard two men talking about women’s worth being based on their bodies and employment status, I’d have taken offense.
So instead of yelling at him, I was about to apologize and tell him he was right. That is, until his next comment sucked the words right back down my throat.
“It’s no wonder you aren’t dating anyone. Women like you give women everywhere a bad name. Nothing but a leech wrapped in a pretty package, looking for a sugar daddy to take care of you while you sit at home, drink wine, and go shopping.” Each word lashed out harder than the one before, his anger finally clawing through.
He stepped right up to my porch and put his cigarette out on my railing, sneering up at me as he did. I stared right back at him, refusing to look away first. I knew my entire face was flushed, and my ears burned like Hades himself was mouth breathing against them. I didn’t know what to do with my body, let alone my face.
I wasn’t unfamiliar with people judging me. I’d been given the scarlet letter at sixteen and called a slut more times than I could count, along with every possible synonym for it.
But this was worse. It reminded me of the time a college-aged coworker had approached me while I was pregnant, offering to pay me for sex. My rounded belly had apparently screamed “I’m Madison, and I’m easy. You don’t even have to wrap it up because I’m already pregnant. Enjoy the risk-free ride.”
I was still living at home and going to school but had daycare to pay and couldn’t afford to quit, so I’d had to continue seeing the asshole every shift.
This felt much like that. He’d basically called me a sleazy gold digger, and it didn’t matter that I knew it to be untrue. Just like the guy back then, I was stuck in his vicinity, unable to walk away and never see him again.
My eyes burned, and I shifted in my seat, submitting defeat and glancing away. I sensed, more than saw, Layla straighten to her full five-foot-ten height, locking her spine for battle. She knew me better than I knew myself and could probably sense my quickly rising anxiety.
“Well, you can fuck right off. If you want to run your mouth, go do it in your own home. You couldn’t have made it more obvious you don’t know her at all.”
He gave a dry mockery of a laugh. “And I don’t care to.”
Ouch.
He twisted, the movement catching my eye and convincing me to look up, only to be ensnared in his accusatory gaze. He looked me up and down, and then gave me his back, his long strides taking him back toward his side.
Layla launched out of her chair, snatching her glass and the near-empty box of wine. I could practically hear her grinding her teeth, and for a second, I thought I saw actual flames in her eyes.