Krista
This can’t be happening. What the fuck is Brandon doing at the gate? How the hell did he know where to find me?
I guess he was paying attention, after all, during all those years I talked about my clean energy research.
I stand corrected, or I need to give credit where credit is due.
No, no, no. Fuck this asshole.
Annoyance foils my mood, and irrational thoughts take over as I stare into his pompous, whiny-looking face.
I glance back at the guys.
Should I just run the opposite direction and pretend that none of this ever happened?
Yeah…that sounds like the most plausible course of action to me.
First of all, I don’t want to see Brandon ever again. Why is he here? Has he forgotten what it means when someone ignores his calls and texts?
Maybe I should remind him of that.
I know we haven’t been broken up for very long, but I can see now that he’s not a part of my life anymore. He stands in front of me, staring daggers at the three guys I’m fucking on a regular basis at this point.
Is it obvious? I wonder sheepishly. But I know the answer to that.
Ah, shit. I’m in quite a pickle, and it involves four pickles—yes, pun intended. Or at least 3 pickles and a gherkin.
King, Simon, and Dylan catch up to me; and I can feel them standing behind me now. I suppose I need to provide them with an explanation. I mean, it’s not exactly like I can pretend to not know them, because each side will give themselves away, laying claim to me.
Well, I can’t be that self-assured that the three guys feel like this new relationship is redeemable of that worthy title. But I know that if Brandon is here right now, then this country boy is ready for a fight.
I cringe because the inevitable will happen.
Oh well, so much for crawling into a hole and disappearing.
“Do you know this guy, Krista?”
I spin around to answer Simon because I can’t blatantly ignore him. Obviously, that would be rude.
Let it stand, though, that I don’t want to be having this conversation right now, but clearly, Brandon is forcing me to with his irritating presence.
I toss Simon and the other two guys a timid smile. “He’s um…” I shift my weight.
Shit, these aren’t exactly the introductions I wanted to give.
“He’s my ex-boyfriend.”
I cringe, bracing for impact. Of what recourse, I’m not yet sure.
I stare at the ground and then bravely tilt my head to face reality and the negative reaction I’ll surely be met with.
My fuck buddy trio just stares blankly at me in palpable shock.
“Ex-boyfriend,” I remind them, placing emphasis on the word ex. “We broke up a few days ago.”
I don’t know why I feel as if I have to explain myself to these men. It’s not like they’re on bended knee handing out marriage proposals or something.
For whatever reason, I seek their approval, and I don’t want to disappoint them.
Then King says something I don’t expect. “Is he bothering you?”
He points to Brandon in disgust. I glance in that direction and shrug, unsure of how to respond or react. If I say yes, what will happen? World War III? Besides, I’m not sure I want to go down that road.
“Um…” I falter and shrug.
On the other hand, I don’t want to defend Brandon either. Do I want to see a full-out brawl happen here?
No, that won’t be the case. Simon, Dylan, and King are model citizens, with academic achievements and scholarly goals.
Well, in the bedroom, they can sure get wild, but that’s another story.
I remind myself to stop winding off the track.
I want to see the guys fight for me, but I’m afraid of the outcome. I turn to Brandon and plead with my eyes, hoping he’ll take the hint and walk away, going back to wherever the hell he came from in the first place.
Yeah, right. There is zero chance of that happening. Simon has a better chance of dropping trousers and fucking me right here in the parking lot before Brandon would ever agree to back the fuck off.
“I should be asking you the very same question!” Brandon calls from behind me. “Who the fuck are these clowns? Do you have bodyguards now or something?”
Ah, the peanut gallery. We couldn’t be anywhere without them, and, in this case, taking the form of Brandon himself.
I turn to face him, and the bitter resentment about our fight several days ago goes bubbling to the surface, quenching my thirst and igniting me with confidence to finally stand up to him.
“Go away, Brandon,” I grit my teeth and snarl.
“I’m not going anywhere!” he retorts.
Of course, he’s not going anywhere. How can I be so lucky?
“Please, Brandon,” I beg. “Don’t make a scene.
“I just want to talk to you,” he spits.
“But I don’t want talk to you,” I hiss.
“I came all this way. What the fuck?” Brandon is growing impatient, but he doesn’t hold a candle to my fraying nerves.
He persists, using an aggressive voice, opting for a sterner approach. He makes a move to edge closer to me, but the three guys take a step closer around my body protectively, warning Brandon to stay away with their guarded actions.
I smirk at Brandon, taunting him with my expression. What can he do now? I have three gorgeous bodyguards, apparently, and I don’t even have to pay for their services.
“Come on, babe,” Brandon dares to take a step even further in my direction.
“I’m not your babe,” I swat at him.
“She wants you to leave her alone, so back off.” This time, it’s King who steps forward in my defense.
So I am right about him. He is the most aggressive type, but to me, it works out perfectly because maybe he can ward off my rat of an ex-boyfriend.
Brandon scoffs and stares at King while clenching his fists. “What are you gonna do about it, White Little Rich Boy?”
“Hey!” Dylan gently shoves Brandon and he steps back a few inches.
“Keep your fucking hands off me!” Brandon shouts.
I grimace. It’s like a train wreck I can’t look away from. I don’t want to find out what will happen, but I have to see it for myself.
Brandon shoves Dylan back, then King swoops in to take the argument to the next level.
“We warned you, little prick.”
I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know it won’t be a pleasant outcome for Brandon.
Then I get my answer.
King swoops in with an iron fist that he aims directly at Brandon. It looks like it’s been itching to punch somebody tonight.
I don’t want to see anyone get hurt, even Brandon, so I step in before the blow can be inflicted.
“Stop!” I raise my arms in front of me defensively, halting King’s action.
Then I turn to Brandon. “Please…just go before somebody gets seriously hurt.”
Is that too much to fucking ask?
“Fine,” Brandon pants. “I’ll go…for now.” He glares at King, then Dylan, and lastly, Simon. “This isn’t over,” he points at them.
“It sure seems that way to me, dude,” Dylan calls out in a patronizing tone as Brandon slinks away into the shadows of the night.
When I’m absolutely sure that Brandon is gone and out of earshot, I turn to the three guys. I don’t know how to repay them, and I’m forever indebted to them for getting me out of an extremely problematic run in with a hostile ex.
I smile at them pathetically, because I’m feeling a little sheepish now that things are out in the open.
“I’m really sorry about all that,” I chuckle guiltily.
“Don’t worry about it.” King is the first to wave a humble, dismissive hand.
“No, really,” I press.
The way I view their noble gesture to protect me is that they must care about me on a deeper level. They must, or else, they would have just walked away and have not gotten involved in my drama.
Ugh, my drama.
I am embarrassed, and I hope that, eventually, we can just forget about this unfortunate incident tonight.
That brings me to my next point, which I have to address no matter how much it distresses me to do so.
“I’m sorry, guys,” I hang my head.
“For what? You did nothing wrong. We’re happy to protect you.” King places an affectionate hand on me and strokes my cheek softly, bringing sensational tingles up and down my spine.
“It’s just…I can’t be romantically involved with any of you right now. You understand, right?” I smile up at them and hope for the best.
When their only response is to exchange glances with each other, I sigh and continue with my explanation.
“I hate the way things are turning out. I’m very disillusioned—don’t get me wrong. It just doesn’t seem like the stars are aligning for this to work out. It appears that everything is working against us.”
“What do you want us to do?” King asks.
“Nothing,” I shake my head. “You’ve done enough, believe me, and I’ll be forever grateful. My research is too important to me. I’m going home now. I’ll hail a cab or something.”
I turn around to walk towards the dwindling pedestrian and car traffic on the Manhattan streets. I try not to turn around and look back at the guys, because if I do, I’m afraid that I’ll run back into their strong, welcoming arms.