– Harlow
Whitney’s been calling me, but I’ve been ignoring her.
I talk to my brother Ramsey instead, in his car on the way to our dad’s gravesite.
“Long time no talk,” he says. “How’ve things been?”
I want to say: Fantastic, and then: Awful.
What a whirlwind of a few days it’s been.
But instead I just say, “Well, you and Jensen were right. Especially Jensen. I’m telling you now so that you guys don’t get to lord it over me yourself.”
“That trip to paradise with the elusive physical therapy lady sure was short and sweet,” Ramsey laughs. “Did it end before you even got her in bed?”
“Ummm.”
He laughs again.
“Well, at least you got something for your trouble.”
Something indeed.
I can’t help but flash back to her curvy ass, supple breasts, and her wet and welcoming pussy. How I made her come for her first time and then repeatedly after that, how I tasted her sweet juices running into my mouth and all the way down my neck. How I slipped myself inside her and took exactly what I wanted: all of her.
“I don’t know how I could have been so wrong about her. The chemistry was perfect, the sex was out of this world, her body was banging…”
“It just seemed so right because you were focused on all the wrong things,” Ramsey says. “So, did she get in trouble at work? For fraternizing with the feeble, wobbly patient who needs her help and her professional focus?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think they know about us at work, although they suspect. But I don’t really know what all they know, or what they’re up to.”
A memory pops into my mind, of the creepy way that Dr. Davis came to the dive bar after his award ceremony, when I was celebrating with my buddies.
Why does he always keep such close tabs on me? How much does he even know about me that I don’t know?
“So, what happened?”
I pause as my phone vibrates in my pocket, letting me know I have an incoming call. I take it out to see who’s calling, although I already know.
Whitney again, of course.
I ignore her, yet again.
“You’ll never believe it, but she was purposefully holding me back. Blowing smoke up my ass, telling me I was doing great, but then turning around and telling Dr. Davis and everyone else how much work I still need to do.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Ramsey mutters.
“Yeah. It makes no sense.”
“Sure it does. The chick is crazy, and being in heat for you turns her even crazier. She wants to keep you on a short leash. Figured if she strung it out long enough, had enough one on one sessions with you at work and in the sheets, that eventually you’d put a ring on it. Happens all the time.”
It doesn’t feel like that was what was happening with us. But I don’t say anything. Obviously I don’t know much about how evil women can be, since I’ve never liked one enough to care. I’ve only ever stayed away from anything serious with them, due to our mom.
The reason I’m riding with Ramsey instead of Jensen— other than the fact that Jensen rides everywhere on his motorcycle while Ramsey drives like me— is because I wanted to talk to him about Whitney privately, instead of Jensen this time. Ramsey isn’t only the oldest among us but he’s also managed to be the Last Man Standing— the only one among us who hasn’t fallen for some chick. He’s the only voice of reason that hasn’t been clouded by possibly bad judgment.
Sure, Jensen was no fan of Whitney’s but he’d also let the silly “it doesn’t happen until it happens” talk slip through, which had derailed me. I know I won’t get any such crazy talk from Ramsey. Unlike Jensen, who has already fallen victim to “Commitment,” Ramsey will cut me right off and not entertain my delusions.
“Well, now Whitney keeps calling me, and I’m sure she’s going to try to give me some bullshit story that I’m just not in the mood to hear.”
“Yeah, you need to stay strong, Harlow. If you even go near her, you might cave.”
“That’s unlikely to happen. Dr. Davis assigned me to some new physical therapist.”
“Thank goodness you have him looking out for you,” Ramsey says. “Or who knows how long she’d be pulling these stunts while you were too love-blind to wake up and figure it out.”
“Yeah. Thank goodness for Dr. Davis.”
Story of my life, I think, but I don’t know why I’m beginning to resent Dr. Davis for that. Would it have been better for him to have just let me stumble my way through my mistakes until I figured it out on my own?
Of course not. Not for him— he wants me back to where the military will thank him for returning a SEAL back to fighting condition— and not for me— I want to be back more than anything.
I just think I wanted more time to figure it out, because that would have given me more time with Whitney. Who I need to remember is the enemy. And who was distracting me from my goal.
As Ramsey pulls up to the cemetery, my phone vibrates again.
“I’m going to step out. She’s calling again, and I’m going to tell her to leave me the fuck alone. So that my mind will be free to concentrate on Dad’s birthday.”
“There you go,” he says. “Stay strong. Don’t even listen to her words or you might start falling for them.”
“Thanks, bro.”
“Any time.”
I walk around to a shaded area and look at Whitney’s name flashing across my screen, for what I hope will be the last time.
“What?” I answer my phone, annoyed.
“Harlow. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you…”
“So I noticed,” I tell her, determined to stand my ground, even though I hate that her voice sounds afraid and worried. “Did you ever stop to think that if a guy doesn’t pick up after you’ve called him… I don’t know, eight or so times?.... that it might be a good idea to just stop calling him?”
“Harlow. I get that you might be confused. But we need to talk. Can you meet me—”
“No I can’t meet you,” I tell her, disgusted despite that fact that usually I’m on fire with desire for her.
To be honest, I still am— my cock is half hard right now, just hearing her voice— because I always am, for her. But I’m trying to let my other head do the talking for now.
She thinks we can just kiss and make it all better. She clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.
“I don’t want anything to do with you, ever again. Don’t call me, don’t try to see me, don’t ask me to meet you.”
“Harlow…”
It’s one last plaintive attempt, but I refuse to fall for it.
“Please, Whitney. If I ever meant anything to you, then promise me you’ll leave me the hell alone.”
“Okay.” Her sigh sounds like one of those balloons that has had a small hole in it, that was struggling to stay in the air but finally admits to defeat as all air is being deflated from it. “Goodbye, Harlow.”
“Goodbye.”
And good riddance.