Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(20)
Author: Monica Murphy

The men around me yell and whistle, chanting her name. They call her Janey, and relief fills me that at least she withheld her true identity from the crowds of strange men who come to watch her dance on a nightly basis.

I know who she is. I know the real Jennifer. Or at least . . . I thought I did.

The music ends quickly and I stand, making my way to the door that leads backstage. A bouncer stops me. The guy is huge and broad, with arms as big as my goddamn head, and I try to push past him. Tell him that I’m Janey/Jenny’s brother.

He doesn’t believe me and sends me packing.

I linger. I search. I ask questions. But I don’t see her. No one knows her. They’re all lying, protecting her, from what I don’t understand. Frustrated, I leave the parking lot. I notice a lone car parked away from the others, the windows steamed, the vehicle rocking slightly from whoever’s moving around inside it.

Like a man possessed I run toward it, yanking open the driver’s-side door to find Jenny inside with a man. A strange man who has his hand on her breast and her hand is on his crotch. I don’t f**king know what’s happening, but next thing I know I reach inside and yank her out. Toss her over my shoulder and carry her to my car, ignoring her protests, wincing against the punches her hands are pounding against my back.

“Put me down! Go away, Colin! I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you!”

She’s angry, but I don’t care. I’m angrier. Disappointed. In both her and myself. What is she doing? It’s bad enough she strips on a stage every night. Why the hell was she in that man’s car, letting him touch her like that?

I don’t want to know. I’m in f**king denial.

It’s easier that way.

I sit straight up in bed, my body covered in sweat, my head roaring, the blood rushing in my ears, drowning out all other sounds and thoughts. Thrusting my hand through my hair, I grab my cell phone and check the time, see that it’s just past three in the morning.

A shudder runs through me and I flop back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. For once, there’s no Jen in my bed to offer me comfort, holding me in her arms after my nightmare.

Fuck. That one had been a doozy.

Rarely do I dream about Jen, and I figure that’s because she’s such a part of my day-to-day life, I don’t need to see her in my dreams. Well, I have the occasional sweaty sex dream, where I imagine her naked and me thrusting deep inside her welcoming body. Unfortunately, that particularly fantasy is all too rare.

This last nightmare scared the hell out of me. Finding her in the car, her hand on the guy, him groping her . . .

The way she looked at me, the things she said . . .

Go away, Colin! I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you!

Jesus.

Breathing deep, I throw my arm over my eyes, trying my best to block out the words. Instead I concentrate on slowing my heart rate, willing myself to fall back asleep, but I can’t.

All I can think about is the damn dream. Jen. Jennifer Cade dancing on a f**king stage like some sort of sex goddess—for other men. Since when did I want her to be my personal sex goddess?

Longer than you ever realized, ass**le.

Right. I’ve turned into an angst-ridden ass**le that can do nothing but mope and push a girl away. The kind of man who could probably turn his life into something pretty amazing, if only I would let her in. If only I could drop my walls.

Women have moved in and out of my life. Nameless faces, pretty bodies, girls I’ve used for physical release and nothing else. Relationships are nonexistent. I’ve never wanted one. Never thought a woman would want one with me. I’m just like my father. I can’t settle down. Dad tried but he left, keeping Mom on a string. A string she happily lets herself stay attached to.

I don’t get it.

I think of pissed-off Fable and wonder if her boyfriend would give me any advice. Chuckling, I roll over on my side and close my eyes. Yeah, we’re sort of friends and we get along all right, but come on. I’m older than the guy, though not by much. I’ve actually lived my life, whereas he’s been shuttled from one school to another by Daddy’s money, never having to work a day beyond perfecting his throw and submersing himself completely in football.

Yeah, I have money too. Now. Dad always had money since he inherited a fortune from my grandpa a couple of years after I was born, but for the most part, he made me work for mine, the motherfucker. He’d given me the restaurant just like his father had given him one long ago when I was a baby, when he left Mom, and after extensive training, he left me to my own devices. He’d come back into my life time and again, wanting us to work together, and I reluctantly agreed.

We’re so similar, it’s hard working with him. We clash constantly.

My mom took what he gave her, always muttering to me what a cheap jackass he was, though I know that’s not true. I don’t understand them, don’t understand how they fell in love and decided to marry in the first place. The two of them—especially now—make zero sense together.

They’re still freaking married, for Christ’s sake. I think she secretly wishes he’ll come back to her. I think he likes knowing that she’s there, waiting for him. Their relationship is sick and twisted. The push and pull between them. The arguments. No wonder I don’t want a relationship. Look at the example I’ve been given.

Yeah. My life is completely different from Drew’s. But maybe the guy could help me. It might not hurt to have a different perspective.

At the very least, Drew could help knock some sense into me because he seems like a sensible guy. He has to be to deal with Fable on a day-to-day basis. That woman is crazy. Crazy beautiful, crazy protective, crazy opinionated, crazy all of the above and then some, but the most loyal girlfriend I’ve ever witnessed.

You’re just irritated with Fable because she called you out on your shit.

True. She made me face things I really didn’t want to see.

I still don’t.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

I take a swig from my beer, glancing at Drew. “What makes you think I want to talk about something specific?” My voice is falsely jovial, as is my smile. We’re at a bar downtown, one not even close to my restaurant, a place where the college kids really don’t hang out. It’s geared more toward the older local guys who get out of work and are looking for a drink or two before they gotta go home and face reality. I chose the location on purpose, didn’t want any distractions.

“I guess we’re—friends, but it’s not like we hang out.” Drew frowns. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked me to meet you at a bar and have a few beers. We usually have the girls with us as a buffer.”