Three Stries

It's true what they say—you should be careful what you wish for.

I should've been more specific when I complained life was too boring and I'd do anything for a little excitement or drama.

Other people's drama, not mine

!

Damn. I'd only wanted to sit back and point my finger at all of the sorry bitches who needed to throw shit around on Jerry Springer. You know, someone and their brother who were

both

supposed to be the biological fathers of the same twins, or some shit like that. It wasn't supposed to be

my

drama. I was only supposed to watch and sip a

cock

(tail) at the expense of others.

Instead, my

hypothetical

phone was blowing up while the producers of every smut daytime talk show host was trying to book me for their latest exclusive. I had all of the drama and intrigue—a washed up, gay college baseball star that dated a sexy beast who was part homophobe asshole.

Insert drama at the bar, a colorful break up, water thrown onto my face, an epic storm out, ugly crying, a drunken night when he showed up at my house, a threesome with twins, his showing up at work with my boss, his dancing to kid's music and making my heart flutter, my patients saying embarrassing things to him, his begging to talk, and then stolen glances and lingering eye contact at practice the next day.

I took my phone out and scrolled through my video album until I found the video I'd taken of him dancing.

Damn

if he didn't look adorable trying to dance to a song he'd probably never heard before. I laughed to myself as I once again watched him get

every

-single-move wrong, even after little Greg and tiny Beth tried to show him the simple steps.

I'd made the dance for small kids with cancer so it wasn't exactly complex, but you would've never known it by watching Shane. The video was mostly of his back, but there were a few times the camera caught a glimpse of his profile and the genuine happiness on his face was as clear as a bell.

If being adorable with my favorite little ones wasn't enough, there was the fact he'd dressed in something other than Walmart athletic apparel. Not regular clothes, either but business clothes. He'd worn the jeans that'd caused me to drop to my knees and blow him before he'd had a chance to buy them, and a green blazer that complimented his chestnut hair and tanned skin.

With frustration, I tossed my phone across the bed and reminded myself that Shane was the fucking devil and I didn't dance with the devil, no matter how good he looks in business professional attire or how precious it was when he was interacting with my kids.

He was still the devil.

I sighed, reached across my bed, and grabbed the phone I'd just thrown. I had a habit of dramatically tossing it when I became frustrated, but in reality, there was

no way

I was going to be separated from it. I'd glanced at the time and noted Allé was due to arrive any minute.

I needed brunch with Allé like I needed air to breath or my phone in my hand. It'd been five days since the breakup and so much had happened since. I desperately needed to decompress or I was going to breakout from all of the stress. Plus, he owed me food after leaving me with Nick and Nelly.

The fucking shyster

.

After I heard a car pull up, I grabbed my phone and a light jacket before going downstairs. The downfall to brunch was waiting all morning to eat. I was starved and I couldn't wait another minute to stuff my face. I heard, and felt, my phone go off just as the doorbell rang.

Allé

. Curious to see what couldn't have waited ten more seconds, I opened the door for Allé with one hand while I tried, and failed, to gracefully swipe my phone to reveal the text he'd sent me.

"What's so urgent you had to text me two seconds before—" my brows furrowed as I read the text.

[Allé] See you tonight at practice and don't be a bitch about this.

"Don't be a bitch? Are you drunk?"

Confused by his words, I looked to Allé for answers. Was he drunk, high, or just plain crazy?

It wasn't only my words that faltered, my whole body did—when I was met with a set of very familiar brown eyes nervously staring at me. My chest, my breathing, my heart rate—hell, I thought the blood flowing through my veins had stuttered as I stood there, gawking in silence, until I finally collected myself enough to speak.

"What are

you

doing here?"

"Brunch?" He smiled awkwardly.

I shook my head. "No. I'm going with Allé."

Shane's eyes narrowed, apologetically, as if reminding me that I'd forgotten something important. My brow was arched with amusement as I realized I'd been set up, again.

"You watch a lot of crime shows, yeah? Do you think you could successfully cover up a murder and dump the body? Or maybe you'd take the fall for me since, you know,

you owe me

."

There might've been a legitimate way to kill Allé without serving jail time. Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind being someone's bitch, but I preferred it to be on a consensual basis and I didn't think that would've happened while wearing an orange jumpsuit, which made me think of the last time I wore the infamous jumpsuit/romper...

I was pulled out my mental "

rabbit hole

" by the deep rumble of Shane's soft laugh.

"Would you settle for something

less intense

? Like letting me dump your kitchen trash

instead

of a body?" His smile was annoyingly warm and charming—I hated it.

"That's

not

exactly what I'm looking for." I half-teased.

After I realized we'd started to tease one another, and not wanting to cave-in, I straightened my posture and regained a more serious tone.

"What

are you

doing here?"

"I'm here to have brunch with you and to talk."

I was starving and I had

zero

desire to wait at a restaurant plus, I knew he had a strong aversion to fast food so I figured it'd be the quickest way to shake him.

"Fine. We're planning to go to McDonald's, though."

His shoulders sunk, slightly, with disappointment as he lifted a pastry box from a matching paper bag.

"Oh. I guess I'll have to eat

all three dozen

of these mini quiches from The Endless Brunch."

It wasn't your generic pink box, instead, it was beautifully littered with flowers of every color. It was a perfect fit to the chaos of color and elegance that graced the most memorable meal I'd ever had.

The mention of those perfectly delicious mini quiches had my stomach yearning for a taste and, as much as it pained me to admit it, there was

no way

McDonald's gut bomb sandwiches would, or could, compare or satisfy me since I had the real deal in front of me. After he opened the box, a wave of savory goodness breached my senses and rendered me completely at his mercy.

As I opened the door a little wider, to let the little quiches into my home while never taking my eyes off of them, I sighed.

"Well, since you already have them..."

Shane walked passed me, making sure I caught a good whiff of his evil bribery before placing the box on the table, walking to the kitchen and opening my cupboards. I immediately grabbed one and took a bite. It was like a drug—the moment it'd hit my mouth, every problem disappeared and my body went limp as every muscle relaxed. I was torn between either slowly savoring every bite and edging myself toward a paradise of bliss, or stuffing my face and giving myself the instant gratification I'd desired.

Food porn

.

I chuckled at the connection and popped a second one into my mouth as I'd decided on a happy medium—somewhere between slow erotic food porn and the back-of-the-club anonymous take-all-you-can-get-and-run food porn.

Shane smiled as he teasingly waved a small salad plate in the air.

"I guess you won't be needing this."

He placed one plate in front of him and the other off to the side—I had no need for mine since the mini bites of goodness weren't going anywhere except into my mouth. As I held the box of quiche-filled treasure tightly to my chest, I saw Shane's lip curl into a stupid, sexy smirk.

"So, can

I

have one?" His brow cocked as he watched me eat my fourth...or was it my fifth, quiche.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners?" I mumbled with a mouth full of food.

I grabbed one, lonely quiche and tossed it his way. He caught it, effortlessly, which wasn't surprising since he was only sitting a few feet away and was a relatively decent catcher, although I wouldn't ever tell him that.

He held the quiche at eye level and looked at me like I was crazy. I decided to ignore the cute and playful way he'd tried to interact and get to the point.

"You said you wanted to talk. You can't talk with a mouthful of these, so you get one."

I smiled and tossed another bite into my mouth, which only made him keep smiling. Okay, maybe I didn't want to

completely

ignore him. I didn't hate making him smile, I didn't hate having him in my house, I didn't hate eating with him, and I didn't hate looking at him. I did, however, hate the fact things seemed so easy between us—as they'd been before everything went south.

I'd wanted him to give me a good explanation, one that'd wash away everything that'd happened, yet, at the same time, I was nervous to hear what he had to say. Time seemed to crawl and the air thickened as I waited for him to say something...anything.

He reached into the box and pulled out a handful of quiches before setting them on his plate. "I've been thinking about this moment, non-stop, for days and now that I'm here, I don't know what to say."

I started counting with my fingers.

"You could start with

why

you freaked out and left my house,

why

you stopped talking to me,

why

you brought a date to the bar, and

why

you talked shit about me. Or better yet,

why

you dated me if you found me so repulsive, which brings me to the real question I've asked

twice already

—why

are you

here? You made it clear, to everyone, the real reason we were together, so I don't know what you feel there is to talk about?"

I was surprised to find my tone wasn't rude or hostile—I guess genuine curiosity is a powerful suppressant. Shane's eyes shot up with surprise and any nervousness, he might've had, vanished with my questions and his brown eyes were almost frantic.

"A date? What are you talking about? Aside from you, I haven't been on a date in years and, even then, I'd hardly call what I did,

dating

."

"Friday night, remember? You came in, after the game, laughing and flirting with the brunette twink."

"You mean, you?" he asked, seriously.

I couldn't believe his response.

Me? Hell, no!

"Are you serious?"

I hated being referred to as a twink when directly related to the slob he'd brought to the bar. We were

not

the same person.

"We barely talked and what was said between us would never be classified as laughing or flirting! Maybe

murderous

, or even

uncomfortable tension

for those around us, but not laughing or flirting. No, I'm talking about—what's his name, David?"

I knew his name was Davis, but for the sake of pride I'd never admit that.

"Davis? Pardon my language but,

fuck no

! I can barely stand to be around the guy let alone flirt with him or laugh at anything he says."

"Then why did you bring him?"

"Because I didn't have much of a choice. He works for the hospital and I had to meet with him before we met up to deal with the big contract. He basically invited himself and made it impossible to say no and believe me, I tried...

hard

!

"As for everything else that happened that night, I'm sorry and I doubt there's any conversation we could have today that would suffice, but the short version is—I have no balls. It's the same reason I didn't stand up to my dad during the reunion.

"I always feel as though I'm trying to prove myself and I was still trying to impress Davis for the job, which is no longer an issue. A little too late, I know.

"I already explained the communication error, but if you need to hear it again, then I'll say it as many times as I need to in order for you to understand.

Nothing

I said had

anything

to do with you. It was a long running commentary about my

dad

and the stupid things he says. There's lots of them, by the way.

"If you hang around long enough, I'm sure you'll hear them all. Also, for the record, you

do

have a tight ass, which I feel strongly about, and under no circumstances do I find you repulsive, not even a little. Lastly, and probably most importantly,

you

are

exactly

what I didn't know I was looking for."

By the time he'd finished his little speech, he sat tall and confidently on his chair and there was no doubt he believed every word he'd said, but I wasn't sure I had. He appeared authentic, I just wasn't sure I could trust him, even though I wanted to. Regardless, one thing still bothered me.

"Okay, then please explain the morning you ran out with your tail between your legs."

He knew what I was referring to. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against my chair while his tall, confident stance regressed and his eyes softened ever so slightly.

"Well, it isn't something I easily talk about, but I should've been honest with you right away. Everything happened so fast and, before I knew it, I felt it was too late and I didn't know how to backtrack, which made everything worse. The more I think about it, the more stupid it all seems. It's possible that, over the years, I've overblown the situation in my head."

Shane glanced down at the quiche he was nervously turning into crumbs before setting it on his plate and wiping the crumbs from his fingers. He put one hand on his lap as he ran the other through his thick, auburn hair before continuing.

"It's so stupid. It was after a big finals party during my freshman year. I'd gotten crazy wasted and, at the end of the night, I went home with a guy. Honestly, the whole night is kind of a blur, but I vaguely remember having sex before passing out. I was still drunk when I woke with

excruciating

pain. It took a second to get my bearings and that's when I realized the guy was

fucking

me, or trying to, I dunno. We fought for a second before I overpowered him and kicked him out.

"I know it sounds lame and maybe it really is a terrible excuse, but that's why I freaked out when I woke up. Granted, what you were doing was a lot more enjoyable than what he did, and didn't cause me day's worth of pain and discomfort, but still..."

I couldn't believe what I'd heard. More than that, I couldn't believe the ease with which he'd told me. I felt like scum for what I'd done. I should've known. I'm a nurse. I have training on this stuff. I know the statistics and I just ignored it. I couldn't stop feeling terrible about it. I leaned forward and buried my face in the palms of my hands.

"I'm such an asshole! I can't believe I did that to you after you were raped."

"What?"

I uncovered my eyes to find Shane staring at me as if I'd told him I preferred sex with chicks.

"

I was not raped

!" His voice left no room for argument.

Unsure if I was understanding the situation correctly, I slowly asked, "So. It was consensual?"

"No, of course not. I was passed out, but I was bigger than him and I stopped it as soon as I realized what was happening."

I slide my hand toward in a gesture of comfort.

"Shane. That's most

definitely

rape. You were passed out when he forced himself on you and, by the sound of your recovery time, not very gingerly, either."

"It

wasn't

rape! It was a bad experience."

His face was set in a hard line that matched the tone of his voice. I didn't know who he was trying to convince, me or himself, but I wasn't buying it. Everything he'd told me was textbook rape. Although I worked mainly in Pediatric Oncology, I'd worked many rotations in the emergency room and had dealt with more than a few rape cases and it was common knowledge that men tended to have a harder time admitting.

Of course, I understood it. Being raped felt similar to admitting that you're too weak—that you can't defend yourself—which is never easy for a man. Then there was the real fear that other guys will make fun of you because of it

. 'Are you saying you didn't want to have sex?!'

The whole rape double standard was fucked up and Shane was a classic example.

The nurse in me wanted to lay the facts on the table and talk some sense into him, but I had nothing in my favor. Our relationship, to whatever degree it was, wasn't at a healthy enough place for that kind of conversation. As hard as it was, I had to let the topic go—for the time being.

"Okay. I'm still sorry for what I did. If I'd known—"

"I know. Trust me, it's not a big deal. I just wanted to explain. Honestly, it was only a momentary overreaction."

The more he tried to downplay what had happened, the more I wanted to take him into my arms and console him. I hated the fact he'd waved the situation off as if it was no big deal because it was a

big fucking deal

! I wanted to wrap my fingers around his neck and squeeze the stupidity from his pea-sized brain, but instead, I took a deep breath to regain my composure, pulled back my own emotions, and allowed him to deal with things the way he wanted.

"Regardless, I'm glad you told me. It clears up a lot for me now that I understand the bigger picture, so thank you," I smiled, warmly.

Shane's broad shoulders visibly relaxed after my acceptance. I could only imagine the burden he'd been carrying around (for years) and how good it must've felt to let it go. His eyes filled with something resembling hope and anticipation as I also noticed him puff up more than usual.

It was almost as if he was trying to make himself bigger and assert his manliness, which made sense after his enlightening revelation. If the atmosphere hadn't been so tense after his rape bomb, I would've smiled at his big, manly stature that didn't match his nervous, hopeful expression.

"I don't want to make assumptions, but does this mean we're okay?"

"Yeah, of course we're okay."

How could we not be? He'd admitted to being raped and I wasn't about to tell him to fuck off, not that I'd wanted to anyway.

His eyes narrowed for a moment as he took my words in then he spoke, slowly, and his voice was full of hesitancy.

"Okay—I guess what I really want to know is, where does this leave us?"

"I guess it leaves us where we were,

minus

the anger and silence. So, friends?"

At that, he leaned back with one arm draped over the back of the chair while his other hand softly drummed on the table.

"Honestly, I want to be friends with you about as badly as you want me to dump your kitchen trash. To quote you earlier,

it's not what I'm looking for

."

"Come on, Shane, what did you expect?" I wasn't rude, but I wasn't exactly cotton candy, either.

"Evidently, a miracle." His voice was neutral as he rose from his chair and brushed the crumbs onto his plate. He grabbed the rest of the garbage and dirty dishes from the table before making his way to the kitchen to dispose of the mess. Once setting everything in the sink he walked to the door.

"That's not fair," I said as I followed him to the door.

After he was outside, he turned and faced me. His face was the poster for "too cool for school" and the idea he'd felt the need to pretend as though he was unaffected by anything and everything drove me nuts.

"You're right, it's not fair and I'm sorry. I know I'm not good enough for you, you make it obvious every time you point out my mistakes, but I've never liked anyone the way I like you. I've never tried with anyone the way I have with you. It's not easy being repeatedly rejected. It wasn't easy coming here and sharing everything with you—to tell you something that not even Aaron knows—just to be shot down. I tried. I took chances with you that I've

never

taken with anyone else, but in the end, it's not enough and that's okay. In the end, I know I did everything I could, but I don't want to be friends. It's humiliating enough to be shut down, I don't need a constant reminder."