begging me for something I couldn’t give her. The only thing keeping me sane was that Max saw her almost daily. And, with a few threats involved, he divulged how and what she was doing. She hadn’t really said anything about me, but she hadn’t said anything about Simon, either. So I guessed, on some level, that was good news.
I wasn’t sure why I gave a fuck. It wasn’t like it made any difference to me.
I knew that she didn’t want me—not really. She wanted to fuck me and I sure as hell wanted to fuck her, too. But for some strange reason, I had a conscience about this. I didn’t want her regretting it.
Is this what guys like Max feel like all the time? Poor bastards.
As much as I hated to admit it, Jada was right. I couldn’t give her what she wanted.
I didn’t want complications. I didn’t want a relationship. I didn’t want a responsibility. I didn’t want monogamy.
I didn’t want to fucking prioritize.
And even though Jada seemed to turn a one-eighty the last time I saw her, I couldn’t take advantage of that.
I kicked my feet up on my desk.
When did I, Cane Alexander, not take advantages that were laid out in front of me? Why did I give a fuck about all of this? When did I become such a pussy?
My life revolved around a carefully constructed set of guidelines.
1. Trust no one.
2. Take responsibility for your own success and failures.
3. Embrace being alone.
Things change. Needs change. Desires change. And this setup ensured that I was able to meet my needs and desires. I was a hedonist and I was okay with that. I preferred it, really.
I had lived the past few years without thinking about one girl for very long. Ever since things ended with her , I vowed never to get into a relationship like that again. Women only wanted you for what you could give them and they would always trade you in if something better came along. They would lie, cheat, and destroy your life if they thought they could get a step ahead by doing it.
That’s what my mother had done to my father and what she had done to me.
Fuck them both.
Once I realized that all women were the same, I decided not to bother getting close to any one in particular. There was no sense in it.
So why in the hell does Jada Stanley take up so much of my mental energy?
I slammed my notepad down on my desk, the force rattling the pen holder. Black ballpoint pens hit the floor and rolled in every direction. There was probably some brilliant analogy that could be made from that, but Max wasn’t around to explain it to me.
I rubbed my temples, trying to get some clarity.
She’s not different. Not enough to change anything. Not enough to make promises.
Not enough to make an exception to the rules.
“I’m that girl.” I heard that roll through my mind a million times and each time, I wished it were true. I had almost talked myself into going through with it anyway in hopes that it would end this ridiculous fascination I had with her. But I couldn’t because I knew that she was talking in the moment. Even I had done things in the heat of the moment that I wished I could take back.
Letting her do that to herself was unacceptable, even by my standards. It took every ounce of strength I had to walk out of there. I didn’t talk to Max the entire trip to his house, trying to wrap my head around what had transpired, trying to figure out what I was feeling.
Because fuck if I knew.
I figured if she really wanted it, she would call me. Or she would at least make some sort of indication that she meant what she had said. But that call never came.
Sighing, I sat up and flicked the cursor on my laptop to work on a bid. I needed to buckle down and focus.
The monitor sparked to life … and the orange in the background reminded me of Jada’s dress.
I lay back in my office chair and blew out a breath through my teeth. I needed to release some steam so I could actually be productive.
I picked my cell off the desk and scrolled through my texts. A
I wasn’t sure why I gave a fuck. It wasn’t like it made any difference to me.
I knew that she didn’t want me—not really. She wanted to fuck me and I sure as hell wanted to fuck her, too. But for some strange reason, I had a conscience about this. I didn’t want her regretting it.
Is this what guys like Max feel like all the time? Poor bastards.
As much as I hated to admit it, Jada was right. I couldn’t give her what she wanted.
I didn’t want complications. I didn’t want a relationship. I didn’t want a responsibility. I didn’t want monogamy.
I didn’t want to fucking prioritize.
And even though Jada seemed to turn a one-eighty the last time I saw her, I couldn’t take advantage of that.
I kicked my feet up on my desk.
When did I, Cane Alexander, not take advantages that were laid out in front of me? Why did I give a fuck about all of this? When did I become such a pussy?
My life revolved around a carefully constructed set of guidelines.
1. Trust no one.
2. Take responsibility for your own success and failures.
3. Embrace being alone.
Things change. Needs change. Desires change. And this setup ensured that I was able to meet my needs and desires. I was a hedonist and I was okay with that. I preferred it, really.
I had lived the past few years without thinking about one girl for very long. Ever since things ended with her , I vowed never to get into a relationship like that again. Women only wanted you for what you could give them and they would always trade you in if something better came along. They would lie, cheat, and destroy your life if they thought they could get a step ahead by doing it.
That’s what my mother had done to my father and what she had done to me.
Fuck them both.
Once I realized that all women were the same, I decided not to bother getting close to any one in particular. There was no sense in it.
So why in the hell does Jada Stanley take up so much of my mental energy?
I slammed my notepad down on my desk, the force rattling the pen holder. Black ballpoint pens hit the floor and rolled in every direction. There was probably some brilliant analogy that could be made from that, but Max wasn’t around to explain it to me.
I rubbed my temples, trying to get some clarity.
She’s not different. Not enough to change anything. Not enough to make promises.
Not enough to make an exception to the rules.
“I’m that girl.” I heard that roll through my mind a million times and each time, I wished it were true. I had almost talked myself into going through with it anyway in hopes that it would end this ridiculous fascination I had with her. But I couldn’t because I knew that she was talking in the moment. Even I had done things in the heat of the moment that I wished I could take back.
Letting her do that to herself was unacceptable, even by my standards. It took every ounce of strength I had to walk out of there. I didn’t talk to Max the entire trip to his house, trying to wrap my head around what had transpired, trying to figure out what I was feeling.
Because fuck if I knew.
I figured if she really wanted it, she would call me. Or she would at least make some sort of indication that she meant what she had said. But that call never came.
Sighing, I sat up and flicked the cursor on my laptop to work on a bid. I needed to buckle down and focus.
The monitor sparked to life … and the orange in the background reminded me of Jada’s dress.
I lay back in my office chair and blew out a breath through my teeth. I needed to release some steam so I could actually be productive.
I picked my cell off the desk and scrolled through my texts. A
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