Page 1 of The Reality of Wanting Him

PROLOGUE

Blake

“Fuck, is that clock fast?” I ask—maybe Sophie? I’m pretty sure that’s her name at least—as I see the time lit up on her nightstand.

“Uh, no, it should be right,” she mutters groggily.

I know we didn’t get much sleep, but I’m really hoping that it isn’t actually almost noon, otherwise I’m running super lateagain.

I met her at the club where my best friend Chad was celebrating his birthday. We invited a group of girls to join our bottle service, and after we’d spent the night dancing and chatting, she asked me back to her place. We had some fun, and I must’ve fallen asleep after the second round of shared orgasms.I wish I could stay for a third,but apparently, I’m already really late for brunch with my parents.

Oh well, it’s not like they’ll expect me to actually be on time. It’s a Sunday morning; knowing my mother, she probably told me an earlier time than our reservation is really for, because she assumes I’ll be late anyway. Her lack of confidence in me reallydoesn’t motivate me to be better like she must think it does. If your own parents expect you to be a fuck up, it’s hard not to just embrace it.I roll over and place a quick kiss on—is it Sadie’s?—head. It’s a good thing I’m not being quizzed on her name. I really do feel bad about not remembering it, but I’ve always been more of a vibes person; details like names are hard for me. “I’ve gotta run. Thanks for the fun night,” I say over my shoulder as I search for my discarded clothes.

Having to go home first would make me even later, so I let out a sigh of relief when I locate everything. I’m sure last night’s outfit will be fine for whatever fancy place my mother’s chosen for this brunch.

“You don’t want to exchange numbers?” Sally asks, sounding a little defeated that I’m about to just run out the door.

“Oh, sorry. I don’t really do repeats. Didn’t we talk about that last night?” I check, worried that I somehow gave her the wrong impression. I’m usually pretty good about setting clear expectations, so I hope I didn’t give her the wrong idea about what last night meant.

“Yeah, you did. I just thought… never mind, you’re right. This was fun. No need to turn it into something it wasn’t.” She flashes me what appears to be a genuine smile, and I relax. I hate leading people on. I really do try to be clear with the women I hookup with that I’m not a relationship kind of guy, but the older I get, the more they seem to expect from me in even the most casual situations. I smile and say my goodbyes as I order a rideshare and walk out of her apartment.

Twenty minutes later, I’m strolling into the upscale restaurant my parents always favor when they’re staying at their brownstone in the city. I aim a huge grin at the hostess as I walk right past her, ignoring the side-eyed glances of the people waiting, probably judging my wrinkled outfit. I don’t let that bother me, though.Those judgy assholes wouldn’t know a good time if it slapped them on the ass.

My father’s face lifts into a small smile when he sees me, and I lean in for a hug before turning to kiss my mother’s cheek. “Mother, you are looking absolutely divine this morning. Did you do something different with your hair?”

The amount of botox in her face makes it difficult to read her expression, but I don’t think she’s amused. “It’s no longer morning. You’re almost an hour late, and you’re clearly wearing last night's clothes. Are you ever going to grow up?” she scoffs.

“Growing up doesn’t sound very fun,” I say conversationally as I sit down, ignoring her harsh, judgmental tone. Just because she’s miserable doesn’t mean I have to be. “So, what are we all ordering?”

“Have you ever managed to have a serious conversation in your life?” my mother continues. I know she gets tired of my carefree attitude, but she seems particularly upset today. Growing up, I used to try to cheer her up, but I eventually learned that any smile I earned from her was for the sake of appearances rather than anything I was responsible for.

“Do you need another martini? What’s got you so tense today?” I tease.

“You,” she answers immediately. “You are nearly thirty years old. Your brother was a junior partner at his firm and married with two kids by the time he was your age. Your sister was married and finishing up her residency. You’ve never had a real job, and you don’t even have a girlfriend. You’re throwing away the amazing life your father and I have tried to give you.”

“I’m not throwing away anything,” I insist. “I do have an amazing life that I’m very happy with.”

“Ever since you gave up on your NFL plans, you’ve been acting like an overgrown child, spending our money with no real purpose or direction,” she counters flatly.Does she not do the same thing?I know that my dad has worked hard for his money, but my mom has never hesitated to spend it, and I’ve neverknown anything different. Not like they ever taught me how to budget. Hell, I wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Oh, come on,” I say lightly, trying to keep this conversation light and not focus too much on how sad it is that there’s probably some truth to what she’s saying, even if she’s saying it as harshly as possible. “You guys have way more money than you could ever know what to do with. And I didn’t ‘give up on the NFL,’ they gave up on me. Isn’t me being happy and enjoying my life enough?” I ask, looking to my father for support. I’m his youngest son; he can never say no to me. Except, he isn’t even looking at me. He’s glancing uncomfortably out the window, fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“No, it isn’t enough. If you don’t want a job, you could at least work for my charity as a bare minimum,” my mother suggests.

“Yeah, okay. I can help with that,” I agree, perking up at the suggestion. Other than spending more time with her, that honestly doesn’t sound bad at all.

“Ugh, that’s not the point!” she exclaims, voice laced with frustration. “You need to do more than that. Maybe if you cared about someone other than yourself, you’d understand our concerns and finally have some real direction in your life. You need to settle down.”

“Settle down? What does that even mean?” I ask, confused how we’re still having this conversation.

“Get married.”

I blink a few times, not sure I heard her right, but when I look back at my father, he’s looking at me with such hope in his eyes that I can’t think of anything to say against the idea. All I can do is try to swallow the sudden lump that’s formed in my throat at her suggestion.

“Your father and I have been discussing it, and we’ve come to a decision,” my mother remarks, looking all too pleased with herself. “The best thing we can do for you at this point is giveyou an ultimatum. You need to get married by the time you’re thirty, or we’re cutting you off—completely. No more spending money, no help with rent or groceries. Nothing. You’ll be entirely on your own.”

Forget learning how to budget; she wants me to be homeless?

I take a moment for her words to really sink in. I can’t believe she’s giving me an ultimatum because I haven’t lived up to her idea of success by thirty. I’ve never given much thought to marriage before, but I guess if it’s a wedding or getting completely cut off from the only lifestyle that I’ve ever known, then it doesn’t even really feel like a choice to me.I’m going to find a wife.

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