Page 4 of If This is Love

So,yeah. Miaused to bea beautiful woman before her unfaithfulness and lack of any semblance of loyalty made her the single most unattractive person alive. And when she walked away from the life I tried to give her, it was time to dream up my perfect lady.

And once my imagination had been given the freedom to run wild for the first time since I was a teenager, my made-up, ideal woman had turned out to be the polar opposite of Mia in just about every single way.

Mia was icy and blonde, but my ideal woman was warm like a hot summer night and sumptuous with wild, thick, dark hair.

Mia was thin and fragile like a starving runway model, but my ideal woman was strong, solid, and had curves like a leisurely Sunday drive.

Mia didn’t care for dogs and never liked Gunner, particularly his impressive shedding all over everything, in the first few months after I had gotten him—you know, before sheleft—but my ideal woman was an animal person; a doglover.

But most importantly, Mia was unfaithful and disloyal. And my ideal woman was so faithful and loyal that she really would follow me into the darkness and the great unknown and stay with me and love me no matter how difficult I was to deal with now.

And unfortunately for me, my ideal woman was atruephantom—unlike the burn that spread across my neck and shoulders every morning—imaginary, made up, not real, and never would be.

Women likethat…theloyalwomen, didn’t exist. Or they did, and they wound up married to all my friends. Now my baby brother, too. Or at least soon. Luke had been itching to buy an engagement ring for weeks.

But never-fucking-mind.

I had a schedule to keep, and I finished the coffee and cigarette in less than five minutes. I snuffed out the cig in an old, rusty coffee can in the middle of the patio table, and then went back in to rinse out the cup in the kitchen sink. I strode back to the bedroom, where I peeled off my clothes and started the shower.

Just like everything else in my life, my shower routine was methodical, focused, didn’t waste any time, and it took a total of about seven minutes. That was mostly because I treated myself with a littleextratime to enjoy the solitude of my shower.

Thinking abouther.

I leaned back, pressing my wet shoulders against the cold tile wall and tilting my head up toward the water as I closed my eyes. In my mind, my made-up perfect woman was kind of faceless, but simultaneously had facial features that I could recognize anywhere. Like her eyes. Long, black eyelashes. Dark, arching eyebrows. Brown eyes, but lighter; more like deep amber. Or her lips. Full and soft and turned up at the corners with love and playful happiness.

Just the thought of her eyes and lips had my wet cock standing at attention, and I wrapped my hand around it, letting my mind wander all over the place.

This mental escape had gotten really easy. Instead of feeling my own skin, I felthers. Smooth, silken skin, and soft delicious curves. Behind my closed eyelids, I sawhers. Deep amber glinting back at me, limpid and honest andonlylooking atme.

I stroked slowly at first, but it wasn’t long before my mind was completely lost with her. I was so lost that I could smell her—her imaginary scent was a combination of vanilla and gardenia flowers. I could taste her—her imaginary mouth had a flavor that was like cool, frosty strawberries, and her lips were like a pillow that I could smother myself with and die happy.

Only in my imagination, of course, but never-fucking-mind.

A guttural growl grated the back of my throat as I climaxed into my palm. I scoffed to myself and shook my head at the fact that sex with my own hand and my made-up fantasy woman was more satisfying than what I’d had before.

What do you do when you already had everything youthoughtyou wanted, only to realize it had become a nightmare, fight for it anyway,loseit, become reduced to half the man you used to be, and then fall in love with a fictional woman who only exists in your mind?

If you’reme, you just toe the fucking line.

Fall in.

GABE

ALGIERS POINT, NEW ORLEANS

By the time Chloe’s meeting rolled around, it was two in the afternoon, and I pushed through the door of the Old Point, the neighborhood bar, which was the location she’d selected for some reason. Almost every person I considered a friend was gathered for the meeting, and they were all making a shit-ton of noise like they always did, so I made a beeline for the bar. I needed more coffee before I inevitably got dragged into the fray.

Missy, the jolly, elderly woman who’d owned the bar since before I was even born, moseyed over and rested her weathered palms on the edge, offering me a toothy smile. “Hey, darlin’. Black or gold?”

The corner of my mouth quirked, but I fought smiling at the way she always greeted me. Long ago, she’d started teasing me that the only two drinks I ordered in this place were Saints colors: Black coffee or gold whiskey. “Black. It’s too early for the gold, Ms. Missy.”

She chuckled under her breath and turned to fetch a coffee cup. “Comin’ right up,cher.”

Someone firmly slapped my shoulder, and I didn’t have to look to know it was Luke.

“Hey, bruh.” Luke gave me a series of quick pats with both hands on my shoulders, and I shrugged to buck them off. He redirected his greeting to Gunner and leaned down to rub behind his ears. “What up, Gunner? You old tank, you,” he said, switching to obnoxious baby talk, and I rolled my eyes. Gunner grunted as he slowly melted to the floor like he was going weak with enjoyment from Luke’s incessant patting and rubbing. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? Yes,you. Oh,yes, you aresuchagood—”

“Jesus, Luke, will you knock that shit off?” I grumbled as Missy was setting down the coffee, and she chuckled at me before moseying away. “He’s not a fuckingpet.”

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