Page 36 of Brash for It
I didn’t think I’d last this long.Didn’t think this could last this long.But here we are.
Life with Kellum has settled into something I didn’t expect.Not soft, not gentle — he’s too brash for that — but solid.He doesn’t hover, doesn’t fuss.He just shows up.He makes space.He fixes the things that can be fixed and shrugs off the rest.Somehow, that’s been enough to stitch me back together piece by piece.
I got a job not at the garage.While I enjoyed working at the shop, seeing Kellum the days he worked there, Pami being a second mother of sorts, I also knew I needed to try something on my own.At the spa, of all places, that is my new job.Trina called and said they needed help.Answering phones, scheduling appointments, filing, and learning to navigate the confusing computer system that hates everyone equally.Trina put in a good word for me, and the owner, Mrs.Ortega, hired me on the spot when she realized I could handle polite customers and angry ones without losing my composure.
It’s not glamorous.It’s not the “kept” life I used to live.But it’s mine.My first paycheck went straight into my new bank account — the one with only my name on it.I stared at the stub for five solid minutes before folding it into my wallet.Proof that I was doing this on my own.
Now I spend my days listening to women ask for pedicure appointments, rescheduling massages, and making small talk when the waiting room gets too full.It’s not thrilling, but it’s something.It feels like progress.
Today starts like most others.Coffee with Kellum, a ride to the spa on his bike if I don’t drive myself, the hum of the phone and the shuffle of calendars.Until around midmorning, when a shadow falls across the front desk.
“Kristen, right?”
I glance up from the screen.The woman standing there is tall, pretty in that careless way that says she doesn’t try too hard but never really has to.Auburn hair pulled up in a messy bun, skin glowing from her own facial appointment, nails painted a rich red that screams confidence.
“Yeah,” I remark.“Can I help you?”
She smiles, a little sly.“Not with my appointment.Just curious.”She leans one elbow on the desk, lowering her voice.“Is Pretty Boy picking you up today?”
My stomach tightens.“Yes.Why?”
Her smile sharpens, knowing.“I figured.I saw him drop you off this morning.”She pauses, scanning me like she’s cataloging every piece of me.“You know I used to be with him, right?”
The words land like a slap.I blink, trying to mask the shock.“No,” I manage.
“Oh, honey.”She laughs lightly, tilting her head.“Well, now you do.Most of the women around here have.Even the married ones.Ask him about Jocelyn.”
She props her chin on her hand, perfectly at ease.“I’m Lana,” she adds, like we’re at a brunch table and she hasn’t just detonated a grenade under it.“I used to see Kellum.Well, if you can call it that.Off and on when he had a want for it.”
I swallow.“Oh.”
“Relax.”She twirls a strand of auburn hair.“He’s not the relationship type.I’m sure you know.Fun as hell, though.”
Something sharp pricks under my ribs.“We worked together,” I explain, trying for light conversation and for her not to read into things.“Hehelped me out when I needed it.Rides.A place to crash.”None of that is a lie, but even to my own ears it sounds like I’m building a hedge.
Her gaze flicks to the glass front, where the reflection shows the street outside and the memory of a motorcycle.“He’s a good man.People like to make his patch the whole story.There’s more under it.”She tilts her head.“You haven’t slept with him yet.”
Heat hits my cheeks, fast and humiliating.“That’s— I— We don’t have to?—”
She lifts a palm like she’s a cop pulling traffic over.“Not judging.Just I can see it on your face, you haven’t had him yet.Or should I say he hasn’t had you.Because that man takes a piece of your soul when he makes you,” she doesn’t finish the sentence because she doesn’t have to.Her smile softens the smallest bit.“Just saying… when you do?”She whistles low.“Best sex of your life.He pays attention.He listens with his hands.He’s generous.”A little laugh.“And he’s stubborn.He won’t give you what you think you want, no he draws more out of your body.”
The room tilts a fraction.I grip the edge of the desk.“He stopped.”The words are out before I can stop them.Embarrassing confessions apparently bloom in the presence of women with messy buns and perfect nails.“We were—he got me—” I clamp my mouth shut because Trina’s head is bent over a client ten feet away and I grew up with parents who taught me volume control.I fight to get myself under control.“Never mind.This is, just never mind.”This is stupid and I know better.
Lana blinks, just once, like I said something she didn’t expect.“He stopped?”
I nod, hating how my throat tightens.“It just isn’t us.We’re friends.”I shake my head trying to shake off how ridiculous I feel.
“Honey, Pretty Boy doesn’t have female friends.He has brothers, he has family, he has fuck buddies.He doesn’t have what you’re describing.”
I don’t answer.Her eyes go softer again, and I have a sliver of the sense that the messy bun and the red nails hide their own shrapnel.She taps the desk in a little rhythm, thinking, then says, “Look.I’ll give it to you straight because no one did for me when I was in your place.Pretty Boy is the best at what he does in bed.I mean it, the absolute best you’ll ever have.But he doesn’t do more.He won’t lie.He won’t pretend he’s gonna build a fence and plant tomatoes with you.He keeps his boots by the door.He’s… loyal to his brothers.That space inside him?It’s for the club and there isn’t room for anyone that isn’t family to him.”
My pulse thunders in my neck.I don’t know what to say.“He uses women.And you’re telling me this why?I told you we don’t have that.”
“I’m not saying that,” she says, and her voice loses its teasing.“I’m saying he’ll be honest.If he wants you, he’ll want you hard and he won’t make small promises to keep you.He’ll take but he’ll give.”She nudges my elbow with a painted nail.“That said?Women like to think they’re the one who’s gonna change a man.Don’t do that to yourself.Take him as he is.Decide if you want it.”Her lips tilt.“Also, if you do decide you want it, take an Advil.You’ll thank me the next day.”
A laugh kicks out of me, half shock, half nerves.It feels like a balloon let go of a tight knot.Then the jealousy slides in under it, a cold coil.“How long were you with him?”
She shrugs.“A while.Off and on, like I said.He never promised me anything he didn’t deliver.That’s rare.”She straightens, the moment shifting back from confessional to gossip column.“So.He’s picking you up?”
