Page 40 of Stuck-Up Big Shot
“I like you, and I’m very attracted to you. But I don’t date. I don’t get involved with women long term, and I am not boyfriend material. I fuck, have a good time, and leave it at that. Button, I already know you are not cut out for no-strings-attached fucking.”
In reaction to my words, her fiery spirit kicks in, and she jumps off the couch, creating distance between us. Damn it, I like that hot little temper of hers. I bet she’d be a hellcat in bed.
Sutton turns her contemptuous glare on me. “How dare you, Miles Thatcher. You didn’t even realize who I was less than twenty-four hours ago, and now you think you know me and my expectations on relationships and boyfriends, and no-strings-attached sex?”
She huffs, stomping past me toward the door, unlocking and opening it, pointing toward the hallway with a jab of her finger.
“Thanks for mansplaining howdifferentwe are and how much of a good girl you think I am. I appreciate the reminder of just what an arrogant, conceited ass you are and have always been.”
“Button—” I implore.
She raises her hand in protest and interrupts me, “Don’t, Miles. Please don’t try to placate or bullshit me. I’m tired, and it’s been a long day. Let’s just call it a night.”
God, I’ve fucked things up again. All I meant to do was ensure she knew what she was getting from me before jumping in. I didn’t mean to imply I knew her expectations or her desires for a relationship. But goddamn it, I know that’s how it was perceived.
Slowly rising to my feet, I walk toward the door, bending down to pat Blackie on the head when he brushes up against my leg for some attention.
Her posture is stiff, and she’ll probably smack me for it, but I lean down and kiss the top of Sutton’s head, and then the tip of her nose, and say, “I’m sorry I ruined this. That wasn’t my intent.”
She exhales sharply. “Intent or not, you made your opinion of me very clear. Goodnight.”
Sutton ushers me out with a press of her palm against my back, and if it wasn’t such a tense moment, I would’ve laughed at the boldness of her gesture.
She’s such a contradiction. Sweet and generous, as witnessed earlier today in her interactions with the kids at Holly’s Hope Place. Smart and witty, as I’ve discovered in our conversations and from what I’ve learned of her educational background. But, man, does this girl have pluck.
And now, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling rehashing it all, I wish I had Sutton’s strength and resolve. She doesn’t seem to allow setbacks to break her spirit. She just forges ahead.
Whereas I’m a fucking cowardly robot.
I’ve been stuck in the same rut for the past seven years, unable to move forward and scared to form any real relationships for fear of losing someone else that I love. But I know Icouldhave someone like Sutton in my life if I’d be willing to move from this self-imposed spot and take a step into a new direction.
I’m not sure what’s worse at this point.
As I close my eyes, waiting desperately for sleep to come, I picture the image of Sutton floating on her back in the pool. Confidently knowing she wouldn’t sink, that she could easily kick and swim to propel herself if she began to drown.
I seem to do the exact opposite. I’m exhausted by all the flailing and treading of water I’ve done over the years, which only drags me deeper and deeper under the waterline.
The first thing I remember learning in lifeguard training was not to panic, take slow, easy breaths, and conserve energy.
Yet, all I’ve been doing for the past few years is wasting my time and my energy. Maybe it’s time I find a way to do more than just try to keep myself afloat.
Perhaps it’s not crazy to believe that my sister may have thrown me a life preserver from heaven when she sent Sutton Fuller back into my life.
23
Sutton
The timingofAsk Ida’sresponse is uncanny.
After waking from a fitful night’s sleep and making breakfast for Blackie, I sit down at my laptop to check my email and social media accounts. That’s when I see the emailed response.
My heart beats erratically as I click on the message icon to open up the email. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding in and begin to read, in hopes she’ll have some good advice for me on how to handle my strange situation with Miles.
Dear Forgotten Fool,
You’d recently asked what to do with the problem of the man you’ve known since childhood, a self-absorbed idiot who doesn’t remember kissing you. Not once, but twice. Whether it’s because of grief or just plain arrogance, one thing is clear. You are not the problem in this situation. He is.
While it’s true, he may still grieve over the loss he experienced (and grief is a very individualistic process), you should not feel compelled to help him. And as for how he’s treating you with such little regard, to that I say run, honey, run. If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around and wait for this man to hurt you again. You’re too important and your heart too deserving for the likes of that.
