One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3) (3 page)

“Sorry, boy crisis. I really need to go so I can talk to my sister. Thanks again for tonight.” I step onto the porch to actually hold the door open for him, a move I think I should have tried twenty minutes ago.

“Right, er, well, okay. I guess I’ll go then.”

Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!

He puts his Leafs cap on before stepping onto the porch. “Thanks again, doll. Call me if you change your mind.”

Not happening. “Yeah, okay. If I ever decide to abandon all my beliefs about the dating world and love, I will. You got it.”
Not.

With that comment, he shakes his head and kisses my cheek before walking out the door.

“Doll.”

Shudder.

Claire

L
ocking up behind
Zack, I sag against the door in relief that he’s finally gone.

“Kitty Kat! Have I ever told you how much I love your impeccable timing?”

“Glad to help as always. Tell me all about it.”

“Okay, first things first though. Before you drill me about my sexcapades and the lack of love in my life, answer me this—why the fuck do guys call us ‘dolls’? Whoever told them we like that term is a complete fucktwad and needs a hard smack.”

Kat laughs. “First of all, I do not drill, I dissect. I listen, guide, and then advise. But hold that argument because I have to hear about this ‘doll’ business.”

“You done, Giggles, or you need more time?” I sigh.

“M’kay, I’m ready for this logic. Hit me. What’s wrong with being called ‘doll’, oh, Queen of the Know?”

“God, Kat, so much. I don’t know where to start with this lesson, grasshopper.” I reach for my wine glass as I pass through the kitchen, and take a much-needed sip. “Think about it. First of all, we’re not made of plastic, nor are we pint-sized, and I don’t know about you, but I most certainly do not need to be taken care of like a doll by any man.”

“True,” she agrees, before continuing. “Some men seem to actually enjoy the pleasure certain dolls provide, well, for like a whole ten seconds anyway. There are men out there who are completely fascinated with the almost life-like anatomy dolls can offer the pervy masses. Then I bet in true man-like fashion they toss them aside once they have had their fill—so honestly I can see the usage of ‘doll’ when talking to a woman.” She takes a pause from being sarcastic and waits for my reaction.

“Huh. I mean, wow.” I hesitate mulling over her words, “I kind of get the parallel when you put it that way, especially if you’re talking blow-up dolls. I get that we let them play with us from time to time. But still that’s pretty much the only thing women have in common with dolls. I mean, we’re living, breathing people, with thoughts and feelings, I ain’t no plastic fantastic, I am the real deal complete with fun bags and a dick garage. So do
not
call me ‘doll’.” Kat just laughs. Turning back, I grab the wine bottle, thinking that I’ll need another glass or two after tonight’s series of unfortunate events.

“Oh, Jesus, Claire Bear. Shall I assume tonight’s date called you ‘doll’? You seem pretty hung up on this.”

“Yes, he did,” I pout, taking another sip.

“The horror! And you let him escape with his balls intact?”

“Yeah, I did. He has the world’s stubbiest dick. He needed to keep his balls to make up for that, so I let it slide. But I swear, if I ever hear ‘
Oh, come for me, doll! Touch your clit, doll!’
again, I’m taking the dick
and
the balls.”

“I guess it’s safe to assume that another one bites the dust then, eh? No more dates for this guy?”

“Right. No more. He’s lucky I didn’t kick him out the instant he dropped trou.” I cringe at the memory of his less-than-stellar offerings. “I just don’t get how he could look like an Adonis and be a nub dick and the worst ever fuck of my life.”

“Wait a minute. I need you to stop and listen. I have to defend the stubby here for a second,” Kat interjects. “You absolutely need to realize that not all guys with Mini Coopers don’t know how to use them. Trust me, Damon was on the smaller side, but he definitely knew how to drive it. Jesus, the last thing we need is for you to be holding inspections from now on, adding another stupid hang up for you to use against mankind. I don’t suppose that would go over too well in the bedroom with most dudes all ready for action and you pulling out your magnifying glass. Needing to inspect it before you permit it, hit it and quit it.” She pauses and I swear I hear her smile on the other end of the phone.

“Pssht, like I’d let them get all the way to the bedroom before the inspection. I’ll have a new ‘drop your pants’ policy at the front door. A kind of inspection station on my front porch,” I tease.

“Claire!” she shrieks, and I laugh, too.

“Okay, okay, I won’t hold Zack against all the stubbies of the world. But don’t expect me to be excited if I encounter one again in the foreseeable future. I’m pretty sure I’m scarred for life after that shit.”

“You’ll be fine. I promise. Like I said, Damon was pretty crafty, considering. It was most impressive actually, one time he did this mov—”

“Stop. I get it. I don’t need a visual thank you,” I interrupt.

“All right, I’m over it. Who was this one, anyway?” she enquires. “Do I know him?”

“Yes, this was Zack. You know, the mechanic who fixed my car last month? We’ve gone out a few times, tonight was our thir—”

She cuts me off as I put the bottle down. “And let me guess, it was the third date so it was the ‘mate date’, and now you’re done with him?”

“Yes, it’s over, as per the rules. I don’t think I could date him regardless. The whole ‘doll’ and lack-of-cock thing were enough to end it on their own,” I say, plopping down on the couch. My cat, Felix, jumps up on my lap.

“So what’s up anyway? How are you?” I ask Kat, rubbing Felix’s ears.

“Not much. I was calling to ask about packing and if you needed me to get anything before you came, but now I’m too busy thinking about all those poor unsuspecting men of yours. They have no idea about your twisted ‘three-dates-and-a-mate’ limit.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” I chide, a bit defensively. “I don’t always mate with each one. You make it sound like it’s a given. I’m not a complete hooch, you know. The mate part is more of a maybe. It goes like this: three-dates-and-
maybe-
a-mate. I’m actually quite selective,” I tell her. “Zack just happened to be someone I thought I wanted to do the horizontal mambo with. It’s been a few months since I’ve had actual sex,” I harrumph. “What a total letdown, and such a waste. And him with those big sexy arms and six pack, too. He seemed like an excellent prospect.”

“Of course, Claire. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply you were fucking them all. I just don’t like you dating all these guys, and I don’t like them all knowing where you live. I don’t really think it’s healthy for you, or them.”

She pauses, and I take the opportunity to justify my actions.

“Well, it’s all I’m looking for. I’m happy. Besides you don’t need to worry, I tell them before we even start how it’s gonna be. I’m completely honest about not wanting a relationship. And trust me, most of them appreciate it and are in the same boat. I can’t help it if the odd one comes around thinking that he’ll be the one that’ll be the exception to my rules. Worse than some fucking chicks…” I laugh.

There’s only ever been one exception to the rules.

“Jesus, you’re brutal sometimes, Claire Bear.”

“Nope. Just honest.”

“Whatever.”

“What do you mean ‘whatever’?” I ask, getting annoyed.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you, Claire. I know you think this is the life you want. But it’s crap, and the sooner you admit it the quicker you can move on to where we both know you belong. You’re twenty-four, not fourteen,” Kat huffs, and I admit I’m a bit taken aback by her comments, and the tone she’s using.

“This has nothing to do with
him
, Kat, I hope you know. Don’t even try to go there with me.”

I’m a liar and she knows it.
It always has something to do with
him
.

Matt Bishop.

The one for whom all my rules fell to shit in my final year at Brock University. The same man I secretly want today—two years later—just as much as I wanted him back then. The one I won’t admit to wanting out loud.

Matt Bishop has remained a thorn in my side, the starring role in all of my dreams, and a source of pain in my heart from the day he marched his sexy-as-fuck self up to me and uttered a stupidly amazing pick up line. He’d tricked me with his good looks, wittiness, the promise of no strings, and all kinds of sexy fun.
Damn him.

“Yes. It does
too
have to do with Matt.” Kat intrudes into my train of Matt-thoughts. “It will always come back to him. You still love him. You know it and so do I. You’re just in denial, chica. And you’re afraid, for whatever reason you’ve concocted in that beautiful head of yours.”

Kat’s right. She’s so fucking right it’s not funny. Matt Bishop just might be the Froot to my Loop, the frosting to my cupcake, the cork to my wine bottle…the one for me. I had never intended to put myself in a position to let my guard down, to break my one solid rule. But with Matty, it happened naturally without a second thought or any realization on my part…
until it was too late
. Matt got to me like no-one else and I’ve never quite been able to shake him off. Even after I left town, he still affects me.

It’s because of that sexy-hunk-of-manflesh in the form of Matt that my well-rehearsed plan of never falling in love, of never risking being hurt again, began to unravel. He taught me that I
can
love. I just didn’t
want
to, and I was way too much of a chickenshit to hang onto it. Matty is responsible for putting the first and only chink in the armour I’d put on to protect my heart after my parents’ deaths.

Matt, all tall and muscled with his sexy olive skin and strong chiseled jaw lined with enough scruff to give him a subtly rugged look. That high-and-tight way he wore his sandy-coloured hair. And those brilliant light brown eyes of his—eyes the colour of the oldest pages of the most cherished books, knowing eyes, that saw right through my bullshit from the beginning. Yeah, Matty Bishop was the wrench in my plan, all right. The nail in my coffin of non-commitment and “hell, no, I don’t need love” way of thinking.
I never even saw him coming.

Matt made me forget my own damn rules. With that one cheesy-ass pick-up line, I was done. A pick-up line that still, two years later, brings a smile to my face and warmth to my heart.

“Hey, beautiful. Do you believe in love at first sight or do you need me to walk by again?”

With such obvious talent for pulling off the worst lines accompanied with an irresistible grin to drive it all home, how could I resist?

After that night, Matt and I were inseparable, and for months it was bliss. For the first time since I was fourteen, I’d let in someone new. I had let a man make an imprint on my heart, and boy, was it one hell of a lasting impression. I was in a committed, healthy, loving relationship for the first time, and I was happy about it. The negative thoughts were slowly evaporating and the feeling was freeing. I was healing—putting my insecurities aside and focusing on the positive.

Everything was going perfectly until Valentine’s Day, when a knock on the door of the university village residence that I shared with Kat would change Matty’s and my relationship.

I’d expected to see Matt and Ryker when I opened the door; they were picking Kat and me up for our Valentine’s double date. Instead I saw Seth, one of Kat’s ex-boyfriends. Seth, who was enraged, who literally had lost his mind like some crazed ’roid-rager-turned-Hulk man. Barely allowing me to open the door before he came barreling through, Seth knocked me down in order to get at Kat. Thank goodness I managed to reach my cell to call Matt, and that he and Ryker showed up as quickly as they did, along with campus security and the police.

The trauma of that night jolted me back to reality, slapping me in the face for forgetting, for being so bold as to think it was safe to love again.
Never love. Never get left behind.
Even though the boys put a stop to Seth’s attack on Kat right away, it was all so sudden and violent that the what if’s of that night still run through my head.
What if something had happened to Matt?

I’d been forgetting my mantra:
Never love and never get left behind.
I’d broken the vow I’d made to my fourteen-year-old self. Realizing that I was falling in love—no,
loved
Matt—I could no longer allow myself that luxury; it was time to end things. And I needed to leave him before he could leave me.
I’d been left behind before
.

Witnessing the violence with Seth had a profound effect on the way I saw what I’d been allowing to happen. I’d felt different after the Seth incident compared to the way I did after Kat and I had escaped the fire that burned down our university dorm earlier that year. With the fire, I felt as if I was in control, I was confident that I could lead us to safety, and I did. With the Seth incident, I was more like I’d been blindsided, like nothing was in my control. It made me realize I’d been allowing myself to let my bridge down where Matt was concerned, and it needed to stop. Playing the night over and over, I realized that Seth could have done real damage to the people I loved most in my world, and I had no real control or power over stopping the possibility of hurt from coming again.

So, I started to pull back into my protective shell. I began distancing myself from everyone I cared about. Cancelling plans and ignoring phone calls on top of avoiding most social interactions. And when I did see Matt, I’d start stupid fights with him. I turned into Robobitch, hurting the people I loved the most without feeling much of anything.

Self-preservation at its finest, folks.

Basically, I freaked the fuck out. Being with Matt, I was allowing myself to feel and think things I couldn’t allow myself to want. Never one to have hopes and dreams of happily ever after and other girly stuff, I would catch myself thinking of Matt as my husband one day, and how many kids we might have in the future. But then my reality would come crashing down because I knew there was no way I could have him like that. No way could I stomach the idea of building connections where there was a chance I could be left behind again, or where I could leave someone else hurting in my wake like my parents had left me. I was mad at myself, mad at Matt. I had rules. Rules, I was happily obliging, too, until
him
. I needed to get away from him before I did something stupid.