The Perfect Life (24 page)

My jaw dropped. “It is?” I hissed.

Laughing, he ruffled my hair and made the
tsk-tsk
sound like I’d asked something silly. “Well, maybe not to everyone, but I know you pretty damn well. We’ve been roommates on-and-off for the last three years, ya know?”

“Yeah,” was the only thing I could come up with as my mind swam with an overload of incongruent thoughts.

“It doesn’t make you a bad person to have feelings for someone else,” Seth stated matter-of-factly. “You know that, right? It was bound to happen. I’ve been telling Colin for a while now, but his stubborn ass refused to listen.”

The game at this point was a complete after-thought, especially since the Patriots had taken an early lead and not let off the gas pedal. I hoped Colin wouldn’t look up and see me so close to Seth; otherwise, I knew he’d grill me when we got home, but at the same time, I wanted Seth to keep talking.

“I honestly didn’t think it would ever happen,” I murmured while keeping my face angled toward the field. “I thought that part of me was broken forever, but then Oliver just popped into my life, and in less than a week, I’m starting to question everything about the last twelve years . . . about who I thought I was. I don’t understand it, and it scares me shitless, Seth.”

“People change, Monroe. It’s just a fact of life. There’s no way you can be the same person at twenty-five as you were at thirteen, and there’s no way you’ll be the same person at thirty-seven that you are at twenty-five. There’s no way I can ever even pretend to understand what you went through when you were a kid, so I won’t try to. And I really do understand why you married Colin, and I know in your heart-of-hearts that you believed his companionship would be all you needed for the rest of your life when you agreed to his deal, but I’ll say it again—You. Deserve. More.

“Look, I know it’s scary. And I also know it’s risky as hell. Believe me . . . I know better than anyone.” He chuckled, but there was no humor in his voice. “You ask yourself, ‘Why would I give up this perfect life that I’ve worked so hard for? Why risk it all for something that could or couldn’t amount to something worthwhile and significant? Why take that chance?’ And I’ll tell you why. Because you’re worth it, Monroe. You deserve to know what it’s like to be loved fully, on the inside
and
the out. You deserve to have someone who worships your body just as much as they adore your pure heart and wicked-smart mind. Don’t settle. Don’t short-change yourself from the life and love you deserve to have, all because of some fucking sick asshole from your childhood. All you’re doing is allowing him to keep you as his victim. Why give him that power?”

By the time he finished, my eyes were pooling with unshed tears and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hug him or slap him. Everything he’d said was exactly what I needed to hear, yet everything I never wanted to. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do either as Rude Ruth rejoined us, naturally complaining about the cellular service in the stadium. In desperate need of a few minutes alone, I excused myself to the ladies’ room, where I splashed water on my face and stared intriguingly into the unfamiliar eyes that gazed back.

Colin had called me meek and compliant. Seth claimed I was settling and content at playing the role of a victim. And though I didn’t know much about what was happening with me, I knew I didn’t want to be any of that.

And I also knew who made me feel the exact opposite of all those things when I was with him.

My Sandra Dee.

“I sleep

with the wolves

in my head

and wake up in

my own blood

we love the

things that

kill us”

–Christopher Poindexter

Oliver

THE NEXT SEVERAL
weeks passed in the blink of an eye. When Monroe and I weren’t conducting interviews for the dozen or so positions we needed to fill, we were meeting with Dr. Prince, the executive director at the DCF, and filling out all of the necessary legal documents for us to begin the placement proceedings for JoJo, Heather, Aaron, and Alex in the state courts. In addition to our working effortlessly together, a true friendship formed between us with natural ease.

Once I convinced Iron Chef Dick that he wasn’t going to get dipped, dunked, or even drizzled, I managed to keep my lustful thoughts to a minimum and was able to focus on Monroe the Woman, instead of Monroe the Sex Goddess. Though I did still look forward to casual Fridays and the way those damn jeans clung to her perfect curves. And how on the days we’d have a bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch with chocolate milk for lunch, she’d slurp down the sweetened milk off her spoon, causing my eyes to hone in on the way her sweet, pouty lips wrapped around the bulbous shape—okay, who was I kidding? I was so fucking gone for her it wasn’t even funny, and getting to know all of her little quirks, likes, and dislikes only made me want her more. My one-way ticket to the fiery pits was punched.

Effie had accepted the office manager job Monroe offered, and although she wasn’t officially supposed to start until we moved into the house at the beginning of December, she claimed she wanted to get a jumpstart on learning her responsibilities and how the system worked, so she began showing up at the apartment two to three days a week, which led to an extremely cramped working environment. One where I couldn’t openly flirt with Monroe—nothing too outrageous, of course, just a little roguish teasing here and there—and instead, had to spend my time fighting off advances from the tiny blonde firecracker who had apparently never been told ‘no’ before. Naturally, Monroe thought this was hilarious and loved to give me hell about it anytime Effie wasn’t around.
If she only knew . . .

Before I knew it, the entire month of October was almost behind us, and one of my favorite holidays was fast approaching—Halloween. As much as I loved my family and the big holiday dinners and celebrations they had at Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, it was Halloween that I had really grown to enjoy as an adult. When I was a kid, sure it was fun to dress up and go out trick-or-treating, but my mom usually threw away over half of the candy, claiming she’d have to pay for all my teeth to be filled and capped if I ate all of it. So when I went away to college and experienced my first Boos and Booze party at my fraternity, I was like a kid in a candy store—a store where I could eat as many pieces as I wanted. The word ‘Boobs’ definitely should’ve been added to the name, because I saw and touched more tits that night than I’d seen in eighteen years of living with a mom and three sisters. Even the dorky little freshman I was, with my Dracula costume on, I became someone else for the night, and I was offered plenty of necks to suck on. It was safe to say I was a big fan, and for the next three years, I was the chair for planning that party.

Even after university, I’d rent out a private room at a bar or club and throw a huge Halloween bash for me and my friends, viewing it as my one big party-like-a-rock-star night of the year. But with me being in Boston and only knowing a handful of people in the city, I was a little bummed out I wasn’t going to be able to celebrate like I normally did. So when Danny—the owner of Riff’s, the jazz bar I’d started playing at—asked me if I could help him put something together last-minute for a Friday night event, I jumped at the opportunity.

In less than a week, the hero-and-villain themed party was planned and being blasted all over the place with flyers and radio ads. Whenever my work day with Monroe (and sometimes Effie) ended, I’d hit the streets to either help promote the event or to practice with a few of the other musicians who played at the bar, as we were working on a few special collaboration pieces that we planned to debut at the big bash.

I never mentioned the party to Monroe, because I didn’t want her to feel obligated to come. I knew she was taking the kids trick-or-treating early in the evening, and even though the thing at the bar didn’t start until nine, I also knew she wasn’t much of a partier or a night-owl. When she’d come to watch me play my first show at the club, she powered through until the very end, but the next morning while sitting across the table from me, she yawned continuously and even nodded off a couple of times. I’d felt terrible that she was so tired because of me, but at the same time, I was so fucking thrilled that she’d come to see me and truly seemed to love it.

I didn’t bring up the party to Effie for obvious reasons. The last thing I needed was for her to get the wrong idea, and to be honest, I was kind of looking forward to a night where I could just let loose and channel a little of my still-young-at-heart Oliver, without worrying about having to act a certain way or be on my best behavior. I didn’t have specific plans to bring anyone home with me that night, but if it happened, it was safe to say I wouldn’t have minded. It had been a
long
time since I’d been with anyone but my own hand, and it was apparent that my feelings for Monroe weren’t ever going to go anywhere but where they were—safely in the friend-zone. Which is exactly where they needed to stay.

“Hey, man, you ‘bout ready to get this shindig going?” Danny asked as he joined me in the back office of the bar, where I was securing the last piece to my Batman costume—the black mask with bat ears. “We’ve actually got a line down the street waiting to get in.”

I took one last glimpse in the mirror then turned around to face him in his Captain America suit, my smile uncontainable. “Absolutely! You unlock the doors and I’ll get the guys up on stage. Let’s do this.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “I still can’t believe you got this all organized. What am I gonna do next year when you’re gone?”

“No need to worry about that now, Capt’n. Your only concern should be to rid this city of evil,” I grinned slyly as I exited the office, “and make sure you bring all the real naughty ones here.”

He roared with laughter as he moved to open the front doors, and as promised, I rounded up the other guys and we grabbed our instruments, taking our places on stage. With the very first note of music that rang out, the party took off full-steam ahead, and within minutes, the place was jam-packed with people drinking, dancing, and having a ball. As costumes were required for entry, I thoroughly enjoyed scanning the room and seeing what everyone had on—particularly the scantily clad women dressed up as Catwoman, Wonder Woman, Supergirl, and a few others I didn’t recognize, but would’ve been eager to investigate more closely.

The opening set lasted for nearly an hour, and by the time I set my sax down on its stand and went to join the crowd, I was hot, clammy, and in dire need of a cold adult beverage. Batman may have been one cool-ass superhero, but his get-up was not made for performing on a stage under a bunch of spotlights.

Slinking my way through a room full of writhing, sweaty, half-dressed bodies, I finally reached the bar, where Spiderwoman—a.k.a. Sheila the bartender—had a Crown-and-seven waiting for me. I thanked her and flashed one of my best smiles before turning around to peruse the crowd once again. I wasn’t quite sure if I wanted to take my chance with an earth-saving heroine, or explore my wicked side with an impish villain.

Luckily, I didn’t have time to make the hard decision for myself because before I could even make it halfway through my first drink, a busty brunette Batgirl approached and grabbed hold of my wrist. Lifting up on her tiptoes to talk to me over the noise, she pressed her overflowing cleavage against my bicep and winked. “You were awesome up there! You really know how to use your mouth and fingers, don’t you?”

I forced a laugh at the unoriginal pick-up line, because . . . well, because I was pretty sure the top of her nipples were peeking out over the black leather cups of her outfit, and I’m a guy who likes nipples, especially on attractive twenty-something-year-olds. Sue me. “I may know my way around the body,” I smirked smugly and took a drink then leaned down and whispered, “of a finely-tuned instrument.”

As I figured, she giggled at my corny one-liner and batted her fake eyelashes. “I bet you do, Batman. Or would you prefer I call you Bruce Wayne?”

“I prefer Batman as long as I’m in the suit,” I replied as I playfully flexed my muscles.