DAMIEN
Meara’s habit of walking out after sex bothered me more than I wanted to admit. I liked her a lot, and that was also a sore spot. I didn’t want to get so caught up in one woman that it interfered with my day. After she left, I couldn’t think about anything else.
I had been ready to roll over and go to sleep, but when she vacated the bed, I lost all ability to relax. I stalked back into the kitchen to get a beer. Sitting on the couch in my underwear, I turned on the news. It was the worst thing to do when I was trying to wind down but one of the best ways to get my mind off a problem. The stock market and the finance world was all consuming. I could fall down the rabbit hole and emerge days later not having slept or eaten.
I really liked being an investor. I liked keeping an eye on all the publications and the news channels on the off chance a particularly lucrative tip would arise. I spent the next several hours clicking back and forth between live feeds until I was finally tired enough to sleep.
The next day was Saturday. I woke up irritated. Damn Meara. She should have been there with me. I imagined rolling over on top of her and pinning her to the mattress for a little morning love. I didn’t know what her problem was. I wasn’t asking her to move in with me; it was just one night.
Groaning, I dragged a hand over my face. I tumbled into my clothes and went downstairs to grab a cup of coffee. I needed to talk to someone, but I didn’t feel like unloading to the guys. It was still weird with Kent, and Sean was pissed at both of us. Plus, I didn’t want to admit that I was all twisted in knots over a woman. They would call me whipped, and I didn’t want to deal with the ribbing, even if it was in jest.
I texted my sister to see if she was doing anything. She was a single mother who lived about thirty minutes away in a suburb of Chicago. I kept tabs on her, doing the best I could to help her raise her daughter. She was a tough cookie and didn’t need constant attention, but I made sure to drop by at least once a week. The kid needed a father, and I was the closest thing she had to one. Besides, Danielle was the perfect person to talk to about my Meara problem.
My door’s open any time.Danielle texted me back.
I brushed my teeth, splashed a little bit of cologne on, and walked out the door. On the ride over, I blasted my music. I needed something abrasive to soothe the outrage that Meara’s behavior had caused. Images of her spread out before me, twisting and bucking against my intrusion plagued me. I knew I wanted more and that I could never get enough. There wasn’t a word in the English language that could convey how I felt about our new intern. Maybe multiple words, maybe sentences or paragraphs or even novels would be needed to express my confusion.
I searched for the positive as I drove. It was one of the things that kept me going. Any leader of industry will tell you that a negative mindset is a handicap. You don’t have to be optimistic all the time, a little realism is important too, but if you get caught up in why you can’t do something or why nothing will ever work out, that’s a death sentence. I liked that Meara was upfront about her desires. At least I knew where I stood.
I also knew that if I ever convinced her to stay the night, it would be meaningful. Not that I had a lot of hope in that department; she could be as stubborn as I was. I pulled into my sister’s driveway after being alone with my thoughts for far too long.
My niece, Nova, came bounding out to meet me. She was rail thin, a tiny girl who had so much energy it was hard to keep up. It wasn’t Danielle’s fault that her daughter was so small. She tried at every turn to feed the child. Nova was just a picky eater, and she burned way more than she took in.
I picked her up easily and swung her onto my shoulders. She screamed in delight, wrapping her hands under my chin like a living bike helmet. I walked toward the front door and then pretended that I couldn’t get inside.
“What? The door’s too short,” I said, perplexed. “But I’m not that tall.”
“Uncle Damien,” Nova giggled.
“My hat is talking to me,” I mused.
“Uncle Damien,” she repeated.
“What? That’s not a hat!” I picked her up and set her on the ground. “How are you today?”
“Fine. Do you want to see my fairy house?”
Nova was into fairies. That was her thing. She didn’t like Barbies, and she didn’t ride bikes. Everything had to be about fairies, from the movies she watched to the clothes she wore. She spent hours in the backyard building houses for these little action figures that Danielle bought her.
“Of course,” I responded and let her drag me around the side of the home to the back where the latest masterpiece lay.
It was a three-story structure made of sticks with an unstable architectural design and a roof of moss that sloped down to form one of the walls. I picked up a toy from where they lay beside the front door.
“Is this Betty?” I asked.
“No,” Nova laughed.
I pretended to have Betty knock on the door, “Hello? Is anybody home?”
“Damien,” Danielle said from the back porch.
“Hey.” I turned and stood up, waving at Nova’s mother. “Nova was just showing me her latest build.”
“We’ve got them all over the yard,” Danielle said, coming down the steps. “We might have to start charging rent.”
“Mom!” Nova moaned.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Danielle asked.