Page 12 of Pretty Broken Doll

Ryann

T he Miami sun beats down on my exposed skin, its warmth welcoming after the torrential downpour I’d left behind in Washington. A cool breeze rustles the palms above my head, salty Atlantic air clearing my senses. The beach is crowded, vast ocean teeming with bodies, a stark contrast to Seattle, where the coastal waters are only warm enough for swimming one month out of the entire year.

Would Shilo like it here?

Sighing in exasperation, I lean back in my seat and glare at the glass of whiskey on my table. It’s been three days now since I took his virginity in my backseat, like a fucking teenager, and I haven’t been able to get him out of my damn head.

Lord, have I tried.

The look on his face when I practically kicked him out of my car—after promising him I wouldn’t treat him like that again—has been keeping me awake every night since Friday. But after what we did…the sex we had, the emotions tied to it, I couldn’t look him in the eye. It’s why I had him sit with his back to me after he’d asked to fuck face to face because that’s something I’ve never done before. Never plan to.

But then I’d wrapped my arms around him, held his hand, talked him through it. Something shifted between us in that moment, and I don’t like the vulnerable way it made me feel.

Raw. Exposed. Guilty.

I couldn’t handle it.

“Callahan! As I live and breathe.”

A booming voice jolts me from my thoughts, and my gaze snaps up to the towering figure of Darius Hunt, forward-center for the Miami Heat and my former college teammate.

His grin is wide and easy, flashing straight white teeth against skin a shade darker than the last time I saw him. Before I can react, he hauls me up into a hug, and I find myself grinning back just as earnestly.

“How long has it been since you visited me? Three, four years?”

“About that, yeah.” With a few slaps on the back, we take our seats, gesturing to the waitress for his order while I take a hefty swig of my drink. “How’ve you been?”

“Same, same.” He runs a hand through light brown curls, eyeing me up and down with an assessing gaze. “You seem to be keeping in shape. I thought desk life would have turned you soft by now.”

“In your dreams. I can still run circles around you on the court.”

He barks a laugh that could always be heard over the cheering crowd. “And yet, one of us is a professional athlete while the other makes spreadsheets.”

The jab hits a tender spot, but I mask the sting with a scoff. I was never popular on the team, thanks to my charming personality, but Darius never let that bother him. Much like a certain purple-haired boy I know, he annoyed the hell out of me until I begrudgingly tolerated his friendship. As far as he’s concerned, I wasn’t lucky enough to be drafted like he was, and I’ve never told him the truth—that I was forced to turn down a guarding position with the Celtics to help Ronin run CalTek.

“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” He asks, casually sipping a tequila sunrise that the waitress sits in front of him. His eyes spark with interest when she smiles, and I’d bet a thousand bucks that he has her number by the time we leave.

Shrugging, I fold my arms over my chest. “Just needed to see an old friend.”

I wasn’t lying when I told Shilo that I had a meeting with a client. Some new company out here is partnering with us to utilize our tech, so Liza and I will be helping their IT guys set it up all week.

“Uh-huh.” He gives me a knowing look, licking sugar from the rim of his glass. “And what’s the real reason?”

Lifting a brow, I watch him smack his full lips. Darius has never been my type, but I can’t deny his features are striking. Back in college, I used to proposition him regularly—half as a joke—but he’s as straight as they come. Not that it ever stopped him from teasing me about it.

Setting down his glass, he snickers with a devious smile. “Come on, Ry, I know you. Social visits aren’t your thing. Spit it out. What’s up?”

Fuck, here we go.

Blowing out a breath, I avert my gaze, focusing instead on the sun kissing the horizon. Words tumble from my mouth before I can second guess them. “I have to get a girlfriend.”

Out of my peripheral, I see his jaw drop while I casually lift my whiskey and take a gulp.

“I’m…confused,” he says slowly. “Last I heard, you were gay. Unless that’s changed?”

Snorting, I shake my head. “Of course not. I still like dick. And only dick.”

“Then what the hell do you mean you have to get a girlfriend?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, mulling over how much to say. Darius owns part of CalTek stock, and as an investor, there’s only so much I can divulge without venturing into insider trading territory. Legally, Dad could sue me if I say too much, and the bastard has no qualms about dragging his own son to court.

“There’s a business merger we’re working on with a security company,” I finally say, keeping my tone measured. “My father wants to use me to ensure its success. He’s also retiring next year, and he won’t leave the company to me unless this deal goes through.”

A few moments of silence stretch between us before Darius lets out a low whistle. His narrowed gaze pins me in place. “And this girlfriend thing ties into all that… how?”

“The woman in question happens to be the owner, and she currently has the rights to software that I… need.”

“Ah.” He leans back, studying me. “So, essentially, your dad wants you to lie? Sweet talk her until she agrees to his terms?”

Bingo.

I nod, gritting my teeth as I drain the rest of my drink and motion the waitress for another.

“Why does it have to be you? Isn’t your brother straight?”

Sighing, I scrub a hand down my face. “All valid questions. But this isn’t the first time he’s pulled something like this. Declan’s not the one taking over next year, and besides, Ronin’s never approved of my sexuality. This is just another way for him to control me.”

Darius drops his gaze, shifting uncomfortably as his shoulders tense. “That’s heavy, man.”

“I know. I’m supposed to have already taken this woman out on a date, but I’ve been dragging my feet for obvious reasons.”

“Right, right.” He rolls his lips thoughtfully. “But this relationship doesn’t have to involve anything sexual, does it?”

My brows jump at that. “Definitely not.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“The issue—“ I cut myself off, inhaling sharply as another whiskey slides in front of me. I wait until the waitress steps out of earshot before continuing. “The issue is that I’m… seeing someone. And it’s a delicate situation.”

Understatement. Everything with Shilo is more than delicate—it’s damn near fragile. And I’m not sure if I’ve completely shattered it already after what happened on Friday. The thought alone makes the liquor in my stomach turn sour.

Darius chokes on his tequila, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “ Seeing someone. Like, dating? A relationship? You?”

“Not a relationship,” I snap, my lip curling in irritation. “But we are… exclusive.”

Jesus Christ.

He bursts into laughter, clutching his abdomen and slapping his knee like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. I shoot him a withering glare.

“So, there’s this river in Egypt,” he begins, and I nearly slap a hand over his mouth.

“I’m not in denial , Darius. It’s not a relationship. We have a mutually beneficial understanding.”

His eyes sparkle with humor. “Ah, a situationship, then. Got it. And this exclusive guy of yours isn’t happy about sharing you with a fake girlfriend, I take it?”

“That’s the thing. He doesn’t know. No one knows it’ll be fake.”

And there it is. The kicker. After being out and proud since junior high, I now have to convince everyone—including my twin brother—that I’m suddenly into women. It’s all so fucked.

Darius’s grin slowly fades, his expression softening into something almost sympathetic. “But you just told me?”

I sigh heavily, turning to watch a couple stroll along the beach with their dog, feeling heartsick. “I had to get it off my chest. Besides Declan… you’re the closest person I have. And you don’t work for me, so there’s that.”

My brother and a guy I’ve barely seen twice in the last decade. That’s the entirety of my social circle. Pathetic. Maybe Shilo was right, I really am boring.

“Oh.” Darius nods, then his eyes widen, lips parting. “ Oh. Wait, you’re involved with an employee? Are you serious, Ry?”

“Technically, we got involved before he became an employee. It just kind of… happened.”

“Well, this is some shit.” He chuckles, raising a hand to get the waitress’s attention. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“You and me, both.”

We order another round of drinks, and while he flirts with the waitress, I stare at the table, turning over my next words.

“Truth is, I could use your help. Women have never been my forte, and I have no idea how to date one.”

He grins, winking at the waitress as she walks away. “And you think I do?”

“You’re handsome and charming. Women flock to you.”

“Holy shit! Playboy Callahan needs a wingman?“ He doubles over in laughter again as I scowl.

“Fuck off. Forget it.”

Sobering quickly, he claps a hand on my shoulder with a genuine smile. “Of course, I’ll help you, man. Remember when my momma kicked me out for throwing that party, and you let me crash in your dorm?”

“I didn’t let you do anything. You broke in and made yourself at home.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t kick me out, so it counts.”

Rolling my eyes, I stifle a smile and take another shot. “Whatever. So how would you go about something like this?”

He leans back, lifting the napkin under his drink. “Depends. How long you in town for?”

“A week.”

“I can work with that.” He smirks, holding up the napkin, which has a number and the waitress’s name scrawled across it. “Come by my place tomorrow. We’ll shoot some hoops, and I’ll scare you straight. Literally.”

I snort, shaking my head. Of course.

Called it.

Unfortunately, I never made it to Darius’s place the next day—or the rest of the week, for that matter. On top of everything I already had to deal with out here, Dad threw even more shit my way. If I wasn’t with our client making sure everything ran smoothly, I was glued to my laptop or phone, stuck on back-to-back calls. By the time I collapsed into my hotel bed every night, I was too exhausted to even think about meeting up again. With the holidays upon us, everyone’s scrambling to cram everything in. Declan’s schedule has been just as hectic, so I know it’s not Shilo piling on extra tasks just to fuck with me.

Speaking of which…

I haven’t heard from him all week. Not that I’ve texted, either. As much as I fucking hate to admit it, I miss my little doll. I miss seeing his face every morning at work, hearing that cute squeak he makes when he’s surprised, and the way he acts out when he’s craving attention.

Now that I’ve had several days of space to reflect, I’m beyond appalled with myself for the way I acted after we fucked. It wasn’t right. He didn’t deserve that, and I intend to make it up to him the second I get back to town. Aftercare isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse, but maybe we could have dinner together post-sex or something, just… a way to make him feel less used.

I fucking hate that I probably made him feel that way. Again.

When the week finally ends, I’m irritable and downright antsy. Chomping at the bit to get home.

It’s raining when my flight touches down in Seattle, the skyline painted with orange hues of autumn leaves. As much as I enjoyed Florida’s warmth, there’s something about Washington’s seasons that call to me. The crisp, damp air carries a memory of my mother’s smile and the warmth of her hands back in Ireland, before Dec and I were separated. Before everything turned to shit.

It feels like a home I lost long ago.

Riding the elevator up to my condo, I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to Declan, letting him know I’m back. My fingers hover for a moment before I send one to Shilo as well.

I need to see him. Feel him. Apologize.

Me:

Just flew back in. If you’re not busy tonight, swing by my place around nine.

He doesn’t respond right away, which isn’t a big deal—or so I tell myself. Declan keeps me distracted for a while as we message back and forth about the trip. I busy myself unpacking, tossing clothes into the wash, and grabbing a quick shower to scrub off the airport grime.

By the time I’ve dried off, though, Shilo still hasn’t replied. Blinking down at the screen, I brush my teeth slowly, unease coiling tighter with each passing moment.

Is he upset with me?

Of course, he is asshole. You kicked him out of the car after he cried during sex.

Fuck. I don’t know why it didn’t register that he’d been sobbing until this very moment, but now, I…

God, I’m the most selfish son of a bitch on the planet.

Grabbing my phone, I quickly type out another text, toothbrush hanging loosely from my lips.

Me:

Look, about last Friday. I’m sorry for the way I acted. Things just got a bit deep, and it messed with my head. I promise it won’t happen again.

Can I promise that, though? I don’t know. But I can try. Fuck, I’ll try.

He reads it almost instantly and responds a second later.

Dollface:

Going out with Kansas, Tina and Carpenter tonight.

That’s it. That’s all he says. No acknowledgment of my apology, no explanation. Nothing.

Who the fuck is Carpenter?

With a growl, I pull up KC’s number and ask him that very question.

Me:

Who the fuck is Carpenter?

KC:

My roommate, why? Also hi :)

Me:

Where are you going with Shilo?

Tossing my toothbrush into the sink, I swish and spit some mouthwash, absolutely livid.

KC:

Hmm, this is the second time you’ve asked that, and I’m starting to catch a vibe. Swear to God, if you’re the reason he’s looked like a kicked puppy all week, I’ll put laxatives in your coffee.

Me:

Where, KC?

KC:

Work is closed and we don’t have to answer to you.

We?

Goddammit. Little shits are ganging up on me.

Deciding to give it a rest for the night, I flop onto my back in bed and seethe at the ceiling, visions of Shilo and whoever this Carpenter guy is flitting through my head. I know I deserve this, but it still pisses me off. Every night for the last week, I’ve thought of nothing else but having him again, and my cock is aching for it.

Maybe that’s the problem. You want to fuck him, not keep him.

With a frustrated growl, I roll over and press my face into the pillow, willing my mind to shut the fuck up so I can sleep.

Tomorrow. I’ll make it up to him tomorrow. For now, let him be angry. My little doll can’t avoid me forever.