Exposed: Book One of The Love Seekers Series (2 page)

Chapter
2

Emma

Bryan:
So are you going to come clean or do I need to call someone in Charleston to come and check on you?

              In my head, his words held a hint of teasing, but I had a feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that if I didn’t answer soon, he might really call someone. And the only person I could think of whom he might call, would be Mel. I had no choice.

              Grumbling, I logged onto the computer to save myself from typing on my phone’s small keyboard, and finally responded.

Me:
Fine, but if I find out you told anyone, your ass is grass.

Bryan:
Who am I going to tell? Just be happy my ship got into port two days ago.

Me:
Where r u at?

             
I wasn’t sure how many tours he had been on during his Navy career, or how many more he needed to do before he satisfied the government, however, I could picture the faraway places he had visited during his travels and my wanderlust flared. Maybe I should have joined the Navy like my sister, father, and grandfather had, but no, I had decided to go to college and focus on psychology. Yes, I could psycho-analyze myself, however, I hardly ever listened to my own advice.

Bryan:
Back in San Diego.

Me:
Oh! Mel didn’t tell me you were on your way home.

Bryan:
It’s not home. It’s a base in San Diego where I currently reside. Charleston will always be home. LOL.

             
I imagined his sexy, cocksure smile, and I shook my head. Everything about him screamed confidence and player, and like others who undoubtedly came before me, I had nibbled at the bait he cast. Huffing, I continued to type, my fingers hitting the keys a little harder.

Me:
Fine. Fine. Not home, but you’re back stateside?

Bryan:
Sure am. Now quit stalling!

             
In my head, I easily heard his command and pictured him ordering his men around. They probably jumped without question, without asking how high. Isn’t that what happens when an officer ordered someone to do something? I don’t know what it was, but as soon I read his order, I tensed, flinching ever so slightly. He wasn’t even in the same room with me, and I found myself doing what he told me to do while thanking my lucky stars that this conversation happened on FS chat instead of over the phone or Skype. I wanted to have that level of protection, my walls and barriers, and chat gave me a little more anonymity. He couldn’t see my shame or embarrassment. He couldn’t see how much I hurt.

Me:
I just had a bad night. Met an asshole for a blind date. That’s it.

Bryan:
Come on. That can’t be all to the story.

Me:
Guy was an ass. How much more of a story do you need?

Bryan:
Just tell me already.

Me:
Why do you want to know so badly?

Bryan:
Why don’t you want to tell me?

Me:
Gee, I don’t know. I barely know you, never talk to you, and not sure I can trust you.

Bryan:
Navy trusts me. ;)

Me:
I may trust you to guard our nation, but other than your handsome face, what are your good qualities? How do I know you won’t spill my embarrassing secrets all over your base?

             
I knew I was stalling, but could anyone really blame me? The moment I opened my mouth and admitted what happened, typed it in black and white for anyone to see, not only would it be real, but he could and probably would laugh at me. Strangers, people I don’t even know, would know of my failures in the love department, which would turn me into even more of a laughingstock than I currently felt I was.

Bryan:
First, I doubt the guys around here would care much for your dating issues. Second, you sound as if you need to talk to someone. I’m available and ready to listen. Third, didn’t I already promise not to tell? Finally, I’m bored as fuck. Talking to you gives me something to do. You can tell me or not. Up to you.

             
He had a point, and I could admit to myself that I felt scared. Scared to vocalize–or in this case write–what had happened tonight because it chafed and still felt raw. But I needed to talk to someone, to vent and scream at the world and its injustices. So I caved and told him what he demanded to know.

             
Me:
Don’t laugh at me.

             
I still feared his reaction.

             
Bryan:
Already promised that too, honey. :p

             
My stomach clenched as I read his last word. I knew a lot of southern men called people honey, sweetie, baby, and a few other choice nicknames without meaning anything by them, but when he called me honey, or baby as he did earlier, it did something to my insides. I melted. The phrase sex on a stick had been made for him.

Fingers shaking over the keyboard, I swallowed hard in an effort to quench my parched throat. I couldn’t decide if my throat felt dry from fear, or from his endearment. Maybe a little of both, but either way, I downplayed my reaction and mustered all the bravado I could.

Me:
Whatever. I had a date tonight. I’m not sure if you remember or not, but I’m sick/disabled and have to use a cane or walker.

Bryan:
I remember. The day we met at karaoke, you were using a walker. Mel said you were having a bad day and she made you come out with us anyway.

Me:
Pretty much, but that wasn’t a really bad day. There are some days I can’t get out of bed because I’m too weak.

Bryan:
Got it. And?

Me:
So…guys don’t want damaged goods.

Bryan:
WTF does that mean?

Me:
It’s true.

             
His response didn’t come immediately, and I almost wondered if he’d decided to stop talking to me. I waited, and waited some more. Still nothing. Getting up to get a drink, I drank it slowly and refilled my glass before I came back to my computer to find that there was still no response. “Well, I guess that’s that,” I muttered to myself, feeling a little disappointed that I ran him off so easily.

              Just as my fingers moved my mouse to hover over the “X” so I could close the Internet window, a distinctive ding stopped me from doing anything. Someone had messaged me. My eyes darted to the screen and scanned it quickly: Bryan. It had
only
taken him
over
ten minutes, but I guessed beggars couldn’t be choosers.

              Actually, irritation oozed from my pores. I felt irritated at myself for wanting and waiting for his response, irritated at him for taking so long, and irritated that I actually found myself wanting to talk to him some more. Men were supposed to be the enemy!

              Maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine.

Bryan:
Sorry about that. My roommate started pounding on my door. He just got home and is fucked up drunk. LOL. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this.

             
Reading his response, I almost gave in. Lord knows I definitely considered it, however, I stood my ground. I refused to respond immediately and instead clenched my hands into fists so I didn’t give into the temptation of typing an answer.

              Another ding filled the quietness, and my dog Curley leapt up from where he laid curled next to me and tilted his head to the side in an effort to figure out where the noise was coming from. He made me laugh.

             
Bryan:
Emma?

             
I watched the clock allowing one more minute to pass before I allowed my fingers to return to the keyboard. But before I could type anything, another ding, and this time Curley whimpered at the noise. Patting his head, I snickered, “Don’t worry boy. The big bad Navy man in the computer can’t get you.” My eyes returned to the screen so I could read what he wrote.

             
Bryan:
You there? I said sorry.

             
His almost begging words, pleading with me to respond to him made me giggle even more.

Me:
Sorry about that. I was using the bathroom and got a drink. I didn’t realize you were back.

Bryan:
Sure you didn’t. I know how you girls operate.

             
The sarcasm was thick with this one, and I laughed some more. It felt good to find humor in the small things and to forget about the bad, even if it was only for a mere moment.

Me:
Do tell.

Bryan:
We aren’t talking about me, we are talking about you right now.

             
I wished we were talking about him instead of me. The only person that knew how much the complete and utter dismissals bothered me, how much I hated the numerous changes in my life, was my best friend Gia. I think Mel had a clue, but only Gia knew the whole sordid story. We had been best friends since we were kids. She was the only person I told how much it cut when a guy wouldn’t give me a second glance for no other reason than I needed to use a cane or walker. I hated using them. I’m 29 and my life has been forever changed all because my body decided to turn on itself. One day I was perfectly fine and healthy, and overnight, I was in the hospital barely able to move and struggling to breathe. At least with the cane and walker, I could continue to be mobile without having to depend on someone else. That would have been even more degrading.

              No, in truth it started before my body decided to abandon me. During the summer before I started college in the bedroom of my boyfriend. The panic welling up within me made me feel sick, and I had to push those memories away and bury them again. I didn’t want to think about that time in my life.

              Taking yet another deep breath, I forced the embarrassment, hurt, and anger threatening to rise, down deep inside myself before I could answer him.

Me:
Guys tend to see me and the last thing they want is to date someone like me.

Bryan:
Why the fuck do you think that?

Me:
Experience.

Bryan:
Explain.

             
I supposed if I had resorted to using one word answers, I couldn’t get upset when he did the same thing.

Me:
I’ve been sick for a little over 4 years. It happened about a month after I turned 25. The guy I was dating at the time couldn’t deal with me being sick, so he split. Since then, I’ve been on exactly 9 dates. 5 from dating sites and 4 from friends with “good intentions” that decided to hook me up with their friends thinking we would be perfect for each other. I’ve experienced anything from them politely staying through dinner, to my wonderful date tonight. Can you hear my sarcasm?

Bryan:
What happened tonight?

Me:
Tonight was my latest bad–I mean blind date. My lovely friend apparently forgot to warn him about my disability, and when the hostess showed me to our table, he got up and tried to leave. He actually turned around as he was about to pass by me, left money on the table, told me “sorry, it’s not going to work out,” and left. Gone. Finito. My date ended before it even started. And tonight I was only using my cane. Can you imagine if I had been using my dreaded walker? Gasp!

              I attempted to put on a brave face and make light of the situation, but I inwardly admitted, it was getting to me. My nose and eyes stung from the emotions welling up within me. I was hurt and angry, and hated my disease and what it did to me. But talking to him on chat where he couldn’t see or hear my tears or pain, and only read about it, was safe. Chat kept him at arm’s length away from me and made it all personally impersonal.

              So many times I pretended I endured the jeers, comments, whispered insults, and the way men reacted to me. I pretended I handled everything like a trooper with grace and dignity, but the harsh reality was, I felt as if I was breaking on the inside.

              The sound of a ding pulled me out of my own head and back to my conversation.