Exposed: Book One of The Love Seekers Series (3 page)

Bryan:
Your walker isn’t dreaded, it’s a part of life.

Me:
Yay! Lucky me.

             
The sarcasm flowed through my fingers. Some said that the only emotions emails, texts, and chats held (at least the words) were the emotions the reader read into them. Nothing more and nothing less. I was pretty sure he picked up on the fact that my tongue dripped acid right now.

Bryan:
Well, it isn’t like you can do anything about it.

Me:
Gee, thanks for the newsflash.

             
Silence. I thought I might have run him off, but before I could type anything, he returned.

Bryan:
I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through, but I can tell you that you just haven’t found the right guy. 

Me:
I’ve heard that before.

             
If Bryan were in the room with me in that moment, I would have throat punched him. I hated hearing—or in this case reading—those words.

Bryan:
From what I remember when I met you, you were shy.

Me:
Yeah, so?

Bryan:
So, I think there are guys out there who are interested in you, who can look beyond the disability and see you for you. You just have to open up a little more.

Me:
This is who I am.

Bryan:
And I think I can help you change.

Me:
Excuse me?

Bryan:
You heard me. Did you date a lot before you got sick?

Me:
Well

             
I accidentally hit enter and paused. Another confession, another thing I had to see in black and white. It was another truth that would glare back at me.

Bryan:
I’m not getting any younger. Did you or didn’t you? Not a hard question.

Me:
Not much.

             
I cringed when I typed my response. Vague as it appeared, it screamed the truth.

Bryan:
Was that because you were with your last boyfriend for a while?

Me:
No, we had only been dating a month.

Bryan:
Oh.

             
Was I supposed to say something, or was he? Did he feel like I was a lost cause? Nervousness had me on edge and feeling cornered and defensive, and while I was trying to hold it all in, I felt like the flood gates would burst open without much effort. And his radio silence after those two little letters appeared on my screen did not help. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when I saw his next message.

Bryan:
What has been your longest relationship with a guy?

             
Should I answer him honestly? I really didn’t want to, but at the same time, I felt compelled to give him the truth.

Me:
A month if we are talking about dating. Friendship wise, I’ve been friends with a couple of guys since high school.

Bryan:
I see. What do you like to do?

             
He sees? What the hell did he see? I wanted to demand he tell me, however, my fear won in the end and I kept my thoughts to myself.

Me:
Do?

Bryan:
Hobbies. What do you like to watch? Do you like sports, movies, books? What?

Me:
I like to write and read a lot. Love sports, especially hockey and basketball. LA Surf all the way for the hockey, and of course the Dallas Outlaws for basketball. But all sports are fun. One of my guy friends said that I made the best kind of girl because I was just one of the guys. I could drink them under the table, watch sports, and not put up a fuss. He said they didn’t have to worry about me griping at them because I’m just another buddy.

             
I hit enter and winced. Not only did that statement paint me in a bad light, but it probably also fell under the category of TMI. How embarrassing. I mean, even my closest guy friends didn’t consider me datable. Maybe I should tattoo the word ‘
hopeless’
across my forehead.

              Forcing myself to scan what I had just sent, I wanted to be like an anime or manga character and face palm using a brick wall. How in the world did someone ramble in a chat? I’m not sure, but I accomplished that feat.
What an idiot, Emma! Smooth operator right here!
I was making myself into an utter fool, which dampened my spirits even further thinking about it. Maybe it was better if I closed this chat down before I typed anything else mortifying.

Me:
Sorry. I’m tired and I think I just need to go to bed.

Bryan:
Wait. Give me a minute.

Me:
What?

Bryan:
How many guys have you dated…total?

Me:
Does that really matter?

             
What did a number, have to do with anything? Could he not leave me with a shred of my dignity intact?

Bryan:
If it didn’t, you would tell me. LOL.

             
LOL? That did it. My frayed emotions started to run amuck. He mocked me now, and after the night I experienced, that sent me over the edge. Pressing the caps lock on my computer, I did the next best thing to yelling: angry typing.

Me:
LISTEN HERE ASSHOLE! NEWS FLASH, BUT NOT ALL OF US ARE OUT TO BREAK A RECORD TO SEE HOW MANY PEOPLE WE CAN GET INTO BED AND/OR DATE. UNLIKE YOU, I HAD OTHER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT IN LIFE AND DATING HAD TO TAKE A BACKSEAT! SO YOU CAN KISS MY LILY WHITE ASS AND JUMP OFF THE NEARST BRIDGE, JERKOFF!

             
I slammed my laptop closed with more force than necessary, powered down my phone, and decided to ignore the world for the rest of the night. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken my hurt feelings and anger out on him, but right now, I didn’t care. I felt more than a little raw and defensive from the snub I received a couple hours ago, and he took the brunt of my anger. Had I overreacted when it came to Bryan? Yes, I probably had. Had he been an ass? Given what little I knew of him and all the assumptions I’ve made after meeting him and talking to Mel about him, most definitely. But then again, assumptions could be wrong and it was possible he actually wanted to help me.

              Whatever. I did not care and did not want to think about it any longer. I was done for the night.

              Crawling into bed, Curley jumped up beside me and we cuddled together. In a world where people cared little about me, or others for that matter, I knew I could at least count on my dog. He just couldn’t give me everything I craved, and after tonight, I seriously doubted I would ever find a guy whom would love me, disability and all. Saying it didn’t matter to me, or hoping people would be able to get past it all in order to see who I was on the inside, sounded good, but in reality, nothing was ever that simple or fair.

              My eyes closed and shut the world out. I just wanted to wake up and forget tonight ever happened.

Chapter
3

Bryan

              What the fuck just happened? Emma apparently despised answering certain questions. All I asked was how many guys she’s dated, and she gave me a dressing down worthy of my commanding officer. What was that?

              I tried to send her another message in order to get some answers–or any kind of fucking response–but she went AWOL. Normally if someone was online, I would see a green dot by their name, or if someone switched to the mobile app, it would have a small phone icon, but her name had nothing, which meant she was off the grid.

              Technically she couldn’t completely disappear. If I really wanted to push the issue and contact her, I could always call Mel, who would conveniently give me Emma’s phone number. But I foresaw how messy that would get–with a capital M.

              Mel stumbled into my life in high school announcing to the world we were best friends within days of our initial meeting. At that point, I didn’t know if I even wanted to be friends with her, but she stuck by me then and ever since. Some thought we were dating in secret, while others placed bets on how long it would take before we crossed the line and became more than “just friends.” With Mel? Oh, hell no! I hated to break it to them—not really—but nothing ever happened, nor would anything ever happen between us. There may have been an almost kiss at a party, however, that ended very badly, and it was something that had haunted my nightmares to this day. I could not think about that night without my body breaking out into a cold sweat and my stomach churning.

              To distract myself from traipsing down that better left forgotten memory, my thoughts turned from Mel to another girl, one completely opposite of my best friend. Emma Taylor. I’m not exactly sure when I started to hear about her. Vaguely, I recalled Mel saying something years ago that she found a keeper at work, which was her code for a person who wasn’t a complete asshole, and a person she could actually tolerate.

              Working in the marketing department for a large firm, Mel oversaw and made sure the various regional offices had the latest material and that the sales force did their job. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I remembered Mel telling me Emma worked in the training department for the company–whatever that meant.             

              Emma hadn’t been with the company long before she got sick. About a year after that, Mel called to tell me Emma would be moving to her city. Hearing about Emma’s move to Charleston was news to me. The way Mel talked, I assumed that she and Emma were buddy buddy, hanging out every Saturday night. I never realized before Emma moved that they had never met in person.

              But she still battled some sort of illness.

              When someone said they were sick, my first thoughts are flu, cold, or strep throat. And if someone said long-term illness, I immediately thought cancer. Apparently, I was always wrong. There were other things in this world that made a person sick. I could not recall exactly what she had or what it did to her, but the first time I saw her, she walked in dragging her feet while pushing a walker. Her whole body and countenance reminded me more of an old person instead of someone in her 20’s. Mel told me that Emma was having a bad day and had to use the walker. She also said that sometimes Emma could get away with using a cane, but I had never seen her use one. Then again, we had only been in each other’s company that one night.

              I had to admit to myself, it unnerved me to see her for the first time. During karaoke, I tried to ignore the walker and just have a good time. Hell, maybe I tried to ignore her, ignore the sick person, but that didn’t last long. In the beginning I couldn’t manage to look her in the eye, and then she did something that earned my respect and made me laugh. She leaned forward, slapped the table with her palm, and with a slight slur in her words that had more to do with whatever the fuck she had, and less to do with alcohol—I can’t actually remember her drinking a drop—she declared, “Think of it like a portable chair that you can take for a joyride without a license. I’m sick, not dead.”

              That night, she sat in her seat, belted out songs with the rest of us, and held her head up high as she enjoyed herself.

              Which brought me to why it surprised me to hear her put herself down so badly. She seemed like a cool girl, and I knew she was pretty. Maybe not stick thin like some girls, but then again, a lot of guys I knew, myself included, wanted something to hold onto. High cheekbones, brown eyes that sparkled as if she were plotting something which could undoubtedly get someone in trouble, silky brown hair, and a quick wit. I was also quite sure she possessed big brain, because I sort of remembered Mel telling me something about Emma obtaining multiple degrees.

              Any guy would be lucky to have her. Yes, the walker may put off most men, but not everyone would turn her away just because of something she had zero control over. I’d date her except for two things. One, I didn’t date seriously. Emma deserved someone who was searching for a forever type of relationship. And two, she was nowhere near my type. Confidence was key, but I also wanted someone who knew how to use their sexuality. Don’t get me wrong, Emma was a nice girl, however, I didn’t typically do nice.

              On top of that, I had to agree with her friend. She would make a great buddy. Too bad she wasn’t a guy. If she was, we could have gone looking for trouble and had some fun.

              That being said, I fully intended to help her as promised, and when I was done, guys would be lining up to meet her. I staked my reputation on it.