Keep Me (2 page)

“Yup. He’s been nagging me all week.” She stopped to do her best impression of our grumpy, lonely father. “
‘Make sure you tell that brother of yours. Who sees him anymore?’
You know, I’m tired of making excuses for you, Marcus. You need to make more appearances. He needs you. You were always his buddy. Mine was Mom.”

God, I’d rather she ream me out for sleeping around than make me look at her face when she spoke about Mom. It’d be four years soon, but Riley still held on to it like it happened yesterday. Her eyes welled up, telling me she was on the verge of bawling.

Instinctively, I pulled her close, one arm around her fragile shoulders. “I know. It sucks. I miss her too, but don’t do this now. She wouldn’t want you crying over her, she’d want you to rip deeper into me for screwing up your friendship…”

She lifted her drooped head, smacking her tongue with an audible tsk. When she slapped my hand away, I knew my work was done. “It’s always about you. That modeling gig is going to your head, little bro. Time for a change.”

Another thing I had no intention of changing. My agent called me day in and day out with bookings. When I was up to no good as a kid, my mom used to tell me I was lucky I was cute. She also used to say that I wouldn’t get by solely on my good looks. Turns out my mom was wrong about that part. I made a damn good living off my looks and had no problem showing off the goods for the right people. Hell, I showed off my goods for a lot of the wrong people too. But it was all good. Plus, the money was
sick
.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Ry? You’re bad for my ego.”

“Exactly! Maybe I should hang around all day and deflate it for you.”

As much as I loved the idea of chilling with Riley, I had shit to take care of. And by shit I meant figuring out which club to hit tonight. Beck was free and I hadn’t seen him in a while. He’d met a girl and things were getting serious, which meant the party was over. Beck had obviously missed the bros before hos memo. Funny, because he was a reformed player himself. His new woman had such a tight grip on his ball sack he was starting to sound like Mariah Carey and her obnoxious screeching every time he spoke.

“I’m beat. I’ll see you Sunday.” There was no need to elaborate. Riley knew I was a man of few words.

She turned to leave, grabbing her ridiculously large bag from my sofa.

“I really am sorry about Fiona. I didn’t mean to make it your problem.”

As she heaved the bag over her shoulder, I had to wonder how her posture remained so perfect, toting around baggage like that. How many tampons did a girl have to carry along with her anyway?

“It’s okay. It wasn’t entirely your fault. But I’m not bringing the good ones around you anymore.”

I picked up the pillow she’d flung at me and tossed it back at her, whacking her in the back of her head. “Oh, good! Bring the bad ones my way. They’re always more fun!”

“Goodbye, Marcus!” She sang as she left my apartment.

I laughed as I heard the door slam shut behind her. I’d kill any guy who treated her the way I treated women. She deserved so much better than a prick like me. She was just like Mom: caring, compassionate, warm, selfless. She took over Mom’s role even in her own grief, making sure Dad and I were looked after, fed, clean, happy. She was going to be a great mother herself one day—she just needed to find the right guy. He was out there somewhere and I almost wish I could find him for her, but hanging out in the places I did, with the people I did… the guy for her didn’t lurk amongst my lifestyle. Guys deserving of her were nothing like me.

Exactly like I’d said! I wouldn’t allow not even one of these clowns to look at my sister, let alone date her. Some wore enough cologne for an entire football team to smell good. Some were grinding against women despite their shiny, golden wedding bands. And the rest of them had enough ink and piercings to make me look like a Wall Street yuppie. Nope, meeting a guy for my sister at Speakeasies wasn’t going to happen.

“Want another beer, man?” I asked Beck, trying to interrupt him from staring at his phone. If he looked at it one more time I was going to crack it—and its cheesy ass wallpaper of him and his girl—right over his head. “You got somewhere better to be, bro?”

“Nah, man. I’m just beat. We’re going to Marissa’s parents’ tomorrow for dinner. I don’t want to look like I’ve been out all night.”

Pussy. What a fucking pussy. “You’ve got a curfew, don’t you?”

Beck slammed the empty beer bottle on the bar and put his hands in his back pockets. “You’re such a dick. No, I don’t have a curfew, just a life.”

“Yeah, some life. Wasn’t too long ago you were the creep out there on the dance floor.” I pointed my beer in the direction of the joker making a fool out of himself with the bombshell about ten thousand times out of his league.

“Call it what you want, Marcus, but this creep doesn’t need to play the game to get laid anymore.” His smirk was insidious. He may not be single anymore, but he was still a creep.

“I’m gonna get you a shirt that says ‘Game Over.’” I laughed, thinking my joke was quite clever.

“Hilarious, bro. But you’ll see. When you find the right girl and get tired of dodging STDs and statutory rape charges, you’ll be begging me for that ‘Game Over’ shirt.”

I shook my head, spitting out an exaggerated
psssh.
“Somehow, I doubt that.” I caught the eye of a chick with long auburn hair, the kind of auburn reserved for
Playboy
bunnies rather than wholesome girl-next-door types. I set my empty beer down on the bar, and started my walk-of-fame, as I liked to call it, over to the hot redhead. “And that girl’s gonna prove my point right now,” I called over my shoulder.

Beck just rolled his eyes before looking at his damn cell phone screen again. Screw him and Marissa the friend-changer.
This
was the life. And I was good at it.

I tapped the Playboy-centerfold-wanna-be on the shoulder, distracting her from her gyrations.

Her heavily lined eyes popped open when it registered. “Oh my God, you’re…”

“Yup, that’s me, sweetheart. There are plenty of leftovers from that photo shoot. Take you to my place to see?”

The buxom babe waved at her friend and plopped her teeny hand in mine. Damn, I didn’t even have to work at it anymore. Thank you Dangerous Man Couture for your lifetime supply of spandex junk huggers and a pick up line for all of eternity.

“Later, Beck. Have fun with Marissa.” I knew the second I walked out that door he’d be on the phone with her. And instead of fucking, the way this hottie and I would be all night, they’d be fighting over what he did, who he looked at, and why he should never go out again. I winked at the sorry loser like the cocky son of a bitch that I was and left the club with… “What’s your name, sugar?”

“Candy.”

Did it get any more perfect than this?

“Tessa Bradley, you can do this!” I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to convince myself that leaving my son to go back to work was what I wanted.

I peered into the green and yellow gingham playpen, the one I’d registered for with my husband on my arm, and Luca’s delicate grey gaze caught mine before he let out a squealing coo.

“Say it, sweet boy, say it. Ma-ma. Ma-ma.” He was so close. He’d mastered Dada, two syllables I wish I could erase from his quickly growing baby repertoire. But despite all my efforts to hear him speak my name, I got a gummy, drooling grin instead. That would suffice for now. Melted my heart just the same.

Reaching in to pick him up, I held him close, nuzzling his chubby cheeks. This was where I belonged, with my arms around my son. This was where
he
belonged, safely protected by me. I did
not
belong in a drab cubicle inside some busy corporate office. And Luca did
not
belong in daycare.

How did any mother do this? It wasn’t fair. There should be some law against being separated from your kid for this many hours a day. It was just plain cruel. And no matter how much I knew I had to do it, the pain of leaving him tore at my insides. I couldn’t help my apprehensions… they were normal, motherly apprehensions. How was I supposed to entrust the most precious thing in the world to me to complete and total strangers? Yeah, they might sound perfect on paper—a spotless, germ free facility, early enrichment programs, licensed professionals—but in my heart, nothing was as perfect as being cared for by your own mother.

Today being a stay-at-home mom would all come to an end, though.

I’d milked all my resources dry and it was time to take on the last responsibility of being a single mother. I had to bring home the bacon, even if it meant feeling like I was the one walking into the slaughterhouse.

Trying to brush off the worry and the dread, I choked back the rising lump in my throat. I’d cried all night about it. Hell, I practically cried in the damn interview, but I had to keep on telling myself that I was doing this for Luca’s future and that would get me through the day. He needed at least one stable parent.

“One stable parent coming right up, Luca man.”

He had no idea what I was talking about, but he smiled at me all the same. At least he was smiling and not crying the way I wanted to right now. At the first sign of any separation anxiety on his part, they would have to pry him out of my hands to get him through the doors of that daycare.

Turned out Miss Jenna and Miss Ro did have to pry my son out of my hands, but not because of a freak-out on his part. That was all me—I was two seconds from a full on temper tantrum when the director of the daycare came to calm me down. She reassured me that I wasn’t the only one who was torn up about leaving her child, that she’d seen it countless times. One mom had even called every fifteen minutes the first day she dropped her daughter off. I was actually impressed that she was able to wait fifteen whole minutes—I’d been thinking I’d call every five.

After my frazzled drop-off, I stood in line at the Starbucks, checking my watch to make sure I was still on track. There was a whole twenty minutes before I had to make my appearance at Generation X talent agency. Back in the day, I would have given my left boob to work for this kind of quirky, flourishing firm. They were on the lips of every aspiring someone. If you were repped by an agent at GX it was like instant stardom, pretty much an express ticket to Hollywood, fame and fortune. Unfortunately for me, those superficial things didn’t matter to me anymore. The only thing that mattered was Luca. Oh, and getting my coffee in time to make the walk to the office.

“Can I get a grande espresso macchiato, no foam?” As I reached for my wallet, I felt a weighted stare behind me and began to turn around to tell the impatient customer to back up out of my ass. But before I could turn, a raspy, deep voice brought all movement to a momentary halt. There was something recognizable about it, but I couldn’t put a face to the sexy sound.

“Tessie Spano, is that you?”

I cringed in embarrassment at the familiar nickname. My curly blond hair always reminded people of the actress Elizabeth Berkeley. I guess I should’ve been happy it was her role as Jesse Spano in
Saved by the Bell
and not the stripper in
Showgirls
that got me the nickname.