Irreparably Broken (Irreparable 1)

I spin on my stool, and see Monica. She’s a sweet girl with a messed-up life. I’ve tried on more than one occasion to convince her to quit working in this dump, even paid her rent a few times, but she’s determined to support herself and finish school. We’ve never hooked up because I always felt I’d be taking advantage of her if I let things go that far. Stupid, considering sex is her job. Usually I pay her just to sit and talk to me. However, tonight I don’t want to talk.

She hops up on a stool next to me and puts her hands on my knees. Her tits spill over the top of the lacy black bra she’s wearing. “So, Brady, what’s new with you?”

I slide a hundred-dollar bill in between her long, thin fingers. “I didn’t come here to talk tonight, Monica.”

Her brown eyes grow wide with a hint of displeasure, or maybe it’s betrayal. I am such a dick. I’m probably the only guy in here who comes in to visit her without expecting anything dirty from her, and now I’m doing just that. But I need to forget, so I turn away from her disenchanted gaze. This is the profession she chose.

She grabs me by the wrist and pulls me away from the bar. We stop in front of a door, and she knocks. Through my blurry vision I read the small sign above the door that says “VIP.” I let out a disgusted breath, thinking how pathetic it is that a hundred bucks makes me a VIP.

She opens the door and pulls me inside. Music similar to what you’d hear in a porn video filters in through the speakers. It makes me sick. The room is small and empty other than for a small vinyl sofa against the back wall and a metal pole in the center of the room. The stench of fresh sex is thick in the air, furthering my shame for being in here with her.

She walks me to the sofa, and gently shoves me onto it. All of a sudden, she’s a different girl than she is when I normally come here. She’s putting on a show now, covering up the girl I’ve come to know. But this girl is erotic as hell, and I relax into the sofa. She climbs on top of me, and straddles me as she begins trailing sloppy kisses from my ear to my pecs. She smells musty, the scent of other men lingering on her skin. She rises and ambles over to the pole, where she begins to dance effortlessly around it. Her movements are fluid and natural, as though she is dancing with a partner. It’s sensual as hell, and there’s a stirring in my balls. It’s wrong and I shouldn’t be here with her, but I have to forget.

When she finishes her dance, she strolls back over to me seductively. She’s oozing sex, and my dick twitches. Dropping to her knees, she stares up through thick black lashes as she unfastens the button on my jeans and slowly guides the zipper down. I let her slide my jeans down my legs. My dick springs free, pulsing with need. I throw my head back onto the cold vinyl so I don’t have to look at her. I clench my hands into fists, and close my eyes. But that only makes the shame and guilt worse. Tori’s face is in my mind. I’ll just pretend she’s Tori, and that will make everything right. But as Monica slides her fingers around my shaft, everything wrong about me being here slams into me full force. Before Monica’s mouth is on me, pictures of Tori roll through my mind, her soft lips, the curve of her waistline, her warmth and her tenderness.

“Fuck! I can’t do this.”

I gently push Monica back and stand up. I pull on my jeans and toss another hundred at her. Without looking back, I storm out of the room and rush back to my truck.

Chapter 25

Tori

Dread weighs me down the more I think of getting out of bed this morning. Facing Liv and her family after everything that happened last night, is going to be near impossible to deal with. Brady never came home last night. I’m sure of this because I’m in his bed. When I got in last night I came to his room, wanting to immerse myself in as much of him as possible. A sense of loss pooled in my stomach all night, knowing I may never see him again, and it’s worse now that I’m awake and he’s not next to me.

After Brady left me, Harrison found me crying in the parking lot. He explained that Vanessa was his cousin and that they’d been close. He’d been the one to introduce her to Brady. It was tough listening to his version of the story and understanding he feels just as responsible for Vanessa’s death as Brady does. He’d had his friend drive me home when I couldn’t find Liv or Tug.

With a glimmer of hope, I glance at my cell phone to see if I have any missed calls from Brady and am disappointed when I don’t. I do, however, have a new text from Harrison telling me that he wants to meet so we can talk. It’s not a good idea, but I decide to do it, praying he’ll tell me what’s going on with Brady and his family. After texting Harrison that I’d meet him at the Bean at noon, I climb out of bed and prepare to face the Hunters.

Tug is standing at the island, drinking coffee. He turns to me, and I expect things to be weird. His lips curl into the little-boy grin I adore so much.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Okay, he seems like the typical Tug. It always amazes me that no matter how much Tug drinks, he never seems hung over.

I wave timidly. “Morning.”

“And how are you feeling?” he asks.

I rub my head. “Truthfully…I’m still a little confused.”

“Only one way to clear a foggy head after a night of drinking.” He hands me a cup of coffee. I realize he doesn’t know what happened last night. Thinking about it, I don’t remember where he was when things exploded last night between Brady and Harrison.

“Hello, Tori.” Tug interrupts my thoughts. “Exactly how much did you drink?”

I didn’t drink anything. It’s Tug’s brother who’s making my head a cloudy, confused mess this morning. “Huh, oh…not much. I guess I’m a little tired.” I take the cup of coffee from his hand, take a sip and immediately spit it out all over the counter. “What’s in this?”

“Bourbon.” He looks perplexed and peels off a paper towel from the roll. He wipes up the coffee with it and laughs. “I told you there is only one thing for a hangover.”

I grimace and scrape my tongue with my fingers. “No, thanks, I’d rather feel crappy.”

“Guess that means you won’t go out with me tonight.” Tug states the obvious.

His question distracts me from my dismal thoughts, and I love the hell out of him for it. “I’d rather eat toe jam than go out with you, Tug.”

“Oh, now that sounds fun.” He chuckles, and holds his bare foot in the air, wiggling his toes. “I have a little fetish for girls who like to suck toes.”

I cringe at the thought, looking at his mangled toes. “So not happening, Tug. That’s disgusting!”