Hated by My Roommate (Shacked Up Love)

A vision of her singing lullabies to our sweet cherubs forms in my mind. I don’t know how to handle the overwhelming emotions coursing through me right now, and if Sydney comes over to sit with me, I might just snatch her up and toss her over my shoulder and carry her caveman-style out of here to stake my claim.

“I gotta go,” I tell Callie. And then I rush out of the place like there’s a fire in the center. When, in all actuality, the fire is burning deep in my chest.

As soon as I’m outside, I breathe like I’m suffocating. I lean over, placing my palms on my knees, trying desperately to fill my lungs with air.

What’s happening to me? I'm supposed to be here for a job, not planning my life with Brock’s daughter. I legit have floor plans for our two-story house in my brain. We’ll need a spacious backyard for our kids to play. Fuck. What if she’s on the road?

I straighten and force one foot in front of the other until I’m heading around the block. Yes, earlier today I teased Sydney about needing me to warm her up at night, but I would keep her warm for eternity.

And that thought frightens the fuck out of me, because I just met her less than a week ago.

I walk the streets, not sure where I’m headed, just trying to make sense of my irrational feelings. I hated how the other men in the club stared at her like they’d seen nothing more alluring in their pathetic lives. I mean, I can relate, but I despised seeing the lust in their eyes.

I’m sure I mirrored them, and I should know about pathetic lives. I lead the most pathetic of all.

My childhood was the opposite of Sydney’s. I didn’t grow up with wealth or with parents who loved and supported me. Most days, I was sure my father couldn’t wait to be rid of me. My existence was nothing more than a meal ticket for my parents with the government. A check every month. Food stamps. Health care. Every assisted program they could apply for, but I never saw a single benefit.

Few people realize this about me, because I keep it well hidden, buried deep inside. No sense in complaining about something you can’t change.

Besides, it’s what made me into who I am today. And who is that? I guess I’m still trying to figure that out. People have asked many times why I don’t open a talent agency. I don’t know the answer to that question. There’s always been something holding me back.

Some fear of committing.

My thoughts drift back to Sydney. I’ve only just met her and have all but put a ring on her finger in my head. Maybe it’s because she’s different. In LA, I mention my job and the women flock to me, wanting their fifteen minutes of fame and hoping I’m the man who can deliver.

And yes, I’m the asshole who took advantage of their desire, using it to fuel my own desire. Not an admirable way to live, I know.

It’s what drew me to Texas.

Now, I’m wondering if that same thing is driving me toward Sydney.

Loneliness.

“How are you liking Texas, son?” Brock asks, while loading his Colt’s magazine with .45 ACP ammo.

I can appreciate a man who interviews at a gun range. Not sure how I feel about this cowboy hat he insisted I wear. Last night, I ended up finding a hotel room to finish getting my head together. If I’d sensed Brock would request an impromptu meeting this morning, I probably would’ve postponed my pre-mid-life crisis. As it is, I rolled out of bed, showered, and dressed in the same clothes so I could Uber over to the Alamo Gun Range. Because one thing I figured out last night is that I want this job.

“It’s definitely different,” I say, glancing at the surrounding set up that looks like the OK Corral.

“Is it somewhere you could put down roots?” He slams the magazine into the Colt 1911, racking the slide. “As talented as you are, I’m not looking for someone who won’t stick around.”

Oh, I’m sticking around. Sydney’s gray eyes and angelic voice drift into my mind. “Yep. I’m pretty connected to this place. So what does Sydney do at your company?”

His gaze slides to me. “She dabbles in everything. Marketing, contracts. You name it, I’ve taught it to her.”

“And she enjoys it?” Cause with that voice, I can’t help but think she’s meant for things besides the mundane.

“Why wouldn’t she? It’s her birthright.” He aims his gun at the red bullseye a good distance away from us. “Someday, she’ll marry and pass it down to my grandchildren.”

Well, I get his wanting to keep it in the family, but really that will be up to Charlotte and Lucas. I won’t force them to do anything they don’t want to do with their lives. And there I go again. For fuck’s sake, I’ve named our kids. I’m sure Sydney would want a say in that.