Mr Garcia

“You’re going to be signing autographs all night anyway. You don’t need me there.”

“April, you promised.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, but I want Chadwick’s for dinner afterwards.”

“Deal.”

Chadwick’s is my favorite restaurant. I always make him take me there when he makes me go to football stuff. To be honest, I’m the anti-groupie. I really don’t see the appeal in his football. I mean it’s not like its gridiron or something. It’s a cultural thing, I guess. He always asks me to come to his games, and I always decline. It’s not real football to me. But I’m an American, and my sporting tastes will never change.

“I’ll see you in about an hour,” I say.

“Okay.” He hangs on the line.

I know that pause. “What?”

“I’ve been watching porn for about four hours. I’m good to go.”

I smirk. “Make that half an hour.”

“I’ve already jerked off twice.”

I feel a twinge down below. “See you in fifteen.”

I lie in the dark and stare at a swirly pattern on the wallpaper. The moonlight peeks through the crack in the curtains. I don’t know how long I’ve been awake but it must be hours.

Duke is wrapped around me like a blanket, nestled in close and holding me tightly from behind. He told me that he loved me tonight.

And I feel like shit.

Because I do love him, but…

My stomach twists with sadness.

What is wrong with me?

I don’t feel jealousy. I don’t feel attachment. I don’t feel that rush of closeness. I don’t feel anger. I don’t feel anything except the physical release of an orgasm.

And it’s not just Duke. It’s been like this with others too. Up until now, I always thought it was them, not me. This time it’s different.

Deep down, I know.

A lone tear rolls down my face and onto my pillow. I’m filled with a sadness I can’t comprehend. I’m lonely… but I’m not.

I’m with someone but I’m alone.

It’s like the men that I’ve loved have broken me.

I know they were douchebags, too, and I know that I deserve better, but it’s as if my heart no longer believes that I’m worthy of being loved so it blocks everyone out before they get the chance to hurt me.

Duke always jokes and calls me the Ice Queen. Is it true?

I wish I met him before. I wish I met him when I could have loved him.

I would have given him my all.

He stirs and kisses my shoulder. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers.

I turn and kiss his cheek. “Nothing, sweetie, go back to sleep. Bad dream.”

He pulls me closer. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

Tears well in my eyes. I wish you were safe with me.

Duke deserves better.

“Don’t forget, staff meeting in ten,” Lewis says, his head peeking around the door.

Damn it, I’m too busy for morale boosting crap this morning.

I fake a smile anyway. “Sure thing.”

I send my emails and print out my to do list for the day. I’m the newest lawyer at Sterling Law, and I like to keep on top of my workload. It was a huge win landing this job. I applied for it believing that I had no chance in hell of getting it, and I got the surprise of my life when I got the call.

I’ve been here ten months now and I’ve settled in nicely.

I moved from Manchester for the position. Got myself a nice apartment and a new car to go with my fancy new job. I feel all grown up, and I am loving life.

It’s funny how things turn out. I had every intention of returning to the states after I finished my degree. I’d made steps towards doing that. But when I went back to the states for a visit and began looking around for where I was going to resettle, nothing jumped out at me. I was more confused about what I wanted than ever.

I decided that I’d just stay here until the answer to where I’m supposed to be appeared.

I’m happy for the interim, and I never thought I would say this, but England is beginning to feel like home. I mean, I have been here for seven years now, so I guess it makes sense.

I make my way to the conference room and take a seat at the back, watching on as the large room begins to fill. Sterling Law is the biggest law firm in the United Kingdom. We have thirty-four lawyers, and they each have their own personal assistants and secretary’s. I don’t have a PA yet, but when I do, I’ll know that I’ve made it.

The room is full to capacity when Philip Rogers, the owner, comes into view. I haven’t seen him around lately. I think he’s been working a lot from our other office across the city. Philip is in his late fifties and a distinguished looking man with silver hair. His accent sounds all snooty like the Queen’s or something.