3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Jobe

Self-reflection.

What. Fucking. Ever.

Grouchy Daddy. Who needs him anyway.

“Wow,” Beck said as he shut the door behind him. “Who was tall, dark, and super angry?”

“Ugh. That was the one man who continually ignores my passes and evidently hates me.” I kicked off my shoes and fell back onto the couch.

“You were gone all night. A hot man brings you home and yet you don’t have that freshly fucked let me spill the deets air about you. What gives?”

He had a point. I always shared my conquests with Beck—good and bad.

Sadly, as of late, he was the only good one I’d had.

“I didn’t get laid. I got drugged, molested, and the guy nearly had his way with me. Had it not been for grouchy Daddy and the security guards at the club, who knows where I’d be right now.”

Fuck, reflection without wanting it.

Fuck. Me.

I hated that someone who wasn’t me was right.

“What the fuck, Jobe! How many times have we talked about this? Do. Not. Take. Drinks you didn’t watch with your own two fucking eyes while the bartender poured them.” He balled his fists and paced in front of me. “Never have I met someone in more dire need of a Daddy to keep them in line than you.”

“Says he who is Daddy-less, too. What do you know about having a Daddy anyway? I’m my own man and I don’t need or want a man to take care of me or my finances.” Immature much, Jobe? You just reached a new low.

As though last night hadn’t achieved that unwanted goal.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Beck rolled his hand as he mocked me. “Same old song and dance. We get it, you’re independent. But, Jobe, you can’t let your past dictate your present and just because you have a man in your life it doesn’t mean you hand over your finances to him.” They’d have to peel my bank information from my dead, rotting corpse before they’d get it. I’d never give that part of my life over to another again.

“Plus, you’re a top so what would you do with a Daddy?”

“I’m a top with you.”

Blink. Blink.

“And assuming all Daddies are tops is a huge mistake.”

Huh, who knew?

“All right, let’s get more salve on your back. I need to get some sleep before I have to work tonight.”

I rolled over while Beck played doctor and before he left he handed me the remote. “Stay like that for as long as you can. Sorry I don’t have time to take proper care of you.”

“No worries. Not much in the mood.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Jobe?” He shook his head. “I’ll text you later.”

Yawning and flipping through the channels, it wasn’t long before I dozed off. By the time I woke, it was dark outside, and my stomach was trying to eat itself.

With a quick order shot off to my favorite Thai place, I stood and stretched. Cooking wasn’t an option. Not only did I have little to nothing in the fridge, but I was a horrible cook. The kind who forgot water was boiling and eventually burned the empty pan after it evaporated. Not my strong suit.

I changed into a pair of comfy pajamas and grabbed my sketch pad and charcoal pencils. The urge to draw, something I hadn’t felt in far too long, called to me. Once upon a time my dream was to become a fashion designer. With no formal training, I couldn’t find a single soul to even flip through the numerous books I’d filled with endless sketches, let alone take me seriously.

Guess I was only good for my body and not my brains.

Considering I wasn’t getting anymore gigs, my body was only good for one thing now…

The doorman on duty brought my food up and I tipped him then poured a glass of wine and sat on the floor in front of the couch. Dinner for one on the coffee table while binging The Holiday for the millionth time, even though Christmas was still a couple months away.

One of my many go-to movies when I was down, and right now I was about as low as I could go.

It’d been so long since I’d spent a night in, partaking in my own version of Netflix and chill. But tonight, a harsh reality hit me—my life was pretty fucking sad and lonely.

Was that why I filled my hole with any willing dick and my liver with alcohol?

Damn that self-reflection shit.

The road less traveled is often times the path to choose.

Shut up, brain!

“Enough!” I slammed down the rest of the wine. “No more of this depressing shit. No more bad decisions where men and my body are concerned. No. More. When had I crossed the line into pitiful?”

Might just be the wine making these life changing declarations, but I’d find out for sure tomorrow. Give or take a potential hangover and a vat of coffee…

“Ugh, my head.” I rubbed my temples as if that would help. Wasn’t like I didn’t see the hangover coming. “Why in the hell did I think it was okay to drink an entire bottle of wine?” My eyes landed on the empty devil, silently cursing it as though it poured itself down my throat. Then the flashbacks of the promises I’d made to myself, though a bit foggy, returned.

“Coffee. Need. Coffee.”

No way was I hashing out that mess until fully caffeinated.

I stumbled into the kitchen, quite literally. Had the counter not been there I’d likely be on my ass. Still might have a bruise where my hip met the corner anyway. I loaded my trusty machine and inhaled the heavenly aroma as it filled my favorite mug, “E-koala-ty for all,” with a cute koala and rainbow handle on it. Beck got it for me a couple Christmases back.

Blowing on my hot coffee, I had an epiphany of sorts. “No more. It’s time to grow up, Jobe. Take life by the horns and make it your bitch.”

Now, to put a game plan into place.

And actually stick to it…

Therein laid my biggest issue. Lack of follow through and drive. Heard that lovely comment more times than I cared to recount. But the damn squirrels were so cute, I had no choice but to chase them.

Such a pretty boy.

Too bad he’s all looks and no brains.

Just a few of the negative comments said at shoots about me over the years. They never cared if I heard and didn’t bother to whisper. I’d smile for the camera and bite back my retort, banking on the paycheck it came with, though those words hit me deep.

Fuck the haters. I was my own man now. Or at least, I would be.

Periodically, I logged in and checked my investments. For the most part, my portfolio manager handled them. But one stipulation with anyone who touched my money was I had complete and total access to it. If I saw one of their choices wasn’t doing well, I’d fire off an email and ask them to reassess it.

Just because I was basically homeschooled while traveling the world, that didn’t make me an idiot. Far from it, truth be told. If anything, I received a better education than I would’ve in public school given I had a personal teacher.

As for seeing myself with a regular nine-to-five job, not gonna happen. I wasn’t a cubicle guy but I was the set my own hours kind. Besides, I lived off the interest in my bank account. One of the first things I did when I got the rights and my money back was invest in this condo. It was a fixer upper, but affordable and I liked the up-and-coming area of Vegas and the fact it had a doorman. Safety first and all that.

Could I do this?

There was only one way to find out.

I grabbed a granola bar then headed down the hall to the sewing room and opened the door. The only person who’d been in here in months was my cleaning lady so thankfully I wasn’t hit with a face full of dust.

Did I even remember how to cut a pattern, let alone use the sewing machine?

I sat down at the desk that held my beloved seamstress tools. “I can do this. They may never sell but sewing is always therapeutic for me.” I situated myself, set my phone on the charger and called upon my girl for motivation. “Alexa, turn on my workout playlist.” Right on cue, she fired it up as the surround sound piped in throughout my place was filled with the fabulous voice of Lady Gaga.

I danced out into the living room and grabbed the notebook I was working in, my hangover long since forgotten in the wake of the excitement. I flipped through a few pages in search of the design I wished to test out. Lace manties with a matching crop top. Simplicity at its finest but sensual and sexy.

“Now for the color.” I perused the selections of lacey fabrics and landed and a soft turquoise. I always loved that color.

As I sat at the drafting table across the room next to my sewing mannequin, I cut a fresh sheet of pattern paper from the roll and got to work. I’d let this room, and my dream fall to the wayside for far too long. It was time to get back to the real me.