Jaime
I texted my boss that I’d be late for work before I even got in the shower. It’s not a big deal as I tend to work way more hours in a week than required, and I never claim overtime. It’s not that I’m being altruistic; I just love what I do so much that time seems to get away from me.
My shower goes on a little longer than expected because my mind wanders over the short time I’d spent with Cage. I go over every minute we’d spent at that bar, and I linger a little too long on every second we spent in my apartment.
It was so out of character for me to bring him to my place. It takes me a long time to get to know a man well enough to share my body with him. It’s not that I’m old fashioned or a prude, but I’m not one for instant gratification. More importantly, sexual attraction is more than just physical looks. It’s that element that can’t be seen with your eyes… how well personalities mesh and if the other person is trustworthy. While I could make no judgment on Cage’s trustworthiness in that short amount of time, I had a good gut feeling about him.
And… both of us were egged on by my friends, who kept shamelessly dropping hints that we made a hot couple, and we’d have an even hotter night if we left together. Alcohol helped make the decision easier. As I think back over it, I don’t have an ounce of regret for doing something so out of my norm.
Easy to say since I’m safe in my apartment and he didn’t murder me, but, again, I never thought that was a possibility. I’m a pretty good judge of character. I have to be in my line of work with domestic violence victims because I have to make important safety decisions all the time for women based solely on the history they give me.
When the water starts to cool, I give a final rinse of my hair to ensure the conditioner is out before exiting the shower. I wrap my hair in a towel, then slip into a fleecy robe I grab off the back of my door. My stomach is rumbling, and it needs to be fed. I know it’s certainly at a calorie deficit after the workout Cage gave me last night.
I smile at the memory… even as I acknowledge the slight soreness between my legs. It’s like a badge of honor.
Snickering, I head through my small living room into the kitchen.
“What’s so funny?” I hear a male voice say from the direction of my couch.
I shriek in fear, jumping about two feet off the ground, before my brain connects the voice with a name and I realize it’s my brother.
“Jesus,” I yell at Brian, who is casually lounging on my couch with the full carton of orange juice from my fridge. I’m suddenly regretting giving each of my immediate family members a key to my place in case of an emergency. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Brian merely lifts the carton to his mouth, proceeding to drink straight out of it. Grimacing, I stomp over to him and snatch it away, causing juice to spill on his chest.
“What did you do that for?” he growls, sitting up to wipe at the stain on his t-shirt.
I give him my back, snarling over my shoulder. “Mom and Dad might let you get away with that shit, but in my home, use a glass.”
God, my brother pisses me off more often than not. I just don’t understand him. Our parents are hard workers. Dad has a career in the steel mills where he continues to work, and Mom was a cashier in a grocery store. Growing up, they were good role models for needing to strive for success. They impacted me. I applied my energy to college, then to a fulfilling career. My younger sister, Laney, is in her final year of college at Pitt and will be moving on to a master’s program after.
But Brian never had any ambition to do anything. He’s held odd jobs here and there. For the last three years, he’s lived in my parents’ basement completely unemployed.
At least, legitimate employment.
He makes money somehow. I don’t want to know the details, because it would just cause more disappointment within me.
Brian follows me into the kitchen, then goes to my cupboard where he knows I keep the glasses. He takes one out, nabs the carton from my hand before I can put it back in the fridge, and pours a glass, holding it out to me first. “You want one?”
I shake my head. “Coffee first. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this surprising and unannounced visit?”
My pointed reminder that it was rude to walk in without me expecting him makes me wonder what would have happened had Brian come just half an hour before. He would have found Cage and me in bed.
I snicker again.
“What’s so funny?” he inquires… again.
Shaking my head, I move to my Keurig and start a cup brewing. Turning to face Brian, I lean against my counter and cross my arms over my chest. “So, what’s up?”
Brian mimics my action, leaning against the opposite counter in my small, u-shaped kitchen. “You know Mom and Dad’s thirty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming up in January, right? I was thinking us kids should plan something special for them. I had some ideas and wanted to run them by you. I know how busy you and Laney are, so I could run point on handling everything.”
No stopping it. My heart melts, and it reminds me that despite my brother’s many faults, he is truly one of the most caring and considerate people I know. He would, of course, be the sibling who would think forward to doing something special. He might not have a pot to piss in, but what he can’t offer in the way of money, he would make up for with effort.
While I like to scold him inside my head for still living with my parents and eating their food, he admittedly helps them take good care of the house. He’s a handy guy and does repairs. Takes the garbage to the curb and cleans up the kitchen each night after Mom makes dinner. He helps clean the house and runs errands. Pretty much anything my parents ask of him, he does, and so I have to learn to have more grace where he’s concerned. I need to love him for his strengths and forgive his weaknesses.
“I think that’s a great idea, Bri,” I say, the affection evident in my tone. “How about me, you, and Laney get together and talk about it? I’m running late for work, so now isn’t the greatest time.”
“Sure,” he replies easily, tipping the glass of orange juice back and draining it. I turn toward the Keurig to grab my cup of coffee, but I freeze halfway to the fridge when Brian says in a tentative voice. “Just one more thing.”
I shift to face him, my entire body tensing with what I know is coming.
“Can I borrow some money?” he asks, shame-faced.
“What for?” I ask through gritted teeth. This isn’t the first time he’s requested money from me, and I doubt it will be the last.
“I’ve got some money coming in for a job I did, but I owe another guy some and I’m short. I’ll be able to pay you back by the end of next week.”
“How much?” I ask, hating myself for asking. I should just say no.
“Two hundred,” he murmurs, casting his eyes down.
My anger gets the better of me, even as I put my coffee down and move toward my purse on the counter. I grab my checkbook out. As I write him out a check, I demand, “When are you going to grow up, Brian?”
“Excuse me for not being perfect like you and Laney,” he mutters.
“We’re not perfect. We just work hard.”
“I work hard,” he whines, and I want to smack him.
“Not at stuff that will make you independent,” I retort, ripping the check out and thrusting it toward him. “Your side hustles aren’t a legitimate way to make a living, and you can’t seriously enjoy living in Mom and Dad’s basement.”
Brian shoots me what I’m sure is meant to be a charming grin. He’s got the same red hair and blue eyes as I do, and he often comes across as handsomely charming. Right now, I still want to smack his face. “Come on, Jaime. I don’t pay rent, get free meals, and Mom does my laundry. Why would I want to move out?”
I curse under my breath, knowing I will never get through to him. But I make a mental note to talk to my parents about the situation. They’re enabling him. If he’s going to live there, he should at least get a job and help contribute to the finances.
I should sit Brian down to find out exactly what his side hustles are. Why does he have money coming in soon for a job he’s already completed, but owe someone else money? I should give him guidance, despite him being five years older than me. Help to put him on a path that will lead him to independence and perhaps some type of success. He may not have gone to college, but he’s not without skills. Hell, I’m sure Dad could even get him on at the steel plant if Brian wanted.
But I decide against it. I’ve tried these conversations over the years, and it results in nothing. Brian will nod, agree, and promise to step up to the plate. I’ll get hopeful and aspire for something good for my brother.
Then he’ll do nothing, and I’ll be disappointed.
It’s better to keep my expectations low when it comes to Brian’s future.
Brian has his check in hand, so I finish doctoring up my coffee. As I head back toward my room, I say, “Lock up on your way out.”
“Okay,” he says quietly, then adds. “Thanks so much, Jaime. I owe you.”
I don’t reply because there’s no point. I’m not even sure I’ll see that two hundred dollars again.
After I close my bedroom door, I head into the bathroom, taking some deep breaths along the way. I have to let go of the frustration Brian causes within me—not because he doesn’t do as I expect, but because I love him and only want what’s best.
I choose to let it go for the day. I have a busy caseload to deal with, women and children’s safety to help achieve, and a date with a hot, intriguing man tonight.