K. Linde - Take Me for Granted

I didn’t remember the number of women I’d fucked.

Yeah, that might sound cocky or maybe a bit disgusting even, but I’d never given two fucks. I wasn’t about to start now.

Whoever was lying beside me needed to get the fuck out before I could remember her name.

Did I remember her name?

Lany.

Lacy.

Lucy?

No.

Fuck.

I didn’t give a shit. She just needed to leave, so I could get back to sleep.

“Babe,” I grumbled, nudging the chick in the ribs. “Darlin’.”

“Mmm,” she groaned. “I love when you call me darlin’.”

I’d already known she liked it. She had lost her clothes quickly enough to the sound of it last night. Now, I was pretty sure I’d never say it again if it meant that she would get out quicker.

“Time to go home.”

The girl turned on her side and tucked the comforter under her arms, covering her tits. Well, there went her best quality. She gave me a come-and-get-me look and pouted her lips as if that would change my mind. Not likely.

“Oh, come on, Grant,” she whispered throatily.

Her hand slid down my chest and then farther south. Yeah, not happening. I wasn’t interested in another mediocre performance on her part. Maybe a blow job. Then again, probably not. She stroked my cock, and I was reconsidering that blow job. She had to be better at sucking dick then fucking. It was some unwritten rule. Either they sucked, or they fucked.

“No, honey. It’s time for you to go home.” I rolled onto my back and reached for the joint and a lighter on my nightstand.

“That’s not what you were saying last night.”

I flicked the Zippo to life and took a drag on the joint. “That’s what I’m saying now. You knew how this was going to go when you came back with me. So, save me the headache and just leave.”

“Baby…” she whined.

She tried to shimmy closer to me, but I pushed her away.

Man, her voice grates on my nerves. “This was fun. Nothing more.”

“Can’t we have fun again?”

“No. I’d rather have fun with someone else,” I told her point-blank, taking another drag.

Her jaw dropped, and she hopped out of bed. “Whore,” she snapped. She snatched up her clothes and then stormed toward the door.

I waited until it slammed shut behind her before blowing out the smoke.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. I preferred the term manwhore. I’d earned that title, and I was fucking proud of it.

“It’s just not working.”

Four words—and I was completely detached from every single one of them.

It hadn’t been working between Benjamin and me for a while. It wasn’t just because I wasn’t willing to lose my virginity to him. Though, I was sure that had factored into his decision. I just didn’t like him more than my perfect 4.0 GPA, and that was a low blow to his ego. I guessed the fact that I wouldn’t lose my virginity to him was a blow to his ego, too. Oh well…

“Aribel, it’s not you. It’s me.”

Uh-huh.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Too late.

Sort of.

Did I finish that chemistry assignment?

I couldn’t remember. I was pretty sure I’d gotten through the last two problems. They’d been the most difficult. Maybe if he hurried this up, I could double-check them.

“I hope we can still be friends,” Benjamin continued.

“That’s okay,” I said, my voice indifferent. My hands were hanging at my side. “I mean, we weren’t really friends before, and we don’t have any classes together. Actually, we have very little in common.”

“Aribel, this is what I’m talking about. You always just spit out the first thing on your mind.”

I was already bored with the situation. I reached up and started fiddling with the top button of my peach cardigan. His eyes flicked to the movement, and his face hardened further.

Oh well.

The day a guy held my interest longer than my chem lab, I’d probably marry him and have the requisite two-and-a-half children, like my parents.

“I just feel like sometimes…I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel kind of like you just don’t care. You get so wrapped up in everything else that—”

“What?” I asked, trying and failing to keep from snapping at him.

“I’m just saying that maybe you should stop and smell the roses.”

“I don’t like roses.” I crinkled my nose.

Benjamin blew out his breath heavily. “Just forget it.”

“Okay.”

When Benjamin left, I walked over to my desk and rechecked the chemistry assignment on my MacBook. Finished. That’s a relief. Now, I wouldn’t have to worry about that.

It was early September, and I was in my sophomore year at Princeton. I was taking my first upper-level class in the chemistry department. I wouldn’t want to fall behind—not that it was likely. But with the homework off my mind, I could reflect on what had occurred.

Benjamin had dumped me. I wasn’t sad exactly, not really. I was more disappointed. He was exactly the kind of guy I was supposed to be with—bright, a junior at Princeton, parents still happily married and part of the high society in Boston my parents frequented. He was driven, motivated, and ambitious…like me. I just didn’t know why it hadn’t worked, why it never worked.

Walking out of my bedroom, I turned toward the kitchen to make myself a pot of tea. Some honey lemon chai would make this all a little better.

“Hey, Aribel. I just saw Benjamin leave,” one of my roommates, Shelby, said with a smile. She was standing by the open refrigerator across the room. Her shoulder-length brown hair was up in a ponytail, and wearing Nike running shorts and an oversize T-shirt, she looked like she had just come from class. “You still making him wait?”

“I guess he’ll have to wait a lifetime,” I responded dryly.

“You should just give it up. It’s really not a big deal. Cheyenne is going to make fun of you for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t care what Cheyenne thinks,” I said stubbornly.

Cheyenne might be one of my closest friends, but the girl was a real nuisance when it came to my love life.

“So, for real, why not Benjamin? Doesn’t he fit the list of things you want in a guy?” Shelby leaned her hip against the refrigerator and waited for my reply.

I looked up into her dark brown eyes. “I don’t have a list.”

Shelby snorted. “Well, if you had a list, wouldn’t he fit?”

I shrugged noncommittally. “Sure.”

“Oh my goodness, she agrees with me without arguing. The world has ended as we know it.”

“You’re hilarious, Shelby. You should be a stand-up comedian,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You haven’t answered my question. Sidestepping won’t work on me. Why not Benjamin?”

“Because he broke up with me.”

“What?” Shelby all but shrieked. “When? Just now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I was a jerk, and Benjamin just broke up with you.” Shelby rushed forward and enveloped me in a hug.

She was taller than me by a few inches, and her stooping over me made me feel even more uncomfortable than I already was.

Sympathy—my favorite.

I stood there awkwardly as my roommate tried to console me for something I wasn’t even sad about. Yeah, I was disappointed that it hadn’t worked out, but it wasn’t like I was a blubbering mess. Shelby needed to pull herself together.

“I’m fine, Shelby.” I patted her back.

“You’re not fine, Aribel. You always act like you’re fine, but you’re clearly not. Who is fine after her boyfriend breaks up with her? No one.”

“Really. It’s okay.” Please drop it.

“No. You know what? I’m going to call Cheyenne and Gabi. You’re coming with us tonight to the ContraBand show at The League, and we’re going to find you a rebound.”

I fiercely shook my head from side to side. I didn’t need a rebound. More importantly, I wasn’t interested in rebounding off of someone I hadn’t cared that much about. “No way, Shelby. I am not going to a dumb bar to see a dumb band. That is not my thing.”

“That’s exactly why you should go. And ContraBand isn’t a dumb band,” she scolded. “Even if you don’t like the music, you will appreciate their talent.”

“All I know is that you guys drool all over them,” I said.

“That’s because the whole band is smoking hot.”

I rolled my eyes. That was just what I wanted to do—spend my precious sleeping hours at a party with some crappy college band. “Count me out.”

Shelby narrowed her eyes at me and gave me a look that said, Just try to argue with me.

I’d seen that look before. It was never followed by something I would be happy about.

We hopped off the small stage at a local Princeton bar, The Ivy League.

“That was a fucking good set!” Vin yelled. He flexed his bulging biceps and set his black guitar down on a stand.

“You’re telling me,” Miller cried, high-fiving him. The bassist was the brains of the operation. He was tall, clean-cut, and put together with short brown hair and a quiet confidence.