Fate Interrupted

3.1 - His Kryptonite

Gio

Damn. 

I stand in the atrium motionless, my feet like heavy blocks of concrete, eyes glued to my high school ex-girlfriend's still fine ass as she walks away. The automatic doors open and blow her long, silky caramel hair back unfairly, then close again as I lose sight of the only girl that ever really mattered around the corner. 

A breathy "Fuck," escapes my throat, an old but now unfamiliar fuzzy feeling warms my chest, but my brain forms no tangible thoughts.

Ding. My phone jolts me back into the present, reminding me that my sister is still waiting for an answer... uh, to what again? Oh yeah, she was trying to convince me to get some sort of ad done for my company since work's been so slow. Something about marketing and the fifth floor of this building...

Roughly, I suck in a breath inflating my lungs that are screaming for air almost as a mere afterthought, and force myself to turn almost in slow motion and lurch toward the parking garage as my onslaught of thoughts begin their typical attack.

Fifth floor? Isn't that where she just said she worked? Yes—that's exactly what she said. Viibe. Of course. I recognize the name from the directory; they're the only business on that floor—but in this building? THIS fucking building of all places! I just can't. She's Back? Why? And what the fuck did I tell her? That I worked here? That I'm a counselor? Gio, you fucking idiot! Why the fuck did I say THAT, of all things? She'll never believe me—not that I know what other ass-numbing office jobs are in this slick building. Engineer? That sounds halfway plausible. Why didn't I just fucking say that? And why even lie? Do I even care what she thinks? Yeah, of course I do. Plus, then she would have asked me what I'm doing here... and I'm NOT telling her that.

'You look just the same but better?' My neck heats as I recall all the idiotic things I just said. Hearing my voice echo in my mind is like biting tinfoil, and my teeth clench. Ugh! I finally saw her again, and I acted like a complete dip-shit.

I could hardly help it, though. Her voice when she said my name again? Fuck me.

God, she looked good. I've seen lots of pictures of her over all these years apart. But she is one hundred and ten percent hotter in person. I could never help myself around her—my blood always seems to drain straight from my head to my cock, and suddenly I turn back into a shy studdering thirteen-year-old simp. 

Reaching my truck, my testosterone is so fired up that I grip the door handle and yank. I'm surprised I don't pull the entire thing off. Shit. I gotta chill. 

Starting the engine, my muscles tense, and my mind races. I want a freakin joint—bad. Ren always fucks my head up. I've been nothing but chill and sober for almost four years now, and it's been really good. Well, not exactly perfect, perhaps a bit boring, but hey, flat and safe is better than the hellish rollercoaster I'd been on. But suddenly I feel more alive than I have in a very long time... 

...and I like it. And I also feel assfucking afraid of it.

She just moved back, huh? Why?

My mood is no better as I arrive home and slam the truck door. I guess I should go meditate and shit like my sister tells me to, but I actually have another idea I want to do first, and I'm already regretting it. I trudge up the steps to my house, well, Adam's house—a very unexciting beige, single-level, three-bedroom bachelor pad. Besides our bedrooms, it's got minimal furniture besides the two massive black leather lazy-boy sofas, a matching reclining armchair, and a giant sixty-inch plasma TV —and that's just the way we both like it.