Bleeding Hearts (Hearts of Savannah #1)
1. Bethany
Chapter 1
Bethany
JULY
“ H e had so much potential, Beth, so much. Big dick energy. It flowed off him so hard my downstairs kitty purred.” My best friend, Jodi, spills the tea during our weekend catch-up session. Her shoulder slumps as she sinks into her seat, disappointment taking over. “And then he got naked.”
“Oh, no.” I know where this is going. She’s had a string of bad luck in this department lately.
“No BD. I can’t even explain it.” Sitting up, she leans forward and points a finger at me. “How can a man who looks like a professional football defensive end have such a sad piece of equipment?” With each shake of her wild blonde curls, Jodi’s frown becomes more pronounced. “I almost got up and left right then. But thought, give the dude a chance. It’s not always about how big the dick is, it’s how he uses it.”
“I’m assuming, judging by your appearance, that he was a letdown in that area as well.” Her deep groan and dramatic slouch has me giggling into my coffee. “I hate it when that happens.”
“Someone needs to have a long talk with the man upstairs about making sure the size of a man and his vitamin D are in proportion. I’m so sick of disappointments. I was so hopeful I’d be walking bowlegged for a few days after a good hard ride on that man.” Pinching off a piece of her muffin, she shoves it into her mouth. “I barely felt him slide in. No joke.”
It’s so hard not to lose it, but I think I do a damn good job.
Keeping a straight face, I say, “Blame it on the roids he likely took while in college, hoping they would enhance his ability to play professional. It’s ironic how men disregard the warnings that taking those causes extensive and irreversible shrinkage.”
I laugh as she rolls her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips, while demonstrating the shrinkage with a tiny pinch of her thumb and forefinger.
“Maybe you should stop going after men who look like linebackers.” I take the last bite of my bagel. “You know, the only men who still look like that around our age are likely on something, unless they’re actually professional athletes.”
“Or firefighters.” Jodi smirks, and this time I roll my eyes. “How is the grumpy neighbor?”
“Same as always. Whenever he spots me outdoors, he never fails to inquire about my Christmas lights.” I pull off the cup lid, smiling inwardly as I savor the last few drops. “I explained to him yesterday that I’ve decided to keep them up for the Fourth. Told him they made me think of fireworks and are patriotic with their red, white, and blue.”
Jodi’s high-pitched laughter echoes through the dining area, drawing everyone’s attention to us.
Ever since the day after Christmas, Mr. Grump has pestered me about taking them down. He’s done it every year since moving in across the street. This year I honestly haven’t had time. I’d planned to, but life happened, and I forgot. It feels pointless now, as I’ll be putting them back up on November 1st—only four months away.
“He was not amused.”
Jodi slaps the table before she snaps her fingers and points one at me. “Now that man has BDE. I’ll give up sex for a year if I’m wrong about the python he tries to hide behind his nice fitting blue jeans.”
“I agree with you, but it will stay a mystery since I never plan to find out.” I pick up my phone to check the time. “What time tonight?”
Later this evening, we’re getting together with some friends. She’s set it all up but hasn’t shared the final details with me. Typical Jodi.
Instead of answering my question, Jodi keeps going on about my neighbor. “You could know. You could fuck the grump right out of him.”
I tip my empty cup at her while shaking my head. “While that sounds fun, I’ll pass. He’s not like us. I get a vibe he’s not into casual flings. He’s the type who prefers a committed relationship.” Those two words put a sour taste in my mouth. “And my days of monogamy are long gone. I don’t have time to groom a man or deal with moods and schedules. I like the idea of fucking and going home, no strings. Less messy that way. So now, what time tonight?”
“I’m not sure yet. When I know, I’ll call you.” Jodi’s phone chimes with a text. She picks it up and immediately starts typing. “I really hope these clients appreciate the fact I’m giving up my Saturday to show them five more houses. This is the third time we’ve done this.” She places it face down and looks back up at me. “So, what are you doing today?”
We stand and toss our trash in the bin on our way out the door. “I’m having lunch with a former student. She just got a job at Memorial and wanted my opinion on a few things.”
“Your dedication to your students, even after they graduate, is truly exceptional. Tell me another professor who has that kind of interest in their former students’ lives. I know none of mine did. They probably wouldn’t even remember me if I called to chat.” Opening her car door, Jodi tosses her purse inside. “Still liking your new ride?”
“Love it.” When I open the door to my car, which is next to hers, a blast of scorching heat greets me. “I’m so glad I opted for vented seats that blow out cool air on days like today.”
Answering her ringing phone, Jodi waves goodbye before climbing inside to talk. That woman works all the time, which is the life of a good realtor. Her schedule has to bend to what works for her clients. Not something I could do. I like a set schedule. And as a psychology professor at George Southern University, that’s what I get.
With a couple of hours to spare before lunch with my former grad students, I run a few errands. First, I head to Home Depot to look at some paint samples. A perk of my new position as department head is an updated office. Though I won’t be painting it myself, I’d like to choose my colors to show the maintenance team. Hopefully, they paint it between the summer and fall semesters, so when I return from break it’ll all be done.
Once I’m done there, I head to Sam’s Club. Now that the the boys are home for the summer, food disappears fast. To avoid a house fire while I’m at work, I need lots of snacks and simple hot meals for them to make.
The Harry S. Truman Parkway is my least favorite road to drive on. Today it seems busier than usual, with lots of crazy drivers in a hurry to get nowhere, so I do my best to stay alert.
A horn blasts behind me, catching my attention. When I glance up in my rearview, the young kid waves for me to move, as if he thinks I’m driving slow or something. I’m not. My speedometer reads I’m going ten miles over the speed limit, so he can hold his horses while I pass the cars next to me.
I’m barely past the blue truck when he honks again, riding my ass. “Look, asshole. Calm your tits. I can’t just pull over in front of him.”
Once I’ve confirmed it’s clear, I flip on my blinker and merge into the other lane. But apparently it isn’t fast enough for the jerk-wad behind me because he tries passing me before I’m halfway into the other lane.
In the blink of an eye, he clips my bumper and the car spins. My heart thumps against my ribs like an angry storm as I fight to regain control, with no luck. All I can do is close my eyes and pray that today isn’t my last.
The car tips, rolling at speeds I know aren’t safe—not that it’s ever safe to flip over. It tosses me around inside like a rag doll who’s properly buckled in but does nothing to control my loose limbs. All the seatbelt does is prevent my body from bouncing around like the groceries I loaded in the back from Sam’s. All that money wasted on the quick dinners I bought. The mess they have to be making getting tossed around like this makes me cringe.
The tumbling goes on forever, like being thrown around inside one of those human hamster balls, leaving me dizzy. My head bounces between the driver’s side window, the headrest of my seat, and the airbag. I thought that thing was supposed to protect me, but when it went off, the searing pain that rips through me from the bone-jarring impact, was like hitting a brick wall, instead of a soft cushion the damn thing is meant to be.
When it finally stops, I’m at an odd angle.
Smoke spills from the engine.
Aware of the throbbing pain coming from every muscle in my body, two thoughts hit me at once— my boys need me, and, I just bought this car and now it’s totaled .
Fuck.