Forbidden Men Book 5: A Perfect Ten

I started out with good intentions. I’m serious.

That’s fucking whack to hear, I know. Me and those two words strung together like that just don’t mix. But in this case, I actually did want to do what was best.

It was probably some stray brotherly vibe left over from days long past. I do still get weird when I learn a chick I’m with is someone’s sister. If I don’t know about it, I’m cool; I can proceed with my typical asshole ways. But if she has to go and mention it, I start itching with respect and shit, which ruins the wicked intentions I usually have.

After seeing her like that and listening in on what she’d told him had happened to her, I got all these freaking, pansyass reactions. The strongest was...what’s that one word? That thing that’s never applied to me. Oh, yeah. Protective. I turned protective. I wanted to yank her out of his arms, into my own, and kick anyone who came close to us right in the nuts.

I was ready to murder for this girl.

And that was before she even lifted her face from his shoulder and looked at me. Talk about a slap on the ass. I wasn’t expecting to experience a damn thing from merely making eye contact with some chick. But I did, and so much more. Her unforgettable blue eyes were bruised with sleeplessness, her perfectly shaped cheekbones were tinged with a sick kind of gray, and her lips were chapped until dried blood flaked off her delectable mouth. Yet even so, she was so damn beautiful in one of those hauntingly ethereal ways it stole my breath.

Yeah, yeah, I’m being all flowery and dramatic and bullshit, but it’s fucking true, so shut it.

I know what else you’re thinking. I’m Oren Tenning; I think a lot of women are gorgeous. What else is new? I can’t step outside my apartment without listing off attributes I appreciate.

But for me it’s rare when the appearance of any particular girl punches me so hard it leaves a hole in my gut and sticks in my mind.

Caroline Gamble left a gigantic hole burning right through the center of my stomach. The place still singes when I see her, or when someone talks about, or when I think, or even dream about her. Shit, I’ve invested stock in antacids because my entire digestive tract is one constant, sweltering mess.

But, fuck, did being nice backfire in a major way.

The damn girl tried to kiss me. Twice.

I know. The nerve.

A light dimmed from her eyes, the smile dropped from her lips, and her shoulders curled protectively in around herself. I had never been so bothered about hurting someone as I was in those two moments. I think they crushed me more than they did her.

I had to bring out the big guns after that. She was Noel Gamble’s one and only sister; I could not fuck her. No matter what. I needed to take drastic measures to keep her at arm’s length. I needed to...okay, fine. Fuck. I just needed to be me. Not really so drastic once you think about it, even though it probably seemed that way to her.

So I let her have the full intensity of Ten. I stopped watching what I said when she was around, and I let all my base, disgusting thoughts bleed out of my mouth like I usually did. I stopped smiling at her, stopped paying her special attention with little courteous things like holding doors open for her or asking her how her day went. I completely stopped being a nice guy. I backed off and pretty much ignored her, unless I could think up something crude to say in her direction. I made sure to chase other women when she was around. And I felt like shit every night I lay in bed, unable to get to sleep, because I’d relive every awful thing I’d done to her that day.

No matter how deeply my actions bothered me, though, it didn’t stop me from making her hate me and killing any soft feelings she’d ever had for me.

It should’ve been easy to accomplish. Everyone who knew me understood how fast I could piss off a woman.

But nothing about Caroline has ever been easy.

That’s the curious thing about temptation. It festers and grows. You feed that bitch enough and she morphs into craving, and then craving turns into obsession. Pretty soon, nothing in your life is as important as that one thing you want but can’t have.

I wanted her and I couldn’t have her, so I fed the temptation, I flooded the craving, I would’ve fucking nursed the obsession from my own tits if I could’ve. I made sure I got little doses of her here and there. Except something incredibly enlightening happens when you spend enough time in one woman’s company. You start noticing shit about her, little useless crap that actually begins to mean everything, like how she brushes the hair out her face—even if there isn’t any in her eyes—whenever she’s unsettled, or how she chews on the end of a pen during class whenever she’s listening to something that captures her attention. You learn all her different laughs and know what each one means. You learn what pisses her off the most, or what makes her the happiest. You discover how smart and witty and sarcastic she is, and that her mind is almost as dirty as yours. You see how passionate she becomes when she defends those she loves, and you start to fall. Hard.

So, this is my Pathetic Loser’s confession: I am Oren Tenning, and I have fallen. Hard.

Damn, I can’t believe I just admitted that about a girl I’ve never even kissed, much less fucked. But I’m almost out of tricks here. I know I need to keep on keeping her away, except I’m getting desperate. I want her so goddamn bad.

She always forgives me, too, even though she shouldn’t. But I love that about her, that sweet, beautiful, overfor-giving, dirty-minded heart of hers. And so I keep plowing down this destructive path, knowing good and well I’m running myself insane, and probably her too.

Something’s gotta give soon or I’ll explode...most likely inside her.

I just hope it doesn’t end up with me dead at the hands of my best friend.