Unsocial Read online

  “That’s bullshit. Adamson is a jackass.” There sounds like definite history here. “You look young Ms. Porter. Younger than I do. Do you think Adamson would set up all this shit if you were in my position? How the hell does my age disqualify me from raising my brothers and sisters?”

  He is really worked up about this. “You can call me Brooke. And I don’t know. I’m not the one in your position. No one said you aren’t qualified to raise them. But I’m not the one with them all of the time Dylan. However, I’m the one with the responsibility of making sure that this transition you’re all going through is smooth for everyone.”

  He continues to glare at me. He’s hostile, and part of me understands it. It’s perfectly clear he loves his family, and I know that separating them would be devastating at a time like this. I need to make him trust me. “Dylan, I’m not here to keep you from being granted guardianship. I’m going to do everything I can to help you and your siblings stay together.”

  “That’s crap and you know it. You’re going to dig for anything that will keep me from getting my brothers and sisters.”

  “That’s not true, Dylan. I’m simply going to help you create and maintain a safe environment for the children.”

  His face falls leaving a bewildered and hurt look, “You think I would hurt them? They’re my family.”

  “I don’t think that, but we have to satisfy the courts that they will be cared for and nurtured and kept absolutely safe when you’re granted guardianship. In our line of work, it’s often the blood relatives that can cause the most damage to children, whether intentionally or unintentionally. I assure you, I’m on your side.”

  He rubs his fingers over the stubble on his jaw. “Fine, so how is this going to work?” His voice still indicates a level of distrust that I know I’m going to be working to bring down.

  I relax, but only a little, “Well, we’re going to have to schedule home visits. They will be weekly until it is decided if we can move to bi-weekly appointments. I’ll just be looking to make sure everything is good to go for when you get full guardianship.”

  He sighs in frustration and leans against the back of his chair, “Fine, so does this count for this week’s visit?”

  I laugh lightly, “I’m afraid not. I need to see where you live and introduce myself to everyone. I want to get to know them so they feel comfortable with my visits.”

  He stands clearly ready to leave, “Fine. Does tomorrow afternoon work?”

  I look down at my desk planner. Of course, there’s nothing on it. “Yes, tomorrow afternoon would be perfect. I can be there around two if you like.”

  He nods, “Okay, we’ll see you then.”

  Before he walks away, I give him my friendliest and most sincere smile. “I promise to make this as painless as possible, Dylan. I don’t want you to see me as the enemy.” I’m trying everything to reassure him.

  He grumbles something as he walks away. Then enters Marla and Paige. Marla shakes her head in wonder, “I really, really hate you right now. I mean, you should have seen my first client. He was short, fat, and bald. Here you get tall, dark, and drop-the-panties handsome.”

  “And if that’s not working for you enough, how about angry and brooding. Damn!” Paige grins at me wistfully.

  I just look at them both like they’re crazy. Yes, Dylan Monroe is all those things, plus about a million other delicious adjectives, but it’s clear that he hates me. I did notice him check me out, but a guy like that I’m sure checks out every woman. “You guys are seriously jealous of a client that hates my guts?”

  They both chuckle and Marla says, “Oh, sweetie. They all hate us, and I could look past all the animosity if they looked like that.”

  After the visit with Dylan, the rest of my first day passes pretty unremarkably. Unfortunately, this allows thoughts of him to flit through my mind on repeat. Finally, it’s time to head home, and I’m ready. I need to kick my feet up in comfy clothes with a glass of wine and unload this day on my best friend and roommate, Alexandra.

  When I enter the apartment, she’s in the kitchen putting the final touches on our dinner. I love to cook, but Alexandra, not so much. However, I’m letting her have this one because being the kickass friend she is, I’m getting a celebration dinner for the first day of my career. She knows exactly what I’ve gone through to get here since we’ve been partners in crime since we were children. Then we went to college together, and it was pretty much a given that we would end up roommates. “How was your first day?”

  “Ugh.”

  “That’s it? ‘Ugh?’ That’s all you’ve got after your first day on the job? No, ‘you won’t believe what happened’ or ‘I have the most exciting career ever?’ Come on B, give me something. Otherwise, the fettuccini is going in the garbage, which would be a travesty because I used your grandma’s recipe and I went over the grocery budget and I missed a half a day of work so I could…..”

  I cut her off, “Okay, okay, okay. Stop. You know I can’t talk about the details. Let’s just leave it as very frustrating. Apparently people out there don’t like social workers, like, at all.”

  She pours me a glass of wine, “Of course, Ms. By-the-book Brooke. I’m not expecting details. But you know that makes sense that most of your clients will feel that way. I mean, you are meeting them at some of the worst times in their lives. They’re struggling, and you often times hold the outcome of their fate in the palms of your hands.”

  “That’s just it Alex. Our job is to help them through these difficult times, and they don’t get it. And that just frustrates the hell out of me. Shit, I don’t want to bust up families or deny them extra food stamps or housing. It’s just getting them to see that.”

  “Okay, I know just the thing to get you out of this first-day funk. We’re going out after we eat.”

  I glare at her pointedly. Alex is always up for going out. For her it never gets old. There was a time where our roles were reversed, and I was the one who wanted to go out. Of course, my time for rebellion happened in high school. Her transformation to the wild side came in college.

  It started with coloring her hair a dark auburn from her original color of blonde. Then she moved to piercing her belly button after which followed her nose. It wasn’t until she started turning up with little pops of ink that the timid and shy Alexandra Choskey from high school was no more. And college was about the time I decided I needed to get serious. My grandmother’s health was bad, and I needed to make changes. And much to my friend’s disgust, our times of going out and living it up were far and few between. “No way, I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Oh, come on, Brooke. You need to get all dolled up with me and go out. We can hit a couple of clubs. I’ll call a couple of the girls…..”

  “I can’t Al. I’m exhausted. What I really want is to take a bath with a glass of wine and try to relax.”

  “What happened to the badass Brooke who used to sneak out of her grandma’s house after midnight to meet her boyfriend? You used to tell me about riding his motorcycle to clubs in Westport.”

  “Yeah, well, that was high school, my friend. And if I recall, I tried to get you to go out then. You wanted to stay home and read. Let’s face it, our wild-child sides bloomed at totally different times in our life.”

  For some reason, I felt the need to be a rebel when I was a teen. I think it was kind of expected of me given who my parents were. They had me when they were sixteen, but since they couldn’t or didn’t want to take care of me, they dropped me off at my maternal grandmother’s house and took off when I was a couple of weeks old. I grew up in the same house as my mother, with the same neighbors, and going to the same school.

  I heard the talk, wondering if I would turn out like my mom. I have to say I did the rebellion thing up nicely. Fortunately, I escaped that period unscathed, and more importantly, I escaped it without a baby, not that Adam, my high school boyfriend, and I didn’t “practice.” I was a total brat then. Then my freshman year of college m
y grandmother got really sick, and I needed to shape up. I owed her that after she took me in to raise her daughter’s child. She died two years ago, and now that she’s gone, I’m determined to make her proud of me, and that meant taking my job seriously.

  After I eat pasta with Alex and we’ve made small talk and laughed about our days, I pick up my wine and stand, “I’m gonna go take that bubble bath now and try to read some of a good book.”

  Alex fakes a yawn, “Okay, Grandma Brooke. You have fun with that.”

  I roll my eyes at her sarcasm and head to our bathroom. What I really need to do is figure out how to curb my reaction to one Mr. Dylan Monroe before I see him again tomorrow. And I really need to figure out a way to make this ‘relationship’ more amicable. He can’t continue this animosity toward me, and I need to show him that. What I really need to do is keep reminding my horny self that there is a line that cannot be crossed here. I need bubbles and wine, pronto.

  Chapter 3

  Dylan

  I wake up and stretch my cramped body on the living room couch. I let Jackson take my parent’s room because I don’t feel comfortable sleeping in there. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t believe in ghosts or any shit like that, but with all their stuff around it just seems strange. The problem is my six-foot-plus body on this damn couch. There isn’t enough room in this house. Jackson and I are used to our four-bedroom house in Oklahoma City where we had plenty of personal space and every creature comfort our money could buy. Here in this house, we’ve got six people in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom ‘space.’ It seems like everyone is living on top of each other. I give my body one last stretch and glance to the table beside the sofa. When I see the clock, I go into an immediate state of panic. It’s one in the afternoon, and Brooke, I mean, the social worker is going to be here in one hour.

  I jump off the couch and grab a shirt off of the oversized chair I’ve turned into a makeshift closet in the living room. It was a far cry from the walk-in I have in my house in Oklahoma. Sliding the shirt on, I holler for the kids. Michael comes out of his room, “What’s going on?”

  I start trying to pick up the mess that has accumulated in the living room. Another luxury I’m missing is the cleaning service. Jackson and I don’t clean; we pay for that shit. “Where is everybody? The social worker I told you guys about will be here in less than an hour. We have to get this place cleaned up.”

  Luke walks in yawning. He looks like he just woke up as well judging from the bad case of bed head, sweats, and a muscle tee. “Why the hell are you yelling, Dylan?”

  I’m really trying. “Watch your mouth around the kids.” And all I get for this is a sarcastic teenage laugh. Fuck my life.

  Cassie and Gabby file in behind him looking around confused, most likely at my frantic attempt at cleaning. At least, they’re both dressed for the day, as is Michael. “Look, guys, the social worker will be here in an hour. I need your help cleaning up, please.” I turn to Luke, “Take a shower.” As he turns away, “And clean the bathroom when you’re done.”

  “What the fuck ever,” is all I get from him.

  Michael whines, “No fair! He doesn’t have to help?”

  “He’s got to shower, and then he will help.” Yeah right.

  Luke disappears in the one bathroom in the house to shower, and the kids help me pick everything up. Thankfully Cassie seems familiar with the duty. After returning from the kitchen with a trash bag, she starts throwing away take-out containers, pizza boxes, and empty bottles. Michael is picking up the pile of dirty clothes, or at least, I think they’re dirty. I look over at Gabby to find her silently stacking stuff on the coffee table. How the fuck am I going to explain her behavior?

  We’ve settled into somewhat of a routine over the last two weeks. I try to talk to all of the kids often. Cassie and Michael are the most responsive. Gabby still will not talk; she just continues to nod her head yes or no, but her face remains mostly emotionless.

  She has started showing brief smiles, snarls, and pouts, but these have been the only changes since the accident. I would be lying if I said this didn’t worry the hell out of me. I have no idea how to reach her to even start helping her. That’s why I decided they need counseling. I’m not equipped for dealing with this. The three younger kids are going, but Luke refuses. The first one I took them to suggested I admit her to a psychiatric hospital because she wouldn’t communicate at all. That wasn’t happening. I don’t think keeping her away from her family will help, so I changed therapists. The new one seems to be a much better fit if I could get him to quit trying to drag me into his office. Gabby doesn’t talk to this therapist either so I have no idea what goes on for the hour they’re all together. I’m just happy with the gradual changes. I’m not lying to myself; it’s going to be a slow process.

  Luke fights me on everything, and it’s crystal clear that he is pissed that I wasn’t around for three years. He refuses to trust me. I know this because of just about every interaction we have. I ask him to do something, and it usually results in a mumbled, ‘fuck you.’ I know he’s hurting. I know he’s pissed. I also know I would love to kick his disrespectful ass all over the back yard. The sad thing is that I see me in Luke ten years ago.

  Back to the task at hand. I’m working on putting the piles of dishes in the dishwasher when Jackson walks in and looks around at everyone cleaning, “What the hell is going on?”

  “We slept in too late, and I have that appointment today.”

  “Ah, right, with the uptight chick with a stick up her ass?” I told Jackson last night all about my meeting with the social worker, Brooke Porter. She is going to be a huge pain in my ass for the next year. I can tell she’s stubborn and determined just by our first conversation. I can also tell she’s got a smoking hot body underneath her straight-laced business suit. Too fucking bad, she’s relegated to ‘enemy’ territory. Under different circumstances, say her not trying to takes my siblings away, I would be talking her out of her clothes.

  Yesterday she had her black hair pulled into a tight bun on top of her head rocking the whole naughty librarian look. The professional pantsuit totally showed off the perfect curves of her tight little ass, and underneath that buttoned-to-the-neck silk blouse, I knew there were some spectacular tits. I’m a guy; these are always the first thing I notice on a woman. I’m always scouting out lucky number, whatever. But this girl is the total package physically. To top off the stellar body, she has beautiful brown eyes, soft-looking skin, and lips that were made to do sinful things all over my body.

  What topped it all off was the way she noticed me too. I know my looks get me what I want with women, along with my bank account. I didn’t miss the way her eyes took in everything and got wide and glassy as they roamed my body. Every woman in the social services office noticed me. The lust was not one sided. While she was checking me out, my cock went rock hard. I decided then that Karma was a nasty, dirty bitch to put this woman in my path. I’m used to seeing and taking what I want, and this girl is hands-off. She was responsible for deciding the fate of my family. Like I said, she’s going to be a pain in my ass.

  I nod, “Yeah, so you have to go.”

  He crinkles his brow, “Go where?”

  “Anywhere, but here, trust me. She’s not going to like you. You’ll probably scare her.”

  He laughs knowing exactly what I mean, “Is she really that bad?”

  I nod as I turn on the dishwasher. “Yes. I’m telling you; this girl is wound way too fucking tight. And I know you, you’ll tell her so.”

  He makes himself a sandwich, “Okay, I’ll go. I need to call Joe and check up on everything anyway, but we need to talk about opening the new garage when I get back. I’m ready to get things going.”

  I’ve decided I’m moving to Kansas permanently because there is no way I can take the kids from everything they know. I had planned on helping Jackson run the garage while he was there and I was in Kansas over the phone and traveling there for the VIP clients but after
long nights of discussing business we’ve talked ourselves into expanding our business to Kansas.

  It’s going to be long, hard work searching out the location and getting clientele. Jackson plans on moving up here as well to help me get shit rolling, and we’ll give Joe a healthy raise to keep things going in Oklahoma City. He’s more than capable of running things full time, and Jackson can travel back and forth to oversee operations. Next week we’re planning a road trip for me to pick up my bike and some other shit from home as well as pick up my ’68 Camaro.

  “Alright, we will talk about it when you get back. Now get out of here.” He grumbles as he grabs his keys off of the counter and leaves the house. I know he isn’t upset or offended. Jackson and I have been friends for a long time, and not much gets to him.

  Luke finally walks out of the bathroom, and to my surprise helps us finish picking up without any smartass comments. Just as I come in from taking out the last bag of trash, I hear the doorbell. “Okay you guys, just be good. This is something we have to put up with for a year, but it’s important.” Then I remind myself, just one year. Just play nice, and keep my horny thoughts, and hands, to myself.

  They follow me to the door and line up in the foyer, and I get this odd fucking thought when it reminds me of The Sound of Music. I shake it off and open the door. And there she is. She’s standing there with a nervous smile on her pretty face, her hair is up in that fucking bun again, and I can’t help but wonder what she would look like with her hair down. Spread on my pillow. Brushing my chest. Grazing my stomach. There are those damn horny thoughts. Truthfully I don’t even know if she has shoulder length hair or long, sexy hair that goes down to the middle of her back, but I sure am having some fine visuals either way.

  She’s wearing a tight skirt that does nothing to hide her curves even though it comes to her knees. And that buttoned-up-to-there blouse showcases some high and tight tits. She couldn’t hide her fine-ass body in a potato sack. I find myself wanting to pout because it’s summer for Christ’s sake, couldn’t she show a little more skin. Not that I should be thinking about her skin, or tits, or ass, or hair. I need to get laid, yesterday. I move out of the doorway and motion for her to come in, “Ms. Porter.”