Badd Motherf*cker: Badd Brothers by Jasinda Wilder

life with Michael. No matter how spectacularly Sebastian might fuck me, it wouldn’t fix my broken heart.  
    It would be fucking spectacular, though…or, should I say spectacular fucking.  
    Shit. I was not supposed to be thinking about how good Sebastian would be in bed.  
    Bad Dru. I wasn’t fucking him. I was going to go back home and deal with the mess that was my life.  
    The problem was, I didn’t want to go back home. I didn’t want to walk the Seattle streets and see our favorite restaurants and bars. I’d have to go back to my condo. I’d smell him on my sheets, and I’d have his toothbrush in my bathroom, and his pubes in my shower drain, and his size medium condoms in my bedside table, and his clothes in the drawer I’d given him. He was woven into every facet of my entire fucking life, and I didn’t have the slightest clue how to unravel it all.
    Against my own will, my thumb tapped the messages app, and brought up the text message thread with Michael.  
    Dru, it wasnt what you think., please call me!!!!
    She meant nothing to me baby i swear. It was a moment of stupidity please please please forgive me! Ill do anythng!  
    There were three more texts in the same vein, each more desperately misspelled and unpunctuated than the last. I didn’t respond to any of them, but I knew he’d get the ‘read’ receipts. He’d know I saw them, which meant I’d be hearing from him at some point. No way I was ready for that, so I pulled up the voicemails and listened to the ones from Michael first.
    In the first one he sounded frantic, desperate, a little crazy. “Baby, baby—you gotta call me back. I know what you saw, and it’s not like you think. It was just that once. We can fix this, Dru, I know we can. I love you.”  
    Delete.  
    “Dru, baby. I’m so sorry.” He sounded calmer in this one, and honestly close to tears. “I screwed up. I know I did. I just—I wish you’d give me a chance to explain.”
    Explain your cock in Tawny’s blown-out pussy, asshole .
    Delete.
    When I finally drummed up the courage to open Michael’s last voicemail, it wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’m guessing you won’t listen to this, and if you do, you won’t call me back. I get it. I was an asshole. Nobody has any clue where you are and we’re all worried. It’s not like you to just vanish. At least call your dad so he stops panicking. I think if you don’t let him know where you are soon, he’s gonna make me disappear, and I’m not entirely sure that’s a joke.” He sounded lucid, but drunk. “There’s so much I could say, but I’ve been drinking and I’m not gonna say it in a voicemail. I just—I know I messed up, but— fuck . Your dad’s calling again. Hopefully somebody will hear from you at some point, Dru. We’re all worried. So…bye, I guess.”  
    I didn’t delete that one. Not sure why, honestly. I just…couldn’t.
    Something wet dripped from the end of my nose onto the bar top.  
    What the fuck? I refused to cry about that bastard again. Not anymore.
    He wasn’t worth wasting any more time or thought or energy on. Nobody was ever going to be faithful; Mom left Dad and me when I was eleven, cleaned out the bank account and split with some dude on a Harley. I remember it. She had a backpack, a too-big helmet, and walked out of the house, climbed onto the back of a rumbling Harley, wrapped her arms around the rider, a big, burly, hairy beast of a man, and they left, just like that. Dad stood beside me on the front porch, watching, utterly shell-shocked.  
    It had come totally out of left field. Dad had joined the Marines at eighteen, had spent twenty years in the Corps, and had finally retired. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to do, and had been at loose ends. Money wasn’t tight, but we weren’t flush, either. We’d had a nice house, a decent car, food to eat, enough extra cash to go to the movies now and then, out to eat maybe. I remember Dad being home a lot,