Loving The Enemy

By: Jordan Silver


I knew some fuck was wrong with me when I couldn’t settle down once I got home. I called off another date with the model I was dating for now, to which she had a few choice words, which I didn’t like, and therein ended another dead end love affair. I wonder why they call those shits ‘love’ since neither party was ever that deeply invested. I guess it sounded better than fuck-stop so there you have it.

I was tempted, very tempted to go snooping into her life. It wouldn’t take much for me to hack into her shit to find out just how bad things were. I’d put off her behavior these last few weeks to just her trying to hold onto the only thing she had left of her dad, but what if things were really as bad as the whispers around town?

I knew what I’d paid her old man and though I knew he was in the hole for way more than I’d given him, I couldn’t believe he didn’t leave something. I sat behind the computer in my home office, my fingers itching to hit those keys, but in the end it felt too much like a violation of privacy. And once again, why do I give a fuck? That shit never stopped me before.

Instead I found myself putting her name into Google and feeling my heart thump when the first picture came across the screen. There goes that smile. As I stared at her through the glass screen I realized that it was her eyes that I found captivating. Her eyes looked like bottomless pools of mystery, like she had a secret no one else knew, and she was just daring you to try. I had a sneaky suspicion that the man who unlocked her secrets would be the one to own her heart.

I tried to remember what the fuck I’ve been reading or watching here lately that could’ve turned me into this fucking sap-nut. Not even when I was in high school or college did I lose my shit over a female. Maybe that’s the problem, one of my fucked up clocks is probably ticking. Well that fuck needs to shut the fuck up because I don’t have time.

Sure she was beautiful, but that was through no fault of hers, not unless she went under the knife, which I knew she hadn’t. But it takes more than a beautiful face and an amazing pair of eyes to hold my interest, so what was it really? I scrolled through the hundreds of pictures they had of her and by the time an hour had gone by I was still no closer to answering any of my questions. What was this sudden fascination with her?

I’ve never liked spoilt little daddy’s girls I find them annoying and, I’ve been surrounded by beautiful women ever since Forbes outted my ass for breaking through the top tier. At thirty years old even my own mother is hounding me to tie the knot and the females of my acquaintance have been scenting blood in the water for the past two years. I never gave that shit much thought, had no interest. Women just weren’t that important to me at the time as anything more than a passing fancy.

Sure I took good care of the women I dealt with, I’m not a complete dog after all. But the settling down and happily ever after bullshit just wasn’t on my radar. What I’m trying to say is that, I never put too much thought into who my next fuck was going to be. As long as she was hot, available and disease free, I was in, but I’ve never been all in. Not saying that I feel that way about Emily Bronson, but she’s the first woman of my recollection that’s made me look, really look at what laid beneath the designer clothes and the patent leather smile.

Was it her veracity, the way she came after me? Her lack of fear when she stood before me? Grown men have been known to hide from me, so why did this female who barely reached my chin think she could beard the lion in his den? I’m not a badass heat packing asshole who goes around bullying others, not my style. But one of my passions along with making money, is any type of martial art. To get where I wanted to be I needed discipline, of mind as well as body and there was only one way I knew to get it.

There were others in my world who gave a good impression of being tough. There’re a few sensei around the globe that can attest to the fact that my shit is real. I can put a man down without breaking a sweat, but more than my physical strength, it’s my mind that takes the lead. Did I sense that in her, that inner strength that so well mirrored mine?

“No Jace, you just want to fuck. She’s young, beautiful and hot; nothing more nothing less.” I convinced myself that my interest went only so far as I peered through the pictures of her life. I could piece her whole life together just from the snippets offered here and there, which reminded me once again why I valued my privacy as much as I do. Funnily enough it was because of this that I knew half of what was being said was hogwash.

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