My Brother's Sexy Best Friend (18+)

Masochist

Matt

It was my worst nightmare.

It was what I had been dreading all year long. And it had finally arrived.

Gym class. With the start of a new semester, brought physical education. Oh sure, I could run swiftly and lift weights with ease but when it came to catching a ball, I fumbled every. single. time. I hated all of my studies, but this one was a special kind of torture for me. At least I could hide my poor exam grades in the depths of my backpack, but when it came to sports, every other guy in the senior class got front row tickets to witness my spazzed out and uncoordinated flails.

Doesn't cruel and unusual punishment go against the constitution, I thought as I glumly made my way towards P.E. It should be illegal for students who are unathletic to be forced into such a barbaric ritual. I slowed down my pace, hoping that the extra minute it took me to get to the gymnasium would open up the opportunity for something such as the fire alarm going off to rescue me. It was a handy invention to save one from both a roaring blaze and the flaming red cheeks of embarrassment.

I can't wait to get mocked by the other guys for being pelted by balls to the face. They never seemed to lack creativity when it came to turning anything into an innuendo.

But Matthew Jones was done allowing everyone's bullshit.

I was done being toyed with by Scott and Troy. I was over Jake giving me the guilt trip, labeling me as a lousy friend anytime he believed that I might even be thinking of Vanessa. And as for her, I was initially pissed when she had asked Chris out, but who was I to interfere with what she wanted?

I felt crummy for hurting her, but I had apologized profusely over it. What else could I have done? Besides, she had no right to be upset about Aimee when I had made it clear that we were never exclusive.

So, I was through with it all. But most of all, I was fed up with feeling sorry for myself. And in the spur of my epiphany, I had made a drastic and very permanent decision.

I got my first tattoo.

After Vanessa had reiterated to me how very much of a loser I was, I found myself in the chair of a tattoo parlor, honoring the only person that had never made me feel worthless. My mother. Of course, my father loved me unconditionally, but I always seemed to disappoint him in one manner or another. And after he spied the fresh ink on my forearm, I was certain that he would give me another frown of disapproval while wordlessly shaking his head. The gesture that all parents seemed to favor. 

Is there some super-secret meeting they all attend while their children hole up in their bedrooms, learning the universal words and gestures to convey that they're deeply disappointed in their offspring?

So be it. I was already a letdown to him with my low grades and lack of motivation. Why not add one more thing to the list?

And I didn't give it another thought until I had my left arm outstretched before me as the artist's eyebrows shot up high on his forehead. I vaguely wondered how far he could get his bushy brows to go up on that bald scalp of his.

He cocked his head, giving me a long look of hesitation. "You want a name tattooed on yourself; you say? How old are you kid?"

I rolled my eyes. I had expected a lecture from my dad but not from some dude with the words Live. Laugh. Love. permanently inked onto his bicep. "Eighteen," I replied, keeping my voice controlled.

Nodding, he busied himself with sterilizing a needle. "I know it's none of my business...," he began. You're right. It isn't. He slid his clouded blue eyes onto me. "But it's probably not the wisest idea to be getting a girl's name tattooed on you at such a young age. You teens always think these little high school romances of yours are forever but more often than not, they crash, burn, and you'll be right back in this chair next month, pleading with me to cover up the name with a flaming skull or some other unrealistic request as though it were a piece of cake. Trust me when I say, you're making a mistake."