Pride and White Trashing by J. D. Light

Pride makes you do some really stupid things sometimes…

When I was in high school, I had a goal. I was going to graduate, find a respectable job and finally ask Cameron Walden on a date. Call it a five year plan if you will, but in the end I screwed it all up over a prideful bet, and not only lost my chance at being with him romantically, I lost him as a friend as well, and every interaction we had after that was strained. After that day so many years ago, I gave up trying to be anything other than what I was, and I gave up on trying to find anyone I might care for in that way. Over a decade later, he’s my neighbor in business, and I can’t seem to stay away. Our interactions are fun if a bit frustrating, and every single one leaves me craving even more of his attention. But how can I expect to win Cam’s affection when I’m really no different now than I was in high school, and I haven’t managed to shed my family legacy in the least. I’m still white trash, and my profession isn’t quite the type that makes someone want to take you home to their parents.

I’ve always been defensively standoffish with people. Anyone who was close to me, knew that wasn’t my true nature, but as anyone would guess, it was hard to get close to me. Neil Smith had been one of those few people I’d let close when I was younger, but that all changed one day while sitting around at lunch. It took some years to get over the betrayal I felt when I heard my friend agreeing to a bet to ask me out just to feed his pride and ego. We still see each other from time to time, and each encounter is filled with the two of us trying to one-up the other. I can’t help but feel a thrill at the possibility of seeing him again and again and going head to head with the beautiful man. The problem comes when I catch myself feeling protective and possessive of the man, especially when I keep catching glimpses of the vulnerability I know he doesn’t often show anyone else. A surprise visit in the middle of the night, and a slip of the tongue makes me doubt all the things I thought I knew, and the feelings I’ve been guarding myself against become harder and harder to ignore. The truth is, I never got over Neil Smith, and it doesn’t look like I ever will.