Dianne, My Beloved

Dianne, My Beloved

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing14m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Tue, Oct 26, 2021
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Fiction
Romance
It was something about older guys that always drew me in. Ever since I was a little girl I would obsess over the boys my sister would bring around. Maybe it was due to my father's emotional absence, or my mother's neglectfulness, or maybe one small thing I was missing as a teenage girl. I enjoyed the company of older men, the way they comforted me, the way they treated me nicely, that was until they left. I understand by now, men get tired of women very quickly, and need something new to move onto. And maybe at 13 I shouldn't have realized this, but I did, and that led to tragedies and feelings of remorse to come.
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Every girl has 'that' crush. You know what I'm talking about. The one boy who's the first thought on your mind when you wake up, and the last thought before you go to sleep. The one you carefully select your clothes for, don your best makeup, and style your hair perfectly for. I had 'that' crush. Brock was hot; he was sexy and alpha, with dark smoldering eyes and tattoos that littered his rock-hard body. My poor seventeen-year-old heart had no clue how to handle it, because my badass crush wasn't a boy. He was a man; a nightclub owning married man, who also happened to be my best friend's stepdad. I wasn't the only one who was crushing on Emma's stepdad. He knew it too, but the best part about Brock was that he looked like a badass, he acted like a badass, but he treated every single teenage girl in his home with the utmost respect. He had plenty of admirers, but Emma hated anyone who flaunted their shit in front of him. He'd taken her dad's place. He'd moved in not two months after she'd lost him and had tried to 'parent' her. We hated him together; but secretly I adored him. I spent almost three years in a hoodie, scowling at the hottest man in L.A. The day he left Emma's mom was the happiest and saddest day of my life. If you're going to lose your crush, though, ripping it off like a band-aid is the best way to do it. One day he was there and the next he was gone. And now, seven years later, I'm about to walk into his nightclub and audition for him. He's not the man I remember. He's sexier, more intense, and has connections that are not exactly as wholesome as I assumed. But that only makes me want him more....

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