Tagged Steel (Men of Steel #6) - MJ Fields Page 0,13

my art. My art that … a married freaking man put on my skin then fucked me so hard I’m still feeling it.

A married man.

I guess it’s good that I’m stuck floating on the Atlantic Ocean or I may want to go find that big beautiful bastard and de-nut him with my freshly manicured claws. But, as Carly told me in middle school, after the biggest emotional pain I ever experienced as a teen, “We have two days to grieve, then we celebrate the lesson we learned from that person.”

The biggest emotional pain was a breakup with my best friend. Yes, it was a breakup, worse than any breakup I’ve ever had. I found out she was talking behind my back and sharing pictures that she had no right even taking while at my house when she slept over.

The picture was of Dad cooking pancakes in his pajama bottoms. It circulated all over my Catholic school. My real best friend, Laura, is the one who showed me. Then she showed me Danielle’s finsta—fake Instagram account—called Hot Daddies. It was a year’s worth of pictures that she had sneakily taken of my father and uncles while she was allowed to be part of my family.

It hurt. It hurt bad. The lesson I learned was something insurmountable: Loyalty isn’t a given. Very few actually give it, and even fewer deserve it. She wasn’t one of those people.

The bigger lesson? There aren’t many who know what loyalty truly means. It’s another way in which my family is so different. But this difference isn’t one that annoys me. It’s one I will always treasure.

It’s been two days, and I am done slut-shaming myself. He’s the married one, not me.

Now, I celebrate the lesson I learned: Look for a ring, ask if they’re married, and don’t just assume.

I shake two imaginary middle fingers and scream in my head, Fuck you … what’s-your-name.

The best way to get over him is to get under someone else, says my mix of badass and booze.

Luckily for me, I’m aboard the SS Hotness. Seriously, though, the waitstaff is pretty much a buffet of non-family members who look like they’d be a great place to start. Maybe not mount one, but a heavy make-out session would do the body good.

Turning away from the waiters and back to those still on the party deck, I realize this isn’t going to be an easy task. I’m surrounded by my family, who I love, but already crave a moment away from, from time to time. Times like now, when the newlyweds, close family friends, Paige and Vincent, are on their own yacht far enough away from the one the rest of us are on, yet close enough to be a reminder of what is going on—consummation of vows—to remind one’s drunken self that she has needs, too. Needs met two days ago … that need to be washed away with the tide.

My two days grieving period will be over, and I will have already chalked it up to … one hell of a night that I hope to soon forget.

God, that sounds so weak, and I’m not weak. But really? Why does the only man who ever got me have to be a married one? And why does semi-sober me ignore six to nine months? Really? He is probably going to freaking jail!

No matter. It’s over and I have needs. Needs that I must ignore because of the fact that I’m stuck in Steel purgatory, somewhere between the adults and Steel generation next.

With my younger siblings and cousins fast asleep in the dining hall, cleared out for our “family sleepover” on the yacht, the same damn room they expect me, an independent, young college graduate to sleep in, I should feel free to act my age. Times like now when my dad, Momma Carly, all my aunts, uncles, and family friends—all couples—are out of their wedding attire and in casual clothes or swimwear, dancing, drinking, and you know damn well they will all be fucking soon. Hell, even Momma Joe and Thomas aren’t making room for Jesus as they grind against each other to the beat of the music.

Times like now, when across the deck, leaning against the railings, stands a man who is sexy as hell and, most importantly, unrelated. He’s got to be one of the waitstaff, and he’s probably thinking I’m some spoiled, rich brat who would never give him the time of day.

He’s wrong.

I would not only give him the