First off...I hate my imagination. The idea for this has been bugging me for months. Since I've deleted every WIP except Borderline I decided what the hell. Might as well pen it and see how it goes.

I feel that I must warn you all now: generally when a fic of mine has a lot of chapters (10+) it's a happy ending. Or bittersweet while suggesting things will be all right, at worst. I don't expect this story to go beyond 30 chapters. But I won't promise that this one will end the way you'd all like it to. You'll understand the reasons why as this this one progresses...*if* it progresses lol, which is totally based on how this intro goes over. Let me know via review.

Paul's POV

"I'm really sorry about all this…drama. Paul, I really am. But you're just too…you're just too nice for me."

Shaking my head, I try to dislodge the memory of what Heather said when she left me. The relationship was pretty much over five minutes before that point because I'd come home after leaving the gym this morning to find her fucking my dickhead best friend on the couch.

What a bitch! The house and everything in it belonged to me. She was a beautiful girl with blonde hair and green eyes. She'd come on to me, initially. Our dates had been amazing; she made me feel carefree and light. We soon became a couple and remained that way for almost a whole year. Six months in, she was laid off from her job and could no longer afford to keep herself and her deadbeat roommate in their apartment. I let her live with me. Rent free.

Rent. Fucking. Free.

All I asked was that she at least started buying the groceries once she was employed again.

She held up her end of the bargain. But not once did she offer to do more. At the time I didn't mind; I didn't think of it. But now that we're broken up and she's showed her true colors I can't help but feel bitter about it. Goddamn freeloading wench.

This isn't how I used to be. My girlfriend before this? She dumped me, citing that I wasn't available emotionally or willing to let her in all the way. I was too cold. Too detached. Too independent. Kind of a jerk.

So I tried to soften up so I wouldn't drive the next girl away. Now I wish I hadn't changed. At least when I was an asshole, I didn't get played or taken advantage of.

Still…one said I'm a jerk and the one immediately following said I was too nice.

How about this? Women. Don't. Know. What. The. Hell. They. Want.

I snort and continue making my way down the busy street in Santa Monica. People are bumping into me, but I don't say anything because my broad shoulders also happen to be bowling smaller individuals over. Not that I care. I don't care about anything, anymore.

Except for the fact that I'm going to be late for a meeting.