"Are you going to pick the paint color?"
"I thought you said she likes pink."
"She does, but there is more than one kind of F U C K I N G pink. Like there's bright Pepto-Bismol pink and light pink and lots of in-the-middle pink."
"You're real pretty when you spell like that."
Bebe rolls her eyes before grimacing in pain. "Ugh, Darby told me to put ice on my eye, and I didn't. I'm paying the price now."
Lula stands up and kisses her mom's face. "Feel better?"
"Yes, baby."
Watching them, I feel a little left out. Same way as when Ford and Shay goof around. They're a part of something, and I'm on the outside. Loner isn't a part I want to play. I was always half of a duo, and now I stand alone.
"What's wrong?" Bebe asks when I glare at her for too long.
"Nothing."
"Are you changing your mind about us moving in with you?"
"No. I don't change my mind so willy-fucking-nilly. I'm not a girl."
Bebe narrows her eyes at me then grimaces again. "You're in a B I T C H mood now."
I glance at Lula eating her food again. She looks so little holding the fork and shoving pancake chunks into her mouth. I think about when I was that little. Would I want to live with a club killer?
"Can I get you folks anything?" the waitress asks.
I focus my gaze on her and smile really big. Chicks like when I smile. They say it makes them hard and soft at the same time.
"No, we're okay. Thank you for your fine service," I say, taking her hand.
The waitress flushes bright red and smiles sweetly for me. When I let go of her hand, she hurries away, only peeking back at me once.
I turn back to Bebe, who sighs. "I swear you're a lame M U T H E R F U C K E R.
"How do you figure?" I ask, gulping my coffee. "Don't tell me you're jealous of the pretty waitress."
Bebe leans forward. "She thinks you're a S C U M B A G who is flirting with her in front of your kid and woman. A woman that you beat up. I bet she's in the kitchen talking about what a L O S E R you are."
"What do I care if she's saying that shit? It ain't true."
"Yeah, but stop acting like you're smooth."
"Oh, I am. One day, you'll learn just how smooth."
"Probably," she says, startling me. "I have a bad habit of making S T U P I D F U C K I N G choices. You'll just be another one."
Lula finishes her milk, so I wave over the waitress and ask for a refill. "Tell me something," I say before she can leave. "Do you think that kid looks like me?"
"No, not really," she mumbles, clearly nervous. "She looks like her mom."
"She has a hairy dad," I announce.
Bebe kicks me under the table and gives me the dirtiest look. While I laugh, the waitress makes a beeline for the kitchen. Lula glances between her frowning mom and me laughing.
"My dad," she whispers and picks up her fork again.
"Don't worry, kid. You're real pretty like your mommy."
After Lula smiles at me, I focus my gaze on Bebe.
"Don't be so mad. It's not like she's a hairy monkey like her pop."
"Stop F U C K I N G talking."
"Well, you ain't talking, and I don't like sitting in silence. Feels like I'm in church or school or some shit."
Bebe kicks me again, and I figure she's mad about me cussing. If she plans on kicking me every time I use profanity, my leg will fall off before the end of the week.
"Why do you get so pissy with me?"
Bebe shrugs. "You P I S S me off."
"Because my sexiness is too distracting?"
Laughing, Bebe clearly hates herself for falling for my teasing. She sighs and caresses the back of Lula's head.
"I was hoping you'd be the one who came for us," she says in a soft voice. "I knew Darby and Jenn would send someone to help. I figured you might wait until Ford got back. I also thought Lucky might come. I'm glad it was you."
Her voice gives me goosebumps. Then she pats my hand, and my cock goes rock hard. Even with her busted eye, Bebe is one fine-looking woman, and she's getting me riled up.
What the hell have I gotten myself into with this living situation?
5
Bebe
Advice from the Rockabilly Heroine
Darby's house always reminds me of a dollhouse. She lives in a neighborhood dating back to the 1940s and 1950s. Pax's area was obviously designed in the 1980s. The ugly green exteriors are a dead giveaway.
As much as I like Darby's place, space has become an issue. With me moving out, Perri and Flora will have more room for their kids, and Darby might not trip over toys so much. I think this plan sounds solid, but Darby disagrees.
"If you take more of your stuff to his place, he'll think you're staying."
"I think I am," I say, washing out the cupcake cup then filling it with juice.
My daughter loves her cup. She hasn't let go of it since breakfast and refuses to drink from anything else. As soon as we walk into the house, Lula shows it to Darby. The little girl is already living a dream, and I refuse to take it away from her.
Once Lula walks into the living room to sit with the other kids, I force my gaze on Darby.