I have already decided that Livi isn’t the kind of girl I can have hanging around. She is half crazy, indecisive, and now with all this making love shit talk, I’m not about to keep her around. To top it off, watching her in my clothes, in my place, telling me what to do is agitating.
I sit the plate with toast and a glass of water in front of her as I grab my own and take a bite. She’s looking at me while I’m looking at her, and I swear to God, I’m ready to tell her to step. I don’t want her damn money. I want her around longer.
“You work off your car debt Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Tuesday nights. Shouldn’t take long—”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you that I need either Friday or Saturdays off.” She reaches behind her again and rubs her ass. What the hell is up with that shit? “I will keep Thursday nights, but I really would like to have time for my social life.”
“You mean, going to functions and getting fuck—”
She holds a hand up, stopping me. “It was a one night thing. A step to becoming.” She stops and shakes her head then pushes her toast back. “I’m not hungry, thank you. I will see you tonight.”
“Hold up, Livi.” I follow behind her as she runs down the stairs.
Once in the garage, she looks down at her hands.
“You forgot your keys.” I hand them to her then hit the garage door opener.
Keys in hand, she gets in her car, fires her up, rolls down the window, and then thanks me before backing out of the garage.
I think to myself, don’t thank me yet, Livi, I’ve got plans for you.
...
I walk into the bar and turn on the lights. The place is clean and doesn’t smell. I think back to only a couple weeks ago and what I walked in on. I hate that bastard. There’s no reason to look back, but today, I am in a mood. I guess we could say I’m finally hitting that fourth step in the grieving process. Depression. I’m not depressed; I hate that word. So, again I am ‘in a mood.’
How could a man do that to a woman? How could my father do that to a woman who gave him three children? Fucking cheating on ‘his girl” all these years and while she was in the hospital dying. Fucking piece of shit asshole.
Jagger walks in. “Hey what’s up?” he asks, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.
“You been out all night?” I hand him a cup of coffee.
“Yep, I need to hit the gym and get some sleep,” he says before he takes a sip. “How’d our girl do last night? She was fucking tanked, man.”
“Yeah, not cool, Jagger. She’s young—”
“Old enough to go to the store, old enough to get bread, man.” He chuckles.
“She’s an employee,” I warn.
“Old enough to flirt, she’s old enough to squirt.”
“Bro, you’re to leave her the fuck alone.”
“Are you for real? Since when is ass off limits?”
I look at him, clamping my jaw shut, trying my damndest not to say a fucking word. But hell if I don’t want him to know she’s been had. He and Morrison may have shared a broad before, but the Caldwell rule is, if one of us has tapped in, the others don’t unless we tap out. I haven’t tapped out just yet. I need to, but I haven’t. Therefore, he sure as shit isn’t tagging in.
“Holy shit,” he gasps as my warning settles in on him. “You fucked Livi last night.”
“No, I certainly did not fuck Livi last night.”
“Oh, man, I know that look. You better fucking dish. Is she a virgin?”
I say nothing, merely look at him.
“Oh, man, she’s a virgin, and what, twenty-four, twenty-five? That’s fucked up. She needs to get laid. Unfair to her, man.”
“She’s not a virgin, and you better just leave it alone.”
“Fuck that. Since when do we leave shit like this alone?”
“I’m gonna say this once, and that’s it. Then, it’s dropped.”
“Do tell.” He leans in like a kid waiting on his mom to read the next chapter in a story book.
“You’re to blame. That fucking fundraiser is where we hooked up. We had masks on, so I had no fucking clue who she was, and she had no clue who I was.”
“Well, shit, I guess a fucking thank you is in order. How the hell did you figure that out?”
I don’t say shit.
“Did you rape her?” He snickers, knowing damn well I didn’t nor would I, but he wants to rile me.
“Are you out of your fucking—”
“Or”—he holds up his hand—“was consent fucking given?”
I shake my head and try not to smile.
“Holy shit, man, so that little panty tug-of-war was when the proverbial unmasking took place?”
“Not a word, Jagger. If she didn’t owe me for fixing up her car, she’d be done here.”
He laughs again. “Oh, really? Is that the mask you’re gonna hide behind?”
“I’m not hiding shit. True story.”
“So tag out.” He is challenging me, testing me, and I know it.
“This isn’t a game. I don’t do charity work. She gets square with me, and she can do whatever the hell she wants to do. Until then, back off.”