Fuck.
Last night I picked bourbon. I should have picked tequila.
I pulled myself out of bed then I lugged myself down the hall to the bathroom. I used the facilities, washed my face, brushed my teeth, downed numerous gulps of water cupped in my hand and was walking out when I heard the front door open and close.
Right. Well then. There it was.
God did not answer my prayers and made yesterday a bad dream like that whole season of Dallas where Bobby was dead and then, poof, the next season he’s in the shower.
It would appear that, yesterday, Tucker Creed actually did come back into my life, I agreed to partner up with him then ended the evening eating his food and fucking him.
Shit.
Great.
I wandered into the living room, through the entry and rounded the wall into the dining room.
There I saw a bakery box on the counter and a hot guy behind it with a small raised bruise on his cheekbone, an angry bite mark on his neck, a white, paper coffee cup in one hand, and, to my expert donut discerning eye, a Boston cream in the other.
His assessing eyes came to me. “Mornin’.”
“Guh,” I mumbled and ignored his quick grin by looking down at my cat, who had her face in her food bowl.
I stopped and stared. Hard.
Gun felt it and looked up at me.
“Meow,” she defended herself and she had a right. She was a cat. Food was food whoever gave it to you.
Still, I returned, “Traitor.”
I heard a chuckle, my eyes cut to Creed then down to the big box and I continued wandering his way, asking, “Did you buy donuts for the whole block in an effort to get your partner close in order to have dozens more reasons to keep me not dead?”
“No, I bought enough donuts to make Charlene and her kids happy for a morning.”
Shit, they were going to love that. These days, donuts did it for them. Then again, they were the kind of family, simple pleasures always did. Save Dan, the Douchebag, of course.
I stopped opposite the counter and looked back up at him. “Have I told you you’re an asshole today?”
“You just got up, so no.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He grinned again.
I threw open the baker’s box and plucked out a glazed. I usually went for the fancy, complicated donuts. It was feeling like a glazed day.
I bit into it and looked back at Creed, saying through sugar and fried dough, “Coffee?”
He scooted a white paper cup across the counter toward me.
I picked it up, sipped and closed my eyes.
Ah, good.
“What was that about me bein’ an asshole?” Creed asked.
I opened my eyes but only to narrow them on him.
He burst out laughing and I glared at him while he did but I multitasked, glaring while taking another bite of donut and sucking back another sip of coffee.
He stopped laughing and trained his eyes on me. “Have a good night?”
“No. I lost two hundred dollars playing pool.”
“Meet your match?”
“No. I suck at pool. Fuck drunk texting. Drunk pool betting is where your shit will get burned.”
That got me a full blown smile before he asked, “Where’s your ‘Vette?”
“A parking lot outside The X, hopefully resting easy under the benevolent eye of the Kickass Car God.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he reassured me.
I took another huge bite of donut, chewed twice and said through partially chewed dough, “I hope so.” More chewing then, “She isn’t, I’ll curl up in the closet and I swear, I won’t come out for a week.” More chewing, I swallowed then, “And, just saying, I’ll take my gun with me and if you open the door for any purpose other than to toss in food and beer, I’ll shoot you.”
Through another grin, he muttered, “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Don’t think I’m joking.”
He kept grinning.
Then his grin faded before he asked, “How’d you get home?”
“Don’t know. Ride for a blowjob. I think he was blond though.”
His anger instantly started slithering through the room.
“Don’t play with me,” he whispered. “You think my ass didn’t wait for yours to get home?” he asked and before I could answer, he went on. “She was a redhead, way too much makeup and you both giggled your way all the way up to the door. Though she was giggling like a lunatic, she walked straight back to her car so she wasn’t loaded, like you.”
“She wasn’t a she, she was a he.”
“She had way more tits and ass than you.”
“Foam rubber, Creed. The X is a gay bar. She’s a drag queen. Her name is Uqueesha.”
The Creed anger snake retreated and his brows shot up.
“That bitch was a dude?”
I nodded. “That bitch was a dude.”
“Fuck, didn’t call that,” he muttered.
“Maybe Grandpa needs his eyes checked,” I muttered back and those eyes that I insinuated needed checked narrowed on me.
I took another bite of donut and grinned big through dough.
He took a bite of his and chased it with coffee.