And she was grateful.
She showed me almost any time she could just how grateful she was.
Never bothered me. Not until recently.
Ling is a self-confessed sex addict. I tried to get her help once. Once.
Then I found her eating out Dr. Laura McCullough.
The doctor was kind enough to suck my cock as I watched her get licked six ways from Sunday. Although it was hot, I never took Ling back there.
Ling pulls away from me. “You son of a bitch. Don’t ever bring up my family.” Angry once more, she slaps me right across the face and shrieks, “Not ever again!”
Her heels clip-clop away and my office door slams shut.
Rubbing my red, hot cheek, I smirk.
Doesn’t take long to get her back to the way she was.
Picking up my cell, I call Happy. The phone rings twice before he answers, “Yo.”
Pursing my lips, I ask, “What do you know about lingerie?”
A bark of a laugh, then, “Uh, I know women look good in it.”
I chuckle, “No, I mean what do you know about brands of lingerie? Which ones are good and all that?”
Humor colors his voice, “Maybe you should talk to Ling about this.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I tell him, “Nah. I pissed her off.”
Happy sighs, “What she do now? You know she’s a liability, right?”
“I know. But so am I.” Silence, then I blurt out, “I want to buy Lexi some lingerie.”
He stalls a moment, then says in a sing-song voice, “Then I suggest you go shopping. Happy hunting.”
He hangs up on me.
I glare at my phone, then throw it onto my desk with a sigh.
Shopping.
How bad could it be?
On edge from yesterday’s drug test, I jump when I hear the front door open.
Three guesses to who it could be.
Nikki, Dave, or Twitch.
Seeing as I spoke to the first two and know they’re both busy tonight, by process of elimination, I go with option three.
And boy, are we gonna have words today.
Soon as I see him back through the front door, I start with, “You’ve got some nerv—”
Stopping mid-sentence, my mouth gapes. Dragging bags, bags, and more bags behind him, he kicks the door shut, then says, “Could use a little help here, Angel.”
The way he calls me Angel...he should not be allowed to call me Angel.
I breathe, “Okay.”
Standing in my sweats, tank, ratty hair, and reading glasses, I walk over to his tall suit-covered frame and take some of the bags from him. He takes off down the hall toward my bedroom and places the bags on the floor. Placing my haul of bags on the floor next to his, I watch as he starts turning the bags upside down.
Clothes, accessories, and shoe boxes fall out onto my bed.
And I’m just standing here thinking, “Um…aren’t we pissed at each other?”
I whisper, “What is all this?”
Not answering my question, he tirades, “Did you know there’s a lady at the mall that you can hire to shop for you? All she needs is measurements and bam, she’s off. Like a fuckin’ machine. You tell her to spare no cost and she spares no cost.” He looks back over his shoulder at me with a knowing look, “Know what I mean?”
Mouth still gaping, I manage an, “Uhh…”
He points to random things on my bed. “Evening wear. Evening shoes. Work wear. Work shoes. Some dresses and everyday clothes. Necklaces and frilly shit. Hair stuff.” He grins, “And there are your delicates.”
Delicates?
Looking up at him with a frown, I lean over and peer into the bag he just pointed to. Picking up a lacey see-through teddy, I squeak, “Lingerie.”
Shaking my head, I ask angrily, “What are you doing here? I haven’t heard from you in a week. You know? When you left me in your bed to recover from a virus and never even called to check up on me?”
Twitch doesn’t flinch. “May not have called, but I knew you were fine. I always know. Just like I knew you needed help with your mandatory drug test, little one.”
I bark back, “You didn’t think I wanted to see you? That maybe I needed yo—” I cut myself off. I won’t let him know how much I needed him then. How much it broke my heart that he could cut me out as if I were just another woman.
He stills, then turns to me. “Needed what?”
“I’d like for you to leave.”
His eyes darken a shade. “Not before I get what I came for.”
My voice drops marginally, “Wh-what did you come for?”
Slowly walking towards me with a purpose, I know exactly what he’s going to say before he says it.
“What you owe me.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, holding my head in my hands, elbows to my knees.
Lightly rocking on the balls of my feet, I argue with myself.
The fuck are you doing? Enough. This has to stop.
The CD player on the dresser plays softly. One More Night by Maroon 5 plays.
“There you go again makin’ me love you.”