Then there was her idea of kids. She wanted three, and all of them were to be put through private school, so they could get the best education known to man. And she wouldn’t settle for anything less.
I had no problem with three kids. I also had no problem sending them to private school if that was what they needed. What I had a problem with was paying for said private school.
I never had been, or would be, made of money.
I made money so I could spend it. I didn’t have a healthy savings account, and if I were being honest, I likely would have if I didn’t keep buying toys—such as a new motorcycle, or a new truck that I could fix up just to sell in three weeks.
Then there was my baby, my Chevelle. I bought parts for her on a daily basis, fine tuning, nit picking. Anything that I thought she needed, I’d give to her.
And Ariya thought that was stupid.
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But it was my money, and my decision to make. A woman would never dictate what I was and wasn’t allowed to spend my hard-earned money on.
Which was another reason why Ariya and I never got along.
Our views on life were completely different.
“That was rude,” Ariya said. Then her voice changed. “Is that little Hennessy Hanes over there?”
I didn’t have to look at the woman to know that Ariya had finally noticed her.
The two had never gotten along. Which was surprising since Ariya’s father had been a youth pastor for Hennessy’s father.
“Yes, it is,” I muttered without moving.
“God, what is she wearing?”
Jeans and a t-shirt.
“What’s wrong with what she’s wearing?” I questioned.
“Her pants are too tight. I can see a roll of fat over the top. Muffin top, anyone?”
I knew the ‘roll of fat’ she was speaking of, and it was more than a pinch, and that was only because she was sitting down, as well as leaning forward in her chair, as she spoke adamantly with her friend, Krisney.
“And God, hasn’t anyone told her that if she’s going to wear a white tank, that she should make sure it’s not completely see through?”
I gave Ariya a jaded look, then pointedly looked down at her top.
“I can see the top of your bra over your tank,” I told her. “What’s it matter if I can see her bra through her shirt?”
Ariya smiled, liking the fact that I’d noticed her bra, and bared her teeth in a predatory smile.
I would’ve found that enticing at one point in time. Now I wanted to lick the guacamole that’d fallen off of Hennessy’s chip onto the front of her white shirt.
I started to chuckle under my breath when she growled, and then pulled the shirt up to her mouth and licked the offending goo off.
The move exposed her belly, and her adorable little roll on the top of her pants had me wanting to bite that, too.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I turned to find Ariya staring at me, and then looking back over at where Hennessy now had her shirt back in place.
“You have the hots for her, don’t you?”
I shrugged. There was no use in denying it.
I’d always had a thing for her, even if it’d been borderline creepy when we were younger.
“That’s kind of sad, Tate,” Ariya curled her lip at me. “You know who her father is. You know what she did.”
I nearly rolled my eyes.
Ariya was speaking about when they were in high school, and Hennessy had accidentally bumped into Ariya, causing her to spill hot wax from two candles all over her hands, and lower stomach.
Why Ariya had the candles, I didn’t know. But it’d been before a service that I’d been forced to attend, so I’d been there when Ariya had cried and screamed that Hennessy had done it on purpose, when in reality it’d been an accident on both of their parts.
However, Hennessy’s father had taken her into the back room, and then proceeded to beat the shit out of her with a belt.
Not one single person had intervened, and by the time I’d realized what was going on, I’d only been in time to walk into the room to see tears of pain rolling down Hennessy’s face, and Hennessey’s father repositioning his belt back around his hips.
I’d hated him from that moment on.
The feeling had also been mutual.
She hadn’t screamed.
What I knew then, as well as now, showed how strong she actually was.
I sat back as the server brought my food, and winked at her when she didn’t so much as stutter when she spoke with me about the kitchen staff taking too long.
And as I tasted my first bite of the tacos, I realized why Hennessy had moaned each and every time she’d taken a bite.
It was fan-fucking-tastic.
Chapter 7
Get a fixer upper, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. They were liars. Fixing an old house up fucking sucks.
-Tate’s secret thoughts
Tate
“Remind me again why I said I’d take this place?” I asked Baylor.
Baylor looked over at me with amused eyes.
“Because it was free?”
I snorted and turned my eyes back to the dilapidated house.
“It’s a piece of shit,” I muttered.
“It is a piece of shit,” Baylor agreed. “But it’s your piece of shit.”
He handed over the keys, and I took them, making my way up the front walk.
The porch groaned underneath my weight.
I winced and kept going, ignoring the way the wood creaked with each additional step I took.
I turned and surveyed the porch.
The house itself was built in the nineteen hundreds. It was a two-story monster with over ten rooms. The house itself needed work…a lot of work. There were places in it where I could see straight through the walls to the outside. It was built on pier and beam, and I wondered if the beams holding the house up were even whole.
With the way that the wood underneath my feet groaned with each step, I doubted it.
“May have been free,” I sighed. “But it might not be worth it to fix up.”
Baylor grunted something behind me. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “But the historical society will pay you to fix it up to their expectations. Not to mention if you do get it fixed up, they’ll buy it from you.”
That’d been one of the reasons I’d agreed to take it. I needed somewhere to live, this place was available seeing as it was left to me after an uncle died three years ago, and I wasn’t in a position to complain.
“That apartment building is supposed to be coming down next month, and that house right there,” Baylor pointed, “belongs to your best friend.”
I looked in the direction he pointed.
The house itself was old, like mine, but it was cute and fixed up, where mine was in need of a complete and total overhaul.
“You knew about this, didn’t you?” I accused.
Baylor’s lips twitched. “I thought you could use some eye candy while you fixed this place up.”
He didn’t tell me how he knew whose house it was, but it was Baylor. He had his ways, and I never questioned him because he wouldn’t tell me anyway.
I flipped him off, and started to turn around to head inside, when the front door of the house I’d been studying opened.
Then she was there, in a pair of sweatpants, an old t-shirt that looked to be from high school with her ‘Pirate Volleyball’ on it, and tube socks that were slouched down around her ankles.