“I forgot how great leather chairs feel.”
I sit on the couch next to Nightmare, who doesn’t even stir. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate having someone in my house.”
“Why invite me?” Moot asks, leaning back as his legs go up.
“You were loyal. Few people are. Allowing you into my house is my way of putting you above other people.”
Moot smirks. “I do feel above other people, so your gesture is working.”
“Asshole,” I mutter.
We silently watch the pre-game until Moot glances at me. “Wilburn women are tricky. Honey liked me until she didn’t. I never saw it coming. You can’t take it personal, man.”
“I’m not taking anything in any way. Stop talking.”
“Don’t be like that. Sharing your feelings is healthy.” I glare at him, and Moot laughs. “They taught us about feelings in prison. It was a group thing. I got to see evil fuckers cry about how their daddies never hugged them. Very enlightening.”
“Sounds awful.”
“It was a way to waste a few hours. In prison, time is one of the biggest fucking obstacles. It was like school. Time frigging crawled.”
I smile at his comment, but nothing shakes the funk Candy’s bitchiness gave me. I wonder if she even knows how she’s messed up my life. Hell, does she even fucking care?
“I liked Honey,” Moot says, startling me from my thoughts. “I never dated many sweet women. Once when I got in a fight, Honey put Band-Aids on my face.”
Moot laughs at the memory. He’s happy about reminiscing, but I suddenly see us as two lonely men approaching middle age. Never before did I feel my life lacked a single fucking thing. Before Candy, I was happy. Moot should be happy to be free. Instead, we waste time thinking about two women out of billions.
“Four kids,” I say and chug my beer. “Honey might be sweet, and she might put Band-Aids on your face, and I admit she still looks good for pounding out a litter, but she still has four fucking kids.”
“She’s also married,” Moot murmurs, leaning back with his eyes closed.
“You know he could be under cement within a few hours.”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to kill some lady’s husband so that I can rekindle old times.”
I think to mention Mayer’s violent behavior. I’ve considered saying something before, but I know Moot. He went to prison to help a stranger. How would he handle knowing his old flame was getting smacked around? He’d be out the door in a flash.
“Besides, she dumped you,” I say rather than mentioning Asshole Andrew.
“True.”
“You only think you missed out because you spent seven years in prison. That’d make anyone nostalgic.”
Moot’s eyes remain closed, and we fall into silence as the game starts. Whenever something happens to cause the crowd to cheer, he opens his eyes. I stare at the screen, but my mind is on Candy.
I know she isn’t watching the game. Her brother loved sports and taught her the basics, but she doesn’t follow any teams. Candy’s open book routine made her easy to get to know. It also makes her silence worse. I wish I thought she was purposely fucking with me so I might hate her.
I love hating people. My enemies list is long and varied. When I’m tense and need help sleeping, I close my eyes and mentally run through all of the names. I’m asleep before I hit the hundredth moron.
Candy should be on the list for turning against me. I don’t allow that shit from anyone, but I still hope she’ll open up to me again. We can go back to how things were, and I won’t even ask for anything more.
Bullshit.
Being friends will never be enough. I want Candy. Not just for chat time in the office, but I want her in my bed. I don’t know how to make that happen now. She comes with baggage and now an attitude problem.
I wouldn’t mind returning to the days when I only needed my damn dog to keep me company.
NINETEEN - CANDY
This morning, Hayes does nothing to hide his bad mood. He walks into the building and kicks my desk on his way to his office. When I bring him a cup of coffee, he glares at me.
“Women,” he grunts as I walk away.
Despite his anger, I know he won’t fire me. He might currently hate me, but he hates the temps more. I also suspect he doesn’t want me working for anyone else. In his mind, I belong to him, and he isn’t changing this arrangement even if I’m currently on his shit list.
When Hayes goes to breakfast and runs his errands, he doesn’t bring me along. He doesn’t tell me he’s leaving either. This is my punishment, and I feel the sting of his silence.
An hour after Hayes returns, two vehicles pull into the parking lot. The trucks turn, so their beds face the building. I walk outside to find out what they want.
“We have an order to put sod in the back area,” the head landscaper says.
“An order from whom?”
“Hayes ordered it. Is there a problem?” he asks, handing me the work order.