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Mom’s eyes narrow. “What’s that expression on your face?”
I drop my head into my hands and pretend I’m rubbing sleep from my eyes. My face is flaming hot, and I can imagine the horrified and embarrassed expression I’m wearing.
Someone’s in the kitchen humming to himself and making coffee. A deep hum in cheerful tones, as if he’s had a wonderful sleep and he’s excited to greet the day.
“I couldn’t sleep. I had a stomachache.” It’s barely a lie because right now my stomach is churning like I’m going to throw up. If I come face to face with my stepfather at this moment, then Mom’s going to know what happened just by looking at us. She’s scarily perceptive, especially when it comes to me. I pull on my robe, push past Mom, and hurry for the stairs.
Once inside my bedroom, I slam the door, and my eyes drop to the mattress. Lazzaro has left my bed in a disheveled state with the comforter pulled back. There’s a messy white stain on the sheets.
I step closer, wondering what the hell it is because it wasn’t there when I went to bed last night. I realize with dawning horror that there’s something strange about the stain. There’s one large puddle, and then off to one side are some marks. The scent of him washes over me, and I finally realize what it is.
Lazzaro has painted a heart in cum on my sheets. A filthy little love note, from him to me.
2
Laz
Idrop the six-pack of beer onto the counter among the boxes of vegan cookies and paleo protein balls. Artisanal fucking beer. I just want a cold one to take my mind off things, and I have to wade past shelves of quinoa and kale chips.
A freckled young man in a linen apron glances at my tattooed arms and ripped jeans in a way that tells me he’s not loving my presence here. “Anything else, sir?”
I wave a hand at him. “Please. I’m only sir in the bedroom.”
The cashier’s eyes bulge.
I glance at the goods crowded around the register. “I’ll take some gum and the phone number of a blonde who’s great at giving head.”
I get my beer and some gum in a paper bag along with a dirty look. “That will be twenty-four dollars and thirty cents, sir—cents. Thirty cents.”
Twenty-four dollars for some gum and beer? God, I hate it here. I give him a fake grin as I hand over my cash. “No phone number? I guess it’s not my lucky day.”
When I turn around, I run smack bang into a milfy type with dark roots, winged eyeliner, and a lot of gold jewelry. I smile down at her. “Or maybe it is.”
The blonde’s eyes widen, and she pushes out her definitely fake tits. I love fake tits. I love real tits. I don’t really care as long as the woman attached to them enjoys being fucked into the mattress.
Her husband, a man wearing a pastel shirt, loafers, and a sweater knotted around his shoulders, actually steps forward like he’s going to fight me. I nearly burst out laughing because I could flatten this guy with one punch.
I hold up a hand in mock surrender. “Please. I have children.” I flash a smile at his wife. “Or I will by morning. Want to party?”
The husband bristles like a wet cat. “I will call the police!”
For what, hitting on his wife? No one can take a joke on this side of the city. I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes, make my thumb and forefinger into a phone, and hold it to my ear as I take one last look at the blonde. “Call me if you like a big dick, baby. Looks like you could use one.”
The preppy man yells after me, “You’re wearing a wedding ring, asshole.”
I stare at my hand in genuine surprise. There is indeed a titanium band around my ring finger. I keep forgetting it’s there. Giulia chose it, and it’s etched with fussy decoration.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter, shouldering through the door and out of the store. My black Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 is haphazardly parked among the minivans, and when I slide in and gun the engine, heads turn.
The longer I spend in the suburbs, the more I feel I’m going to go postal.
In Giulia’s perfect, white marble kitchen, I crack open the beer bottle on the edge of the counter. The bottle top goes skittering into a corner and I leave it there while I take a swig. The beer tastes like shit, and I stare dispassionately out the window and across the garden.
Someone’s laying on a deck chair by the swimming pool wearing a blue bikini. Mia, my shiny new stepdaughter. A smile spreads over my face.
Speaking of girls who like being fucked into the mattress.
What the hell was that the other night? I mean, I know what it was, at first. I was bored and angry, so I decided I’d go take it out on the one person in the Bianchi family who no one gives a shit about. We’ve got a lot in common, me and her. What I don’t understand is what Mia could possibly have done in her short life to earn everyone’s loathing. Her mom walks around acting like she doesn’t exist. Her uncles never kiss her hello or even smile at her. Everyone talks over her at the dinner table. I get the same treatment from my family but as a confirmed and constant asshole, I definitely deserve it.
