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She looks happier, and takes a step forward, pressing her tits against me. “I’m guessing your house that you’re building could use a lady’s touch, too,” she whispers. “Want me to come over and make it nice for you?”
I let out a chuckle. “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart. My house is just that.Mine.So you can get that Suzy homemaker shit outta your mind.”
Sassy pulls a face at me and sticks out her tongue, but her eyes tell me she’s sincerely hurt. I don’t give a shit. She’s a nice chick, and she gives head like nobody’s business. But I ain’t trying to put down a white goddamn picket fence. I know Sassy’s wantin’ more from me. She’s been with a few of the Lords, but she always seems to come sniffing around at me. But I’ve been straight with her from the beginning. She wants to be an old lady, she’s gonna have to find someone else to take the bait. In my life, women are for one thing, and I don’t mean settling down to have two point five kids. I learned my lesson years ago with Rory.
Speaking of which, I should probably think about getting some divorce papers drafted while she’s still in town, and make that shit official.
Only trouble is, that would involve seeing her again.
Just my fuckin’ bad luck.
Rory Wilkins is the shit sandwich that just keeps on giving.
After church,the main thing on my to-do list today is to go grab some groceries and take them over to my old man.
I try to go over and drop off enough food to my dad’s house for him to live on about once a week. I know if I don’t, he’ll just drink all his calories and won’t bother to eat anything solid. I buy him mostly prepared packaged food, shit that’s easy to heat up in a microwave. That’s the only way he might actually eat some of it. Hell, maybe it absorbs some of the alcohol he’s always marinating in.
I had driven my truck the quarter-mile from my place to the clubhouse because it’s a rainy-ass day. It’s dark and gloomy as fuck out, which pretty much matches my mood. As I round the corner on the road to my place, I see the dog sleeping on my front porch, sheltered from the rain. He lifts his head up at the sound of my tires crunching on the gravel, and like a shot he’s up, tail wagging so hard you’d think he’s about to take off like a helicopter.
“You’re gettin’ to be a regular hangaround, eh?” I crack as I come up the steps. “You planning on prospecting for the club, or what?”
The dog lets out a sharp bark of agreement and follows me inside. He goes straight to the spot where I put down the plate last time I fed him, and starts sniffing around like maybe there’s an invisible steak hiding someplace.
“Well, shit. You lookin’ to be fed again?” I spread my hands wide. “I ain’t got any more steak.”
Dog looks up at me and grins hopefully.
“Dammit. Looks like maybe I gotta shop for you, too, huh? All right, look. Turns out I’m on my way to the store. I’ll pick something up for you while I’m there.”
I ain’t about to leave him in here in case he goes crazy and destroys everything while I’m gone, though he seems better behaved than that. I get a bowl, put some water in it, and carry it to the front door. I whistle for him to follow me, and he does. But when I set the bowl down on the front porch, he sniffs at it but doesn’t drink.
“Not thirsty? Okay. Well, I’ll be back in a while. See ya later.”
I descend the stairs and head out to my truck. But when I open the driver’s side door, he bolts down the steps and into the cab before I even know what’s happening.
I can’t help but laugh. “Looks like you like car rides,” I comment as I climb in after him. “All right, you win. But look, you better not chew shit up in here while I’m in the store getting supplies. We got a deal?”
I hold out my hand. He lifts a paw and puts it in my palm. We shake on it.
“Okay, then,” I say, and start up the truck.
Dog stays in the truck while I go in and get a shitload of microwave dinners for my dad. I stop in the dog food aisle and try to decide what size of bag to get. Small won’t last me very long with the way this mutt eats. But large is a commitment. It says he’s staying around for a while.
I really should try to find his owner, I guess. Maybe he’s got one of those microchips? Probably should check with a vet or something.
In the end, I get the large bag.
10
RORY
Storms move in later in the day after my lunch with Dad. Like a coward, I’m a no-show at the house that evening, and I don’t call to tell them I’m not coming. Instead, I book another night at the motel.
The next morning, I wake up to a rainy, miserable day.
I spend most of it holed up in my room, trying not to think about whether to accept my dad’s offer of employment and move back into my childhood home. My breakfast and lunch consist of snacks from the vending machine outside the main office of the Casa Bella, and bad coffee from the ancient drip coffee maker in my room.
There’s nothing that manages to capture my interest on TV, even though I flip through the cable channels at least a dozen times. So instead, I turn to the box of used paperbacks that I keep in the trunk of my car for just such an emergency. I’m a thrift store junkie, but not for clothing finds. Instead, I ransack second-hand stores for cheap books. I’ve currently got a cache of romance novels of all sorts that I grabbed on my way out of Columbus. There are Regency romances, the first three books in a Scottish highlander series, a couple of books set on ranches out west, and even a recently-released bestselling royal romance I’ve been wanting to read. There are also a couple of Stephen King books thrown in for good measure.
