by Demi Vice
Jack stopped, grabbed both of my shoulders and turned me to face him. His face only inches away. The corner of his mouth was still a little bloody from the fight with Gomez.
“You don’t talk the same way. You don’t act the same way. You’re cold and ruthless.” He paused. “You’re a fucking Baby Ruth, baby girl,” Jack spoke as if he were in an old-timey movie from the 1940’s. Jack moved fast, cupping my cheeks, chomping the air in front of me and kissing the tip of my nose, emphasizing the kiss noise.
And the world's most dramatic drunk goes to…Jack Baron.
I exhaled sharply before pulling Jack across the street. “Years of conditioning and practice make for a cold soul, Jack.”
“I was never cold. I’m hot…like a Hot Pocket.” Jack rubbed his chest, his stomach, then cupped his groin and moaned.
I hid my smile while I pulled Jack through the alley. We got to the back, but I’d forgotten one small detail. I didn't have my keys. Jack did.
“My keys, Jack?” I held out my hand.
“Why don’t you find them?” He leaned on the door, giving me a slow wink. He opened his black leather jacket wide, revealing the blood red lining.
I bit my bottom lip and went for the front pocket outlining my keys. His tall shirt covered the entrance to the pocket. I slowly moved it higher and higher, going past his happy trail of dark pubic hair, and the bottom of his tight abs and V. I bit my lip, forcing myself from completely ripping off his shirt. I reached, fast, into his pocket as Jack let out a low moan. I tried to ignore his animal side, but I was weak, my body flooded with arousal. I closed my legs tight, trying to focus, as I grabbed my keys, fast, and looked down at the locks, my hair covering my pink cheeks. Jack peeled himself off the door like Velcro and stood tall behind me. Goosebumps flew over my body, and my nipples perked up sensing Jack’s presence from behind. We were in the same location and position as we had been a few hours back, and my mind hit the replay button.
Hand around neck and waist, boner snug between my ass, and a deep growl that was, oh, so soothing. I’d never been so turned on in my life. Fuck, I had never been so turned on right now either.
“I wanna fuck you again, Baby Ruth,” he whispered in my ear, hands on my waist, the same gut feeling coming back. I could never tell the difference between the butterflies or trouble. Maybe it’s because they were both the same feeling right now.
“You’re drunk, Jack.”
In other words: You have whiskey dick, Jack. I don't think your body would let you have a boner even if you tried with all your might, Jack.
He let out a husky chuckle. “True. True. I might not be able to get a hard-on but…but I have a nice seat for you. It’s called my face. Give me something to suck on until I fall asleep, my baby,” Jack moaned and licked the shell of my ear with a laugh. I flinched, rubbing my wet ear against my shoulder. I retorted with a playful slap on Jacks stomach that made him wince.
“Wash the blood off your face and hands,” I demanded when we got to my apartment.
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted me and shut the door.
I guarded the bathroom door as he did what I asked and took a piss. I heard some fumbling around, the sound of water running again, and before I knew it, the door opened wide. Jack was in his briefs and socks, his hair was a little wet, showing off his slightly wavy hair.
I moved the clothes Jack had folded off my bed and pulled the covers off to get him on the bed. He dropped onto the mattress like a bomb. The loud thump shuddered through the whole floor as Jack grunted. He rolled on his back in a ‘T’ shape with a giant smile and closed eyes.
“Your throne is ready my princess.” Jack stuck out his tongue and licked the air.
I bit my lip, hard, and shook my head while my body begged me to listen to him. To take a seat, but I couldn’t. I needed to go back to reality—to work—and Jack, well, Jack seemed like he was in his own world where he didn't have work tomorrow. I mean later today.
I made my way to my bathroom, applied some makeup on my hickey and changed my panties. I was soaking wet. Jack was making me go through more panties then I owned.
When I came out, Jack was completely passed out, snoring lightly and lying on his side. I placed a pillow on his back, making sure he’d be safe all night. I watched him sleep for a minute like a creep, but he looked so peaceful even with all the damage on his body.
How could someone who had a past full of scars be so happy all the damn time?
I pulled the covers over him, and he muttered under his breath, “I love you.” The three little words Jack had been saying to everyone at the bar tonight. I grabbed my outfit for Maddy’s Diner knowing very well I wasn’t going to come back here after my Diablo's shift finished. I would take my one-hour nap there tonight and then migrate to Maddy’s.
Before I left, I stopped and watched Jack inside my small apartment. He didn’t look like he belonged in my bed where his feet hung off the edge, or in this neighborhood.
I didn't know.
There was something off about Jack. Good? Bad? I still wasn’t sure. It was like my stomach. I couldn’t tell. But one thing I knew was that Jack felt nostalgic. Even though he was a complete stranger, I felt as if I knew him.
AHRI
“Please, tell me you didn’t sleep at Diablo’s again?” Felicia scolded me.
I shrugged, hugging my uniform tightly and rubbed my eyes. It was five in the morning and Felicia, me, the chef and Teddy were here to set the diner before opening. I headed into the bathroom. Felicia following behind me, to help me out with my dress, but mostly to talk or scold.
“You need to cut your hours.”
Yep, to scold.
“I’m fine. You know I sleep at Diablo’s. What’s the point of going home for an hour or two just to sleep then come here?”
Felicia smacked her lips and, prepped the toilet seat before she sat down.
“I’ll catch up on my sleep this afternoon before my bar shift, Mom.” I rolled my eyes.
Felicia was always worried about my health, but I could take care of myself. I’m a big girl who needs the money. I stripped down to my underwear, pulling my hair up into a messy bun. I saw Felicia’s eyes turn wide in the small cracked employee bathroom mirror.
“What. Is. That?” She locked down on the hickey. I thought I’d done a decent job of covering up. Guess I didn’t.
“Nothing,” I said as if I didn’t notice.
“Yeah that ‘nothing’ looks like a hickey the size of fucking Texas.” Felicia jumped off the toilet seat. She stood tall above me, examining the hickey up close and personal. “You fucked your roommate.”
My rosy cheeks gave away my answer while I threw on my yellow dress. Felicia zipped me up and tied my apron in a cute bow.
“Something like that,” I said.
“Alright, Miss. Vague. Explain.”
“It kind of just happened. He was—the way he—he’s a persistent man with a mouth.” I babbled.
I focused on the hickey, trying to spread makeup over the parts I’d missed, but I gave up. Dropping my hair down, I played around with it until I’d temporarily covered Jack’s mark. I went back out to the diner and flew around the place to make sure it was ready for opening.
“A talented mouth?” Felicia licked her lips and shot her eyebrow so high I thought they were going to fly off her face.
Yes. “More like a slick and dirty mouth. He talks like he owns the world and everyone in it. He’s got that…raunchy humor.” I tried to hide my feelings, but Felicia clearly saw how much I liked him.
“Are we talking like Deadpool raunchy? ‘Cause I know you’re a sucker for that man.”
“Yeah, but amp that up a few notches.”
Felicia let out a wild laugh. About a year ago she’d found out that I had loved a total of three men my entire life. All of them fictional characters. I blame Luke for being a comic book nerd and telling me all the stories about his favorite anti-heroes until one day I gave in and read the comic’s
myself.
You got Frank Castle, The Punisher, all man, brutal and vengeful. James Howlett, Wolverine, brawny, fierce and short-tempered, but loyal with good heart…deep down. And finally, there was Wade Wilson, Deadpool, the wild, sexy, arrogant, unpredictable mercenary comedian with the big mouth. Yes, Ryan Reynolds did an amazing job of portraying him, but Jack Baron would have perfected him.
In my eyes, they were perfect. All man and real. They weren't a superhuman alien from a different planet that tries to help anyone but gets weakened by a green rock. They were real. They’ve done bad things for revenge, for the people they love, or simply to survive. Sure, the men I loved were fake, but realistic in my eyes. They had fucked up pasts, drenched with trouble and pain, similar to mine. So, I’d always related to them.
“You like him, don’t you?” Felicia asked as she followed me to the front to make sure all the tables had condiments.
“Oh, by the way. I got my birthday off.” I changed the topic.
“Hold on what? You got Gomez to get you the night off? How?”
“You know how a few times a year some stupid soul pisses off Gomez?” I wiped down the table, getting rid of a spot someone from the night shift missed.
“Papi Gomez came out yesterday?” Felicia laughed. “Fuck, I love me a good Papi Gomez fight.”
I nodded.
Papi Gomez was what we like to call Gomez when he gets overprotective of his workers, mostly me since I was the only girl. Yesterday when I came back with a hickey, Gomez was on high alert, asking me if I was okay and if he needed to show the skinny punk a lesson. I told him it was all good.
Later in the night, when Jack drank on an empty stomach. He got a little flirty. Asking me for a dance, trying to buy me drinks, etcetera. Jack kept drinking, and then started playing with my hair, my nose stud, and dimple by poking them, and caressing my cheek while trying to go in for a kiss. I denied him each time followed by, ‘It was a mistake,’ which made Jack pull a fake pouty face.
Jack had been delicate with me, but I could tell his body was screaming to take me again, and I wanted him, bad, but I already decided it wasn't going to happen. Not to mention, I didn't want to get fired. I love bartending. I’d love to work in a nice neighborhood one day and not have to worry about money. As much as I liked Gomez, there was no way in hell I wanted to spend the rest of my life here.
The last drink pushed Jack over the edge when he told me he loved me, which wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. Seems like alcohol always has this effect on people. I couldn't tell you how many drunk men (and women) confessed their love to me or whoever they thought I was. By the time Jack told Gomez he loved him and tried to touch his mustache. Gomez had enough.
Regular bar owners would have kicked someone like Jack out, but not Gomez. Not when it’s a good excuse for a wager fight. A fight that involved them punching each other in the gut as hard as they could until one of them gave up, fell on the floor, or cried. Crying was how it usually ended, but never for Gomez. He always won. He’s a bulky man, ex-marine, and punched like a truck.
“So, what was the wager? Let me guess. Gomez still wanted his bikini girl set tap handles, right? He’s been trying to get a sucker to pay for his new ladies for over three months now.” Felicia snorted. “And what did insert-your-mans-name-here want?”
“Not my man. His name’s Jack.” I quickly said. “What he wanted was a paid day off for me.” I bit the inside of my cheek, still feeling flustered that he’d asked for that even though I knew his intentions were purely selfish.
“Well shit, your man got you the day off, and it’s paid? We’re going to be dancing in the club while Gomez is paying for it.” Felicia’s blonde afro bobbed with her cackling laugh.
“It’s not paid. Jack lost.” I puffed a laugh. “Gomez punched him three times—two more punches than anyone has ever taken—until he spat blood and fell on the floor. Gomez almost shed a tear after Jack’s third punch. He said it was the best fight he had in years, possibly ever. He still made Jack pay for the full set of handles, but Gomez gave me my day off. No pay. You should have been there; I haven't seen Diablo’s that excited in a really long time.”
“Dammit!” Felicia whined. “I wish I was there. Seems like he’s a real Prince Charming.”
I laughed. A genuine laugh. “Calling Jack Prince Charming would be like calling me the next Princess of Wales.”
“I don’t know. He made time for you to get laid after you couldn't do it yourself for four years and you get to celebrate your birthday on your actual birthday which I know you haven't done in years. Years! Seems like he’s the closest thing you can get to Prince Charming in Birch Park.”
“If Prince Charming were dressed in black, covered in tattoos and scars, and looked like the love child between G-Eazy and Dave Franco with black hair and amber eyes. Sure, Jack is Prince Charming,” I retorted.
Felicia let out a moan and took a seat on the yellow bar stool which desperately needed to be taped. The gray foam was popping out of the fake yellow leather seat, looking like a gruesome pimple ready to burst.
“Oh, he sounds sexy as fuck. If you don’t want him, can I?” She bit her finger and raised her other hand up like she was in school ready to be picked. Or in my case, ready for me to say yes.
I shot her a dark glare. My eyebrow twitched, my eyes narrowing on her full blonde afro, luscious glossy lips, and flawless mocha skin. Felicia’s smile got more devious and wicked with each second that passed.
“Busted. You jealous bitch.” She smirked. “And please? Like I would ever do you like that. I got my own sexy Devon, right now.”
I threw my rag at her in frustration, but Felicia caught it and chucked it back at me.
I hated feeling this way, but I couldn't help myself. I couldn’t help but feel like Jack was all mine, even though I didn't want him. He was trouble making my gut flutter and quake, unsure if it was butterflies or if I was just going to be sick.
I'd always been drawn to trouble and darkness. So naturally, I loved my men the same way.
Jack
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.”
I rubbed my eyes, staring into the dark bedroom aside from a small sliver of bright sunlight peeking from the hall. I forgot how horrible hangovers were and why I wasn't a heavy drinker. This shit can ruin a whole day.
I smacked my lips and stared at the ceiling, my eyes adjusting in the dark. I found myself staring at a water stain trying to figure out what the hell it reminded me off. A flower? An outline of a deformed cat face? The food slop from the Tavernville?
I grunted and sat up, my abs sore and tense like a motherfucker. I rubbed my eyes again this time the palms of my hands throbbed and ached, but all my attention was glued to Ahri’s clothes rack. A homemade PVC pipe clothes rack.
Crafty and clever.
All her sweaters, shirts, and skirts were colorful or patterned, and her pants were either high waisted jeans or patterned leggings. She owned nothing black, aside from a pair of black strappy heels. I moaned and readjusted my morning wood. What I wouldn’t do to see her wearing only those heels.
Standing up tall, I stretched and touched the ceiling with my sore hands. I wore only my briefs and one black sock. I inhaled deeply. The smell of booze and sex filled my lungs.
God, you need a shower.
There was nothing wrong with smelling like this since it’s been so long, but I loved being clean. I walked into Ahri’s ant-sized bathroom. A place where a man my size didn’t belong. There was a small sink, a toilet right across from it, and a tiny shower in the corner which I was going to fit in snugly.
My black pile of clothes looked like a blob of nothing against the white bathroom tiles. I moved them into the kitchen a footstep away. Jesus, this apartment was a joke. Everything was too damn small. I turned on the shower, watching the rusty water slowly turn clear. When I thought the water was clean enough to bathe in, I stepped inside and let the hot water flow down my neck.
Son of a bitch.
Even prison showers were better than this shit. I grunted with frustration, squatting under the water until my black hair fell past my eyes. I cleaned my hair with Ahri’s non-brand name products. Her scent brought a smile to my face.
Leaning on the cold tiles, I let the hot water run down my stomach. What the fuck? My stomach was bruised under my scars and tattoos, my right knuckles swollen and red, and the palm of my hands scratched up with small scabs.
Oh, shit…Gomez and Ahri.
I laughed but had to stop. The pain in my stomach, violent, and the taste of blood, fresh.
Gomez was so pissed at me when I brought Ahri back with a huge hickey. He got even angrier when I flirted with her all night. And once I told him, ‘I love you’ and tried to touch his mustache. Gomez flipped shit.
After about my sixth drink, my memories were a little blurry. I could still recall most of the night. The fight, the money I’d lost, and almost getting hit by a car until Ahri yanked me to safety. I rubbed my stomach; the pain felt numb after the hot water had its way with me. The red and purple bruise was changing the original gray colors of my snake and skeleton jack in the box tattoo.
Still the best night I’d had in years. For cocky points, let’s just say I won instead of calling it a tie. I was going to have a night with Ahri, and I’m going to fuck her all night long. It would have been better if Gomez was paying us to have sex, but I could live without it.
I turned off the water, got out, and grabbed the only towel I could find. I patted down my body and furiously towel dried my naturally wavy hair I always straighten out. My face wasn’t touched—part of the rules—but I looked tired as hell even after almost ten hours of sleep.
The beauty of not worrying about anything was going to be beyond beautiful.
I raked my wet hair back, my five o’clock shadow revealing how old I am. I didn’t look my age. I could pass for mid-twenties, but when my beard grew out. I was old. I had all my silver hair peppered on my beard, and I hated it with a burning passion. Luckily, no silver hairs touched my jet-black hair. Thank the fucking Lord.
