Little Black Box Set (The Black Trilogy)

by Tabatha Vargo

  “Are you going to tell me what that is?”

  “It’s where I kept all my ladies’ numbers.”

  He chuckled, happy memories written all over his smile.

  “Don’t make me gag.” I gripped my stomach. “Plus, there’s nothing in there but names of cars.”

  “That’s how I labeled them. It was my system. No real names. Only nicknames. It keeps you from falling into that nasty get to know them pit.”

  He continued to flip through the pages.

  “Each lady was named after a car with notes about all my favorite contributions from them, and then I have their number. See?” He pointed at the page.

  Suddenly, the words made sense.

  My eyes scanned the page he held out for me.

  Jaguar. Likes to scratch. Growls.

  I laughed as it all made sense.

  “Clive, you’re something else, man.”

  “What? It worked.”

  “There are a lot of cars in there. You were a bit of a slut in your time, huh, old man?”

  I laughed.

  I couldn’t see it.

  Clive with his stringy gray hair and frizzy beard. It was funny to think of women lining up for him.

  “You laugh, but I was quite the ladies’ man. I had no complaints ever. They loved me.”

  He snapped the book shut.

  “It seems like a million years ago, but I was something.”

  I took the book from his fingers and put it back into the box.

  “Enough reminiscing, old man.”

  I turned and started toward the staircase with the box in my arms, but he stopped me and plucked the book from the box.

  “Keep it,” he said.

  “What?”

  Honestly, what was I going to do with a book full of numbers of ladies I was sure were either dead or long dried up in the sex department?

  “Am I supposed to call them?”

  He laughed.

  “No, kid. I’m passing down my legacy to you. Start on a fresh page and fill the rest of the book. Live your life. Love and be loved, but never get attached.”

  His words made sense to me since becoming attached was the last thing I ever wanted to do again.

  “Thank you,” I muttered, taking the book.

  No one had ever given me so much. Even though it was just an old book full of names of old chicks, it was something that had meant a lot to Clive. And for him to hand it over to me, it meant a lot to me.

  Later that night while lying on the couch, I flipped through Clive’s little black book, his legacy, which was now mine.

  At the time, I was only joking with Clive about him being a stud, but he had over a hundred numbers in his book. The dates spanned a twenty-year period, but still, I was seriously impressed.

  Never get attached.

  The book kept him from doing that, and so it would keep me from doing that, as well. He told me to start my own list, and that was exactly what I intended to do.

  I hadn’t gotten laid in a while, and it was time I quit thinking about the past and moved on.

  No more Jane Jetson.

  No more Vick.

  No more foster homes and crazy bullshit.

  Cold streets and empty stomachs.

  It was all going to change for me.

  Hell, it had already begun to change for me.

  I switched positions on the couch, pushing away the bad memories and focusing on the little black book.

  This book would help me.

  Clive had asked me once why I didn’t go out with girls my age. I joked that I didn’t have time because he was a slave driver, but the truth was, Jane had fucked me up, and Vick had fucked me over.

  Women were evil.

  Jane made sure I could never love. She fucked with my head and ruined me. And Vick made sure I didn’t deserve anyone’s love. We had destroyed a family.

  I couldn’t love.

  And I wasn’t worthy of anyone else’s love.

  So I would stick to sex only.

  No.

  Not sex … fucking.

  No emotion.

  No getting to know one another.

  Just hardcore fucking so I could release the pent-up crazy.

  Convinced the little black book was a sign, I decided it would be my new escape.

  Again, my fingers flipped through the pages. The last half of the book was blank except for the very last page. There was only one name but no information or number.

  Shelby Mustang.

  I made a mental note to ask Clive about it later.

  But until then, I needed to come up with a different system. Something that suited me. Clive might have been obsessed with cars, but that wasn’t for me. I knew next to nothing about cars.

  There was only one thing I was positive I knew enough about. Only one thing that made sense to me.

  A grin tugged at my lips.

  I knew exactly what my new system would be.

  Then I closed the book, set it on the floor beside the couch, and went to sleep.

  TWENTY-TWO

  MINNIE MOUSE’S MOUTH WAS THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH. I had never had a woman suck me off with so much gusto. She made up for her short frame and small tits with the best deep throat action a man could receive.

  She earned the name Minnie Mouse because she was the smallest woman I had ever met. Not even five feet tall, the top of her head barely reached my chest. The first time she came into the bar, she was carded. I had no idea a twenty-three-year-old woman could be so small.

  She was a blast, always willing to do whatever it took to please me. And it didn’t matter what time I called; she came ready and willing to take my cock in any hole I felt like sticking it in that particular night.

  She didn’t even mind that I called her Minnie Mouse. In fact, I think she liked it. She played the part so fucking well with her squeaky voice and her red pouty mouth. Sometimes, when I caught her directly after work, she would arrive wearing glasses and sporting a ponytail.

  The ponytail and I became great friends. I would wrap her ebony hair around my fist tight and pull until her neck was taut, her back arched, and I could see her perfectly round face and swollen mouth.

  She was one of my favorite girls, and always the first one I called when I needed a fast fuck in the supply room while Clive was out running errands. He probably wouldn’t hesitate to commit murder if he knew I was fucking girls in his precious supply room, but what Clive didn’t know wouldn’t kill me.

  My little black book was coming up on a year old. After Clive had passed it down to me, I began filling it instantly. Eight names had been added to the book since I received it, all cartoon character names, which Clive got a kick out of.

  Cars weren’t for me.

  Cartoons were.

  Minnie Mouse, Daisy Duck, Sleeping Beauty, Smurfette … the list went on.

  Clive liked to joke that my dick would fall off if I didn’t slow down. And as much as I appreciated his concern, there was no stopping me or my dick. It had a mind of its own when it came to the ladies I met at the bar, and since I worked there every single night, I met a lot.

  They came in all shapes, sizes, and ages, and thanks to my good looks and sexual prowess, they rarely said no. And the few who did were still curious about me. I could see it in the way they looked at me. The more I spent time with women, the more I learned about them and the way they responded to me—the things they loved—and what I needed to say and do to make them be everything I needed them to be.

  “Mmmm, you’re delicious,” Minnie said around the head of my dick.

  Her words and sweet moans brought me back to reality. I pulled her up from her knees, spun her around, pulled up the back of her skirt, and pushed my sopping wet cock inside her ass.

  Covering her mouth to keep the noise down, I fucked her unmercifully until her legs went weak and I was holding her up. And when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I squeezed her throat and unloaded inside the rubber covering my shaft.


  Never go bareback.

  Never.

  The last thing I needed was a little one running around when I could barely take care of myself.

  Not to mention, if these women were so quick to jump in the sack with me, who was to say they weren’t jumping into other sacks.

  I didn’t want anything long lasting. Whether it be a relationship or herpes.

  No names.

  No personal bits of information.

  Just fucking.

  We both slumped against the counter, our heavy breathing filling the room. My busting a nut signaled the end of her little session, which meant it was time for her to go. Especially since I knew it wouldn’t be long before Clive returned.

  Sometimes, the hardest part was getting them to leave afterward without any conversation but not with Minnie Mouse. She was tugging her panties up and smoothing her hair out before I could put my deflating dick back inside my jeans. It was one of my favorite things about her.

  No doubt she had someone else at home waiting for her, but I was just fine with being a side fuck for her. I didn’t want details about her life, and she never asked about mine. It was a match made in heaven.

  “That was amazing as usual,” she said, smiling over the compact mirror as she checked her makeup.

  “You’re welcome.” I grinned.

  Rule number one: be cocky.

  Women loved cocky assholes. I didn’t know why it worked for them, but it totally did. There were exceptions, but those were extremely rare.

  She laughed, snapping her mirror shut and stuffing it into her purse.

  “Until next time,” she muttered, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the side of my cheek.

  Rule number two: no kissing.

  Ever.

  Kissing was too personal.

  I loathed personal.

  “I’ll call you.”

  And I would.

  Over and over again until she began to bore me.

  It was the life.

  Just as she was about to leave the supply room, I heard Clive’s voice calling out my name from the front.

  “Fuck,” I cursed. “Come on.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the front.

  Clive appeared in the doorway of the supply room before we could leave, His eyes narrowed, and Minnie Mouse and I came to a halt. Neither of us spoke as I searched my brain for the perfect lie to tell Clive.

  “Thanks again,” Minnie Mouse blurted out as she held up her purse. “I can’t believe I forgot my purse here this weekend. He was just getting it from the lost and found for me.”

  I grinned and covered my cough since I knew Clive was never going to buy her lie. Especially since we didn’t even have a fucking lost and found in the bar.

  “Well, bye.” She hurried past Clive and hauled ass out of the bar.

  I folded my arms over my chest and attempted to look innocent.

  “I’m not stupid, kid.” He pushed past me and collected a bottle of whiskey from the shelf.

  “What? You heard her. She was just getting the purse she left behind.”

  “Yeah from our lost and found. Since when do we have a lost and found?”

  I grinned.

  “Since today?”

  He pointed a finger at me. “No more screwing in the supply room, you hear me? That’s unsanitary, for Christ’s sake.”

  I couldn’t help myself.

  I laughed.

  Clive rolled his eyes and stepped around me. I followed, laughing hard enough to make my stomach hurt.

  “Hey, you’re the one who gave me the little black book. I’m just doing my part to fill it in. Look, I already have the first half filled out.”

  I held the book out for him to see. He squinted as he tried to read my handwriting.

  “Daisy Duck? Sleeping Beauty? Rapunzel?” He read off a few of the names. “What the hell did you do to my book, boy?”

  “Don’t forget Minnie Mouse.” I winked.

  “Let me guess; Minnie Mouse was the forgotten purse?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “She’s the tiniest thing I ever did see.”

  We both laughed.

  “So you traded my classic car system for cartoon crap?”

  I was officially offended.

  “Yep. Cars were your thing, not mine.”

  He shook his head and scratched at his thick beard.

  “Look, I’m all for sowing those wild oats, but sooner or later, you’re going to have to get serious about someone.”

  “Whoa,” I said, holding my hands up. “Slow down, old man. I’m still young. What’s the rush?”

  “I’m just saying. You don’t want to miss out on the one while you’re sticking it to everyone else.”

  The way he said, “sticking it,” made me chuckle.

  “I think I’m fine, Clive. Besides, you’re still a bachelor, and you don’t seem to have any complaints.”

  Hell, as far as I was concerned, Clive was living the dream, and I was beyond happy he had invited me on the ride.

  He snorted. “I have plenty of complaints, kid. Just no use in crying about it now.”

  “Oh, come on. What complaints? You have it made, Clive.”

  Again, he shook his head and turned away from me.

  “Do what you want, kid. What do I know? I’m just an old man, remember?”

  Clive had never acted discontent. I had always thought he had no regrets about his playboy past, but it suddenly occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t as happy with his lot in life as I had thought.

  Had he missed out on the one because he was too busy sowing his wild oats?

  “Does this have anything to do with the Shelby Mustang?” I asked, knowing I was entering dangerous territory.

  Staying out of each other’s personal business was our way. It was what worked for us.

  His eyes cut to me. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. The Shelby Mustang in the back of the book. You left it blank,” I said, holding up the last page so he could see it.

  I had planned to ask him about it months ago but never got around to it. Now seemed as good a time as any.

  “Any particular reason you left it blank?”

  He pushed the book into my chest, and I closed it, sticking it in my back pocket. “Just forget it, kid.”

  “Was the Shelby your one?”

  “I said forget it,” he snapped.

  I paused, taken aback by his sudden harsh tone, but I couldn’t help myself. I pushed back.

  “Not going to happen, and you’re the one who brought it up, anyway. Who’s the Shelby, Clive?”

  He sighed, scratching at his beard before tugging at the tip. “The Shelby is the car of all cars. The car who doesn’t compare with all the others. At least that’s what it was for me. She’s the unicorn of all women. The perfect woman. The myth, the legend. Whatever you want to call her. She’s the one you don’t think exists, until she does.”

  “So you never found your Shelby?”

  “I did,” he said before he turned away and started toward the staircase as if the conversation was over.

  It wasn’t.

  “And?” I pushed.

  He paused at the bottom of the stairs and wrapped his aged fingers around the back of his neck.

  “And I was young and stupid. Now I’m old and alone.”

  “You’re not that old. There’s still plenty of time to find your Shelby Mustang.”

  He shook his head, his back stiff and his eyes full of sadness.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, kid. You’re young now. You think you have plenty of time, but you don’t. Time has a funny way of sneaking up on you. Then the next thing you know, it’s gone. You’re out of time, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  Little did he know, I would never find my version of the myth. The part of me that could connect with another human being on an intimate level had long been destroyed. It didn’t matter if a “unicorn woman” was running the streets
of New York. Even if I did find her, I wouldn’t keep her, and she could never keep me.

  “I figured you liked being alone,” I said, trying to push my thoughts out of my mind.

  He sucked at his teeth and tugged at his beard once again. “I’ve adjusted. I’ve accepted my loss. I won’t grow old with someone, and I’ll never have grandkids banging on my door.”

  Sadness consumed his features, and his voice was slow and depressed. The creases in his face seemed deeper, and suddenly, Clive seemed like so much more than the happy-go-lucky bar owner.

  He was lonely.

  Of course, he wanted a family of his own.

  No one wanted to grow old and die alone.

  No one but me, that is.

  Like Clive, I too accepted I would never have a family of my own. Of course, I was used to that, since I’d never had a family.

  There would be no wife.

  No children.

  No grandkids.

  But unlike Clive, I was completely okay with that.

  “I’m sorry, Clive,” I said sincerely.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, kid. They are my mistakes. I just hope you learn from them. Having a black book is fun for now, but it’s not forever. You hear me?”

  I nodded.

  I heard him, but it didn’t change anything.

  The sins of my past would never allow that kind of future. So there was no need to even consider it.

  “What’s on your mind, kid? You look like a ghost just walked through you.”

  He could see right through me.

  He always could from the moment we first met.

  I hated that.

  “Nothing. I just wish you had a different ending to your story.”

  He scoffed. “I don’t. Just because I’ve made some mistakes doesn’t mean I wish my life had gone any other way. I worked my ass off to build this bar—to earn respect—to give my life meaning. It led me to this point … it led me to you.”

  I frowned, my heart suddenly feeling heavy.

  “To me? I don’t exactly see that as a high point in your life. I broke into your bar. I’m just a young punk, remember?”

  “Well, that’s because you’re stupid and young.” He smirked. “I may not have kids of my own, but you breaking into my bar was a good thing, kid. For both of us.”

  Things were getting too personal—too deep—and I didn’t like it. It made me feel like I was suffocating—like someone was trying to see into my black soul.