Then I started to draw him. His strong hands, the veins in his forearms. The smudge of grease right above a tattoo of a girl’s name—Francesca.
I didn’t stop until well past three in the morning when the likeness was perfect.
After finishing it, I stood up, stared down at the drawing, and wondered how weird I was that I drew a man that I barely knew. If what had happened today could be counted as ‘knowing.’
After turning off the light to the table, I walked to the door, then took one final look over my shoulder once more, and then walked to the bedroom and completely forgot about him.
That was also a lie.
I lay awake for a while until I fell asleep for about two hours before my alarm went off.
The few dreams I did have were consumed with him.
Chapter 2
Autocorrect has not figured out how often I swear and how rarely I talk about ducks.
-Text from Coke to Frankie
Coke
I couldn’t get the woman—girl—out of my mind.
I’d allowed the truck to rest—knowing that I wouldn’t get it done in time to use it tomorrow like I’d originally planned—and went into the house.
It felt empty and barren—which it was. Without Francesca, my seventeen-year-old daughter, there, there was nothing that made my house a home.
After I’d divorced my wife, Frankie had come to live with me. It’d been just the two of us for two years now, and then she’d gone and grown up on me by graduating early and moving into a goddamn college dorm with boys.
Needless to say, I still wasn’t doing well with that, but it was what it was. My girl had grown up on me without my permission, and she’d demanded to do adult things—like go to college two hours away so she could join a biology program that I couldn’t even pronounce, let alone complain about her going to.
My girl was smart. She was fierce.
And she was gone.
Which led me to now.
I was officially a single man, living on his own, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself.
Before, there’d been sports, homework, food to cook.
Now, I didn’t have any of those things to worry about. So, I’d found myself a hobby—which happened to piss off my cute, little new neighbor.
And she was cute.
She was very soft spoken, and I was honestly worried that she was going to curl into herself when I’d seen her walk up. Truthfully, I was downright impressed that she’d even taken the first step toward me.
Which happened to also be why I’d stopped working on the truck when I had a fuckin’ deadline. It took courage, what she did.
Therefore, I gave in to her request that I call it a night. I’d also give her the twelve that she asked for.
Any other time? She’d have to come over and ask again.
Smiling, I made my way to the bedroom. Once there, I dropped all of my clothes into the ever-filling hamper.
With Frankie not here to do laundry anymore, I wasn’t too sure what to do with myself.
It’d been awhile since I’d actually had to do laundry. My mother had done it when I’d lived at home, and then my ex, Beatrice, had had the maid do it. Finally, when I moved out, Frankie had figured out how to do it and took over the chore. Which left me quite unsure what to do with it.
Logically, I knew how to do laundry—what threw me off was having to do such small loads and using these new washer and dryers that were smarter than I was.
Since I have had no desire to do laundry, and had plenty of clothes to go through, I’d put it off. Like I’d been saying since she’d left for college, I’d figure it out…tomorrow.
No, but really, I would. Tomorrow was the last day that I’d have a clean pair of pants, and it couldn’t be too hard.
I’d been procrastinating long enough.
Tomorrow, I’d conquer the washer and fix the truck.
I hoped.
Laughing at my inability to get anything done despite having more time on my hands, I walked to my bathroom naked and turned on the shower.
Without waiting for it to heat up, I stepped inside and shivered.
Why I always stepped in before it’d warmed up, I didn’t know. It was just a habit at this point.
Sometimes, it was still a surprise to have the water actually turn hot.
When I was growing up, hot water was definitely something we didn’t always have. And, when I was in the military, sometimes I got the last shower which was usually cold.
I was one of eight boys. Though we did have a hot water heater, it wasn’t sufficient enough to supply showers for my mom, dad and all eight of us children. Usually, by shower number four, the water was cold.
Most of the time we went from youngest to oldest, since we couldn’t let the little boys take a cold shower.
I was rinsing out the shampoo when the water turned warm, and then my mind wandered.
My neighbor had said that she’d moved in last week.
I’d seen the moving truck through the part in the trees that separated her house from mine and had wondered not only who was moving in but also who could afford that place.
I had asked the previous owners if they wanted to sell, and they gave me the price they wanted for it, I immediately backed off of it.
There was no way on God’s green earth that I was going to pay what they wanted for it—which again made me wonder how in the hell such a young woman could afford it.
She hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring, and I assumed that if she had a man, he would’ve been the one to make the late-night call to tell me that I’d been interrupting their sleep instead of her.
Meaning that she’d somehow been able to afford that place on her own.
Which then caused me to wonder how someone so young could have come up with that much money.
I suppose she could have inherited the money or maybe she had a trust fund. She could have even won the lottery. Those were all possibilities, I suppose.
She’d been a cute little thing, and the words that came out of her mouth as she rushed through her explanation had left me more amused than the annoyed I normally would have been.
As the hot water sluiced down my back, coating my body in wet heat, I thought about how beautiful she was—in an understated sort of way.
She’d been wearing sweats, old shoes, and her hair up in a bun.
However, I could tell from just a glance that she had a nice body underneath the clothes.
Her hair was black as the night and looked like it was super soft—I’d bet it’d feel like silk between my fingers.
Then there was her face.
She had eyes the color of the sky, and I wanted to get lost in them.
Her lips were full, and her teeth were straight and white.
And she had a scar on her chin that extended up her jaw.
Her hands had been delicate, but she had some meat on her bones.
Although she was short, she still looked like she wouldn’t be easy to break—a look most women didn’t seem to care for nowadays.
She definitely had some Native American or Latino in her gene pool due to her coal-lined eyes that was most definitely not from makeup and the warm color of her skin.
Honestly, she was downright beautiful even though she wasn’t trying to be.
The more I thought about her, how pretty she was, the way she timidly asked her questions, and her obvious courage, the more I realized that I found her highly attractive.
My dick was in obvious agreement with that, too.
It was hard, pulsing, and I was ashamed to admit that this was the first hard-on I’d been able to get in well over two years—since right after my divorce was final.
Beatrice had really done a number on me, and at this point in my life, my instinct when it came to women was to run in the opposite direction.
I didn’t have the want or the desire to find myself tangled up
with anyone ever again—or at least for the immediate future.
But, just because I didn’t want to get tangled up with her didn’t mean that I couldn’t find her attractive—which I did. Very much so.
My dick did, too.
Wrapping my hand around my cock, I started to stroke it and thought about the last time I watched porn on my phone, trying to pull up the image of that redhead’s face with her mouth wrapped around my cock.
But that redhead quickly morphed into a black-haired siren with fascinating blue eyes that held me captive as she sucked me off like it was her favorite thing in the world to do.
Before I even knew it, I came.
The white, milky seed that’d shot from my cock hit the glass shower door, and I watched it slide down the steamy surface.
After my heart rate came back into the acceptable zone, I lifted the shower head from its holder and rinsed off the glass, watching as my release swirled around the drain before it disappeared.
All the while, I wondered if my new neighbor would’ve swallowed it.
Chapter 3
Old Military Friend: What state do you live in?
Coke: Constant Misery
Coke
There are times when I can handle my ex-wife and then there are those times that I can’t.
The times that I can’t, unfortunately, outnumber the times that I can by about ten to one. The times that I can are usually when I’ve been drinking.
This time, when she spotted me eating by myself, I knew that I wasn’t going to get out of this altercation unscathed.
Beatrice was still extremely pissed that I’d ‘allowed’ our daughter to ‘ruin her life.’ And by ‘ruin her life,’ she meant letting our daughter go to college. I wasn’t under the impression that I’d had a choice in the matter. My child was seventeen. She’d graduated high school. The next logical step for her after high school was college. Sure, I would’ve loved for her to go to a college closer to home, but the school that she was attending had an excellent academic program in the area that she wished to study. Who the hell was I to tell her no?
My girl had a good head on her shoulders. I knew that she’d do well at school.
What I didn’t understand was why the hell my ex-wife fucking cared.
Normally she wouldn’t give a shit, but at this point, she argued with me just for the sake of arguing.
Well that, and she hated me.
Yeah, I’m not sure about that one since I’m such a likable guy.
“Well hello, Coke,” Beatrice said, finally arriving at the side of my table.
I took a bite of my taco and refused to answer.
“I notice that you’re not doing anything,” she said, sounding irritated. “Funny, but if you’re not busy, normally one answers a call. Why is it that you can’t do that? Or return one?”
I took another bite of my taco.
This bite was bigger.
If I finished it fast enough, maybe I could take this outside so the whole goddamn town didn’t hear what Beatrice had to say.
Unfortunately, Beatrice was in fine form today, and experience told me that meant she wouldn’t give one single fuck who she aired our dirty laundry in front of.
The bells on the door sounded, and I looked up in time to see my new neighbor come in.
My heartbeat picked up at the sight.
Beatrice stepped into my line of sight, and I swallowed down a growl at the interruption.
Last night had felt like a lifetime ago after the day that I’d had, so seeing her, confirming that she was actually as beautiful as I’d remembered, was something that was pretty important to me.
So instead of looking around Beatrice, I got up from my chair, picked up my tray, and walked to the trash can that was directly next to the front counter.
Once I’d thrown my things away, I filled up my cup with sweet tea while surreptitiously checking out my neighbor.
She was completely oblivious to everyone and everything going on around her.
She was staring up at the menu hanging up over the counter, a small smile kicking up the corner of her face.
The owner of the Taco Shop liked to make it fun, so all of her menu items were named after her favorite movie characters. The one I’d eaten was called the ‘MacGyver.’
The only reason I got it was because that was my middle name, and I thought it was funny.
Color me surprised when she ordered it, too.
“I think I’ll try the MacGyver,” I heard her say.
“Coke, we’re having this discussion whether you want to have it or not,” Beatrice said, popping up at my side like an STD that just kept coming back regardless of what I did to get rid of it.
Then my mouth kicked up at the idea of enlightening her on what I had been comparing her to in my thoughts. She’d have a coronary.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “But I’m late for work. I was supposed to be back so that June could head to her doctor’s appointment.”
With that, I left, despite the fact that my neighbor’s anger-lit blue eyes were on me.
Unfortunately, the click of heels that followed me outside didn’t belong to her. They belonged to my ex.
I made a groaning noise in my throat and kept walking, speeding up slightly once I’d gotten outside.
“Shit!”
I didn’t bother looking back. To do that would be to admit defeat, and I sure as fuck wasn’t letting that happen—at least not when it came to her.
Now, if my cute little neighbor had been the one behind me…
“Coke, I swear to God!” Beatrice cried out in frustration. “If you don’t stop, I’ll make this a lot worse than it needs to be!”
When had she ever made anything easy?
That’s right, never.
My ex-wife was a raging bitch, and not a moment went by when she wasn’t trying to make things worse for me if she could manage it.
Our marriage had definitely been one of those things that I’d never wish on my worst enemy.
Beatrice was selfish, conceited, and quite possibly insane.
At this point in my life, I wasn’t even sure that she was human.
I arrived at my bike and straddled it.
The moment that it was started, I revved it up and started to roll backward out of the parking spot I’d pulled it into not even an hour before.
Before I could complete the maneuver, Beatrice was there, her eyes narrowed and her face flushed with anger.
I sighed, knowing that she wouldn’t move, and I considered riding straight through the Taco Shop’s flower beds.
But, sadly, I just wasn’t that type of person.
Instead of fleeing like I’d wanted, I turned the bike off and waited for it.
It didn’t take long.
“I want to know how the hell you could do something like this!” Beatrice cried. “How could you do this to us?”
I rolled my eyes and looked through the front window of the Taco Shop, wondering if they could hear what Beatrice was screaming.
My luck, they probably could since Beatrice had this shrill, annoying voice that hit all the wrong notes.
I’d had my fair share of headaches and migraines thanks to that woman.
“Beatrice,” I groaned. “We’ve been over this. I know that we have. So, you need to listen to this, because this is the last time I’m going to explain it. Frankie isn’t—”
I was interrupted when Beatrice hissed, “Francesca!”
Rolling my eyes, I continued. “Frankie isn’t gone. She’s away at college. And if she’s not answering your calls, that’s likely because you embarrassed the shit out of her the last time she was with you—which you know damn well and good since she told you that you did. If you’re still not able to get a hold of her, maybe you should try being nice to her instead of leaving her a voicemail telling her how disappointed you are in her.”
The novelty of this was lost o
n my ex-wife.
I could tell just by the anger simmering in her eyes.
“I call, and she should answer. There is no other option. I’m the mother, and she’s the child. That’s just the way it is,” Beatrice replied stubbornly.
I sighed and wondered how much more of this I would have to deal with.
I’d divorced her because she drove me goddamn nuts.
Though, if I were being honest, if it hadn’t been for my daughter asking me ‘why I was still with her mother,’ I would’ve probably still been there dealing with it.
I didn’t like to make waves. I’d had enough of that during my DS—drill sergeant—days. I wanted to live my life. I wanted to work. I wanted to come home, and I wanted to repeat the process.
About two years into our marriage, I’d become so disillusioned to the idea of ever being happy with Beatrice that I was in a constant state of depression. Honestly, the only reason I found even the slightest bit of satisfaction during that relationship was due to the fact that I wasn’t actually home all that much.
Which also kind of sucked because that meant that Frankie was with her.
Luckily, Frankie had her grandfather—Beatrice’s dad. My only remaining parent—my mom—passed away about a year into our marriage due to a car crash.
But, Frankie’s grandfather was great with her, and when she wasn’t with me, she was with him.
When Frankie had flat out asked me why I never left her mother, I didn’t have a good answer for her.
Sure, I guess I could’ve said that I wanted to make it work for her sake but that would’ve been a lie.
I really had no clue why I’d stayed for as long as I did.
Not one single person blamed me for divorcing her—at least not anyone who mattered.
“Are you even listening to me?” Beatrice snapped.
“No,” I admitted. “I’m fucking busy, and I don’t know why we have to have this conversation at all. I’ve said what I wanted to say during the phone call you forced me to endure yesterday. I hoped that once you got all of that off your chest, you’d leave me the fuck alone and allow me to live my life.”
Ain't Doin' It Page 2
