“That. Is. Not. What. I. Meant. Lex, and you know it,” she clips, seething in her chair, biting angrily into her breakfast. It’s not much of a breakfast. I know this. But I swap out flavors of tea and biscotti on a weekly and sometimes daily basis to keep it fresh and interesting. It’s our thing, and has been for the past six years.
“Mmmm,” she food-gasms.
Yes, I know those chocolate chip with macadamia nut ones are my new favorite.
“Good?” I sip my tea, following her lead.
“Delicious as ever. One minute I swear you’ve found the best biscotti and the next you surprise me with an orgasm on a plate.”
Awe, isn’t she darling? That’s a Roni compliment sandwich for ya. Ever the proper lady.
“Now…” Quickly rending her happy mood useless, she moves into starring daggers at me, more intensely this time.
Alright…alright…I surrender. For now.
“My profile has had sixty two hits and I’ve received twenty one emails since last night,” I sputter blankly, and internally I’m wallowing in unhappiness even speaking about this.
“That’s fantastic!” She claps—literally—like a two year old girl who’s mom just bought her a sparkly Barbie doll.
Yes, sooooo…..joyful, Roni—Not!
If only she’d have the mountain of obstacles I have to overcome to find a date, let alone a boyfriend. She doesn’t get my dilemma, between my giant secrets and even larger scars. It’s impossible to force her to recognize I’m not a normal girl. I may look like one, but parts of me are so hard to admit. I just choose not to. It’s better for everyone if I pretend to be okay. Even if I’m not—well, not entirely. Don’t get me wrong, my life is spectacular. It’s the darkness that looms over me, that’s not.
“So? Did you pick one?” She is way too excited and getting a tomboy like her excited is a rarity.
“One what?” I play stupid, I know what she means.
“To date, silly.”
“No, I did the profile for you. To keep you happy. I’m not planning on securing any dates.”
Honesty is the best policy, for the most part. Even if I know it’s going to peeve her off.
Bingo!
Banging her hand on the table, she sneers and huffs at me in palpable agitation.
Two weeks ago, Roni told me she since she is now dating Bob, from Auto’s auto shop. Yes, that’s what I said. Don’t even get me started on the name. It’s a Heartfair thing. A Patty’s Pancake House, Jimbo’s Gym, Larry’s Lawn Service and those are just the tip of the small town of Heartfair iceberg.
Any-who, like I was saying. Since my less than feminine best friend started dating, Bob the thirty-five year old sweet heart auto mechanic, she’s decided I need to get over my…. How long has it really been? Five years, yes, five year dating dry spell. Okay, it’s more like the Sahara desert without water, of any kind sort of dry spell. I don’t date for a thousand and one reasons and yes, I’m lonely sometimes, but I love my life and I’m always busy. I don’t have much time to be bored or lonely. At least not for extended periods of time.
“Are you paying attention to a word I said?” she snaps, her tanned freckle speckled cheeks flaring fire hydrant red.
“No, I tune you out when you start spouting this dating nonsense. Get over it. I did the profile. That’s all you’re going to get, Roni. I’m too old to date anyhow.”
Standing, I take my mug and rinse it out, leaving it for the housekeeper to clean in the sink when she drops by around noon. It’s nearly nine already and I have an important meeting at ten. I don’t have time to waste.
“Bullshit, Lex! You’re twenty eight, the same age as me!”
Yes, I am. But I’m different than her. She’s sassy and forward and well—I’m just me, Lex Keagan, millionaire, entrepreneur, philanthropist, who lives in a tiny town of eight thousand residents. Which is also the main city within forty miles of anything larger, so we cater to those small villages and towns around us. Providing them with schools, an inventive teaching hospital and twenty-four-hour fast food joints. Among other things, of course.
Having had more than enough of this conversation with Roni, I exit the kitchen to grab my pink Gucci purse from the sitting room and slide on my white, size twelve Prada pumps. Today I’m wearing my favorite pale blue wispy A-line dress with plunging V neckline. It highlights my large fake breasts very scrumptiously, I think. And my new investors will be in today to broker a deal, and making men stupidly drool is kind of my thing. Or so I’m told.
They can eye bang me all they want. They just can’t touch. There’s only one male in my life allowed to touch and that’s Daniel, my bisexual secretary. Who’s such a doll, and more Butch than Sundance. And that’s who I need to help relieve the painful throbbing between my smooth toned legs.
Knowing Roni is probably stewing back in her large upstairs apartment that’s over my four car garage, I decide to drive to work alone today. At least now Wynonna and I can get some alone time without Sassy Britches ruining my country buzz.
Clicking my three inch heels through the house on my pristine dark wood floors, I open the white back door and swinging screen door and lock the house up. Stepping down the three back steps, I head to the garage. I think I’ll drive the black Jag today. It’s more impressive and I need to woo my newest investors.
Here goes nothing.
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Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set Page 94
