by K. S. Adkins
“I won’t wait by the phone,” she replies. “Because Daisy here is a keeper.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, and I felt sorry for her taste in men.
“Well,” Nathaniel booms. “You’re only as old as your wife, right?”
“I’m not touching that one,” Taylor mumbles.
“Evander,” he declares. “Always were a lucky son of a bitch.”
Staring at Taylor, I have to agree.
And when Daisy says, “I hope I look as good as you do when I’m your age,” I half expect Taylor to claw her eyes out.
Even Nathaniel braced for it. Surprisingly, she just smiles at Daisy and says, “Here’s hoping.”
Because she knows just as I did, Daisy isn’t going to age well.
As the night winds down, Taylor and I are of the few left dancing. The woman loves to dance. Although, I like to think she likes holding onto me most. Mid-dip I ask why she didn’t fill me in on Nathaniel wanting to hire her, and she smiles explaining he always asks and she always says no. She goes on to explain that she believes in quality not quantity. Taylor isn’t a fan of Nathaniel’s multiple marriages.
To make the night even better, we had no issues with Whitney, Taylor, or Nathaniel. Placing a kiss on Taylor’s neck, I close my eyes to savor her. Gripping me tight, she lets out a satisfied moan and I savor that, too. Come this time tomorrow, we’ll be back home, which is the last place I wanted to be.
“—has a hickey and keeps staring off into space,” Sugar was babbling. “Of course, she’s thinking of him naked.”
“I bet he looks good naked,” Hillary chimes in. “Hell, he has designer skin.”
“True,” Sugar agrees.
“It’s probably smoother than mine,” Hillary continues.
“Like a baby’s ass,” Sugar says making a slapping gesture.
“How about we let Taylor tell us,” India suggests.
Sipping my mimosa, I glance at each of my girls before filling them in on the weekend. When I’m finished, you could hear a pin drop.
“Your exes came?” Hillary sputters.
“Together?” Sugar adds.
“And you didn’t kick her ass all over the corn field?” Hillary demands.
“And film it?” Sugar finishes.
“Van handled it,” I assure them. “He was…”
“He was what?” India nudges me.
“Protective.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Sugar throws her hands up in victory. “Taylor’s in love.”
“Am not,” I mutter weakly. “It was nice. Not having to be the only one to do it for a change.”
“Does he make you come?” Hillary asks and the neighboring tables around us get quiet. “He does, doesn’t he?”
“He does,” I grin. “He’s quite focused and skilled in that department.”
“Marry him for real,” Hillary demands. “Who cares if he can cook, clean, or wipe his own ass.”
“There’s a visual,” India gags.
“Incoming,” Sugar says low, and we all turn to see Whitney approaching with her sights set on me.
“How does this bitch keep finding me?” I groan then point at India. “You’re an asshole.”
See, I called India and explained that Whitney needed to get a clue and move on lest I be forced to resort to violence. India agreed something needed to be done.
Clearly, she’s come to a decision.
Props to her for creativity though…
Laughing into her glass, she simply winks at me and sits back to the enjoy the show.
“India,” Whitney says in civilized greeting. “Good to see you.”
“Whitney,” she smiles back. “This really isn’t a good idea.”
“You got that right,” Sugar rolls her eyes and palms a butter knife.
“Don’t start until I grab my phone,” Hillary offers helpfully. “This is going in my book.”
Narrowing her eyes at me, Whitney speaks loud enough for all to hear. “Your engagement is a farce. Evander marrying someone like you is laughable. You are a B movie, middle class, and desperate. I will not stand for being humiliated in front of our friends because he thinks himself in love with you.”
“Then yelling in a public restaurant should be a step up from the weekend,” I offer smugly.
“You’re wearing my ring,” she announces. “I will see it off your fat finger.”
“—just call her fat?” Hillary asks Sugar.
“She better have meant p-h-a-t,” Sugar whistles.
“I would proceed with caution, Whitney,” India advises.
“How are you even friends with her, India? With any of them? Common, much?”
Wrong fucking thing to say. Pushing my chair back, I step to Whitney who is literally half my size and warn her, “I’ll let the shit you say to me pass. But speaking ill of my girls will get you hurt, are we clear?”
“Allow me to be clear,” she declares. “End this with Evander now, or suffer the consequences.”
Is she serious? Shaking my head, I mumble, “Your poor parents.”
Raising her chin, she says, “I know what they call you, juggerslut. The only person at your table with any credibility is India and even her presence in your life makes me skeptical of her common sense. I’ve got your number.”
“Sixty-nine.”
“What?”
“That’s my number,” I tell her. “Because it’s my fiancé’s favorite position.”
“Whore,” she seethes.
“I prefer fuck instructor.”
“Fuck instructor,” Hillary snorts. “I’m writing that down.”
“You said you liked pussy pariah,” Sugar says with a what the fuck look.
“I like fuck instructor better,” she shrugs.
“You’ve never tried pussy, so you can’t possibly be objective about this,” Sugar argues.
“White trash,” Whitney spits in their direction, and I see red.
“Taylor,” India warns. “Not here.”
“Oh, is she going to challenge me to a fight?” Whitney rolls her eyes. “How public school.”
“Honey,” Sugar tsks at Whitney. “If Taylor wanted to hurt you, there would be no challenge, you’d just be bleeding.”
“Shut up, dyke. I’m not addressing you.”
Shooting out of her chair, Hillary takes my side and growls, “What did she just say?”
But I couldn’t answer. Rage has stolen my words. “Taylor,” India warns again. “Not here. I like this place.”
Slowly setting her napkin down, Sugar hides the hurt Whitney’s words caused and took my other side. Linking her fingers with mine and I do the same with Hillary to form a united front.
“I like pussy. I like all kinds of pussy. But someone could put a gun in my mouth demanding I taste yours, and you know what, bitch?” she says tightening her grip. “I’d rather eat the bullet.”
“Whitney, you’ve done enough,” India stands as well. “It’s time for you to go.”
“I’m not leaving until the fat whore takes my ring off!”
I know India means well, but this bitch isn’t going anywhere. Not with my ring and not without a limp to remember me by. Like I said, there is always another restaurant. After all, Detroit is an up and coming place these days.
Finding new turf won’t be a problem…
I’m staring out the window, wondering if I should call Taylor, when my phone rings. Since my answering service handles any work-related messages, this leaves only my personal line. Few people ever use it. Few have reason. Sliding it out of my pocket, I see India calling and assume she wants to know how the weekend went. Although, I figured Taylor would have filled her in at brunch, I’m eager to share my side of things. Share my progress and once again thank her. Only India isn’t calling to talk about the weekend. Turns out, she was calling me to make bail for Taylor, Hillary, and Sugar.
According to India, Taylor wanted her out of the public eye before shit really popped off.
&
nbsp; An hour later, I’m in the precinct lobby waiting for the trio to be released when Whitney’s father, Bram, walks in looking worn. Before we can speak, my girls come out with Taylor at the front. Taylor who takes one look at me standing there and freezes.
“Your fiancée, I presume?” Bram asks bemused.
“She is and I would appreciate you keeping that private until I get the chance to share the news with my parents.”
“I’m old, Evander. Tired. I was really hoping you’d take Whitney off my hands, but I can see why you proposed. She is lovely, you chose well. You have my word on my silence. As well as Whitney’s.”
“Thank you, Bram.”
With a deep sigh he announces, “Excuse me while I fetch my daughter.”
Taylor moves toward me slowly with her girls flanking her. I could see by the look on her face she thinks I’m pissed, but she would be wrong. Bram isn’t pissed either. He’s resigned himself to having a brat as a daughter a long time ago. Stopping in front of Taylor, Bram whispers something to her. And I witness her look up and grin after he walks away. Unfortunately, Whitney comes out whining moments later; Bram didn’t stay for chitchat. No. He drags her overprivileged ass right out the front door, while she pitched a fit the entire way.
“Ready?” I ask the trio and without a single word, they all follow me out to my car. Dropping Sugar off first, I hear her thank Taylor for defending her and then a few minutes later, Hillary does the same.
“Judging by the jam covering your shirt, I take it there was also a food fight?”
“Something like that,” she mutters unable to look at me.
“What about the butter in your hair? The mimosa covering Sugar and the brie smeared all over Hillary?”
Mumbling something I can’t understand, I ask, “What was that?”
“I said, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yes,” she says then grunts, “Maybe.”
“You’re sorry for defending your friends?”
Like she can’t get the words out fast enough, her hands start flailing as she explained. “She just showed up. Started running her mouth and causing a scene. I don’t care she called me a fat whore, but she doesn’t get to call my friends trash. Street rules, Van.”
“She called you a fat whore?”
“Pssh,” she waves it off. “She called Sugar something far worse, and then I…reacted.”
“With a food fight?”
“More like a kidney shot.”
“And how did the girls get covered in brunch?” I struggle not to laugh.
“They called dibs,” she says, biting her fist in agony. “I had no say! Plus, Hillary is a beast when she’s buzzed.”
Pulling over and throwing my car in park, I face Taylor and right then and there fall further in love.
“Wait, how did you know—right,” she slumps in her seat. “India. Figures.”
“India called,” I grate out, wanting to say the words but knowing now wasn’t the time. “She explained everything, Taylor. I’m not angry with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because Whitney’s a bitch, but I am disappointed.”
“Oh,” she whispers staring at her lap.
“That I wasn’t there to see it.”
Perking up, she grins. “She tried taking my ring.”
“Excuse me?”
“She did! From my finger, Van! But she didn’t because…”
“Don’t leave me hanging, Taylor.”
“Sugar sat on her face.”
“—sat on—“ I couldn’t process this.
“She might have been freestyling at the time –”
“Details,” I beg wearing a smile I couldn't hide.
Clearing her throat, she sits up straight and starts rapping. “I gotta taste for you, now what you wanna do? Girl, you cold, let me suck out your flu. Girl, you cold, you cool. You heard of salt n pepa, well girl you food. I’m da pussy monster, da pussy monster. Girl, you gotta feed me, pussy, pussy, pussy…”
Taking a deep breath, she notices my silence and says, “Lil Wayne, it’s kind of a jam, Van.”
“And Sugar did this while sitting on Whitney’s face?”
“With Hillary bringing in the chorus and filming it,” she corrects. “Yes.”
“What were you doing?”
“Twerking.”
Oh yes, I loved her.
After being freed from the clink, Van comes back to my place and when Hillary calls about the group needing a weekend away, Van is all in. Even the mention of camping doesn’t dim his shine.
Turns out he’s never been camping. Though not for his parents’ lack of trying.
From the start, they openly smoked a lot of pot and lived every day like it’s Woodstock. While I thought that was the most fantastic thing I’ve ever heard; Van as a kid, didn’t agree. As son of the head Church, growing up his dad’s behavior embarrassed him. According to Van, it made him want to work harder so he wouldn’t turn out like his old man. Now, Van admits to being stuck and wishing he’d taken more risk. As an adult, he envies his dad and wanted to try new things.
This is where I come in.
While cooking him dinner, I share the location of the campsite and what a first-time camper should bring. Truly, his excitement is my excitement and having him coming with us? It will be a first for me.
Until India met Scott, men didn’t accompany us on outings. Ever.
Truly, we were kind of assholes about the whole thing until it was obvious Scott had staying power. Nolan I should mention never joined us and Sugar refused to bring a fifth female to the woods.
The fact that I invite Van to come, want Van to come, is proof life was changing, that I was changing.
And it’s for the better.
Four days later, I have to admit shopping for the trip is an adventure I didn’t see coming. Because Van doesn’t shop, he shopped.
The man damn near cleans out Dick’s Sporting Goods in under an hour.
His vehicle is packed to the gills with a two-person insulated sleeping bag, a hammock, a cooler, a four-man tent, every camping accessory known to humans, and even a portable shower.
Clearly Van’s idea of roughing it and mine are vastly different, but his excitement is contagious.
To be fair to him, The Shit started camping twenty years ago, and in that time equipment has changed. If half this stuff was available back then, I guarantee we would have camped more.
The next day, I finish my own packing, grab the bag from the freezer to stuff it inside my purse.
Sugar and Hillary left an hour ago, Scott and India close behind, with Van and I bringing up the rear. Shoving my bags between his, he comes up behind me, taking my hips in his hands. “You, me, and nature,” he groans into my ear. “I’m really excited, Taylor.”
“I can tell,” I moan, feeling his thickness flush against my jeans. “I have a feeling we’re going to blow through the bug spray.”
“Taking you outdoors,” he groans. “I’m hard just thinking about it.”
“Van,” I laugh. “You’re bringing a tent that could be mistaken for a castle, we may never be outdoors.”
“Only the best for my future wife,” he says while nipping my lobe.
Facing him, he cages me in and searches my face for something. I just don’t know what it was.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Of…”
“Of just how perfect you are for me.”
“Perfect is a strong word,” I whisper.
“Then you’re not looking at what I’m looking at.”
In that moment, Van is seeing me as just Taylor. No juggernaut.
And it’s clear he liked what he saw.
Five hours and three piss breaks later, we finally arrive at the campsite.
Hillary and Sugar have erected their tent as did Scott and India.
When Van drug his out and begins to set up, the rest of us st
and there with our jaws open.
“What? It can’t be that hard, it comes with directions, see?” Waving a manual that’s at least two hundred unnecessary pages long, Scott steps forward.
“This here is man’s work,” he declares. “The women will start the fire, drink and prep dinner while we do guy shit.”
This is all well and good, but an hour in the two men have made no discernible progress. In fact, all they’ve done was make an epic mess while arguing who’s camping cock was bigger. Snagging the manual, I ordered them to, “Shoo. I’ve got this.”
“Taylor, this is –”
“Going to be up within thirty minutes.”
“Let us –”
“Time me,” I challenge him.
“Let her do it,” Scott suggests. “I’m fucking beat.”
“At least let me help,” Van offers.
“You can help,” I smile. “By making me a cocktail.”
Twenty-seven minutes later, it’s done and the look of awe Van gives me has my belly dipping again. It should be said that if I had a lady cock, my boner would be enormous right now.
Kicking back around the fire, we have just finished eating and are relaxing with drinks. Hillary’s buzzed and lost track of her scary story, Sugar is gearing up to make s’mores, and India is nestled into Scott.
Leaning over to Van, I ask him, “Do you like to fish?”
“Never done it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Speechless about that, he touches my cheek and whispers, “Be gentle with me.”
Smiling at this, I kiss him once. “I don’t do gentle, Van.”
“She’s right,” Sugar cuts in. “We should tell him about the gore of oh-four.”
“Fuck,” Here it comes…
“Two words, Evander,” Hillary grins. “Spear fishing.”
“Spear fishing?” Van repeats slowly.
“Oh, it’s a thing,” she assures him.
“And Taylor takes fishing very seriously,” India muses.
“I have proof,” Scott adds rubbing his thigh.
“It was an accident!” I defend for the hundredth time.
“In case you didn’t know, Evander,” Scott grins. “Taylor here loves the Ultimate Fishing Show.”
