by Kim Jones
“And?” I ask, washing the soap from my hair.
“And I don’t want to look like a hillbilly.” I smile. Even with overalls and a piece of straw hanging out of her mouth, there was no way Diem could look like a hillbilly.
“You look fine.”
“I need you to go shoe shopping.”
My hands still in my hair. She did not just tell me to go shoe shopping. “Yeah, that shit’s gonna happen.”
There’s a long silence before she speaks. “If I don’t have shoes, then you don’t have shoes.”
Even as I say the words, I begin to doubt them. “But I do have shoes. Lots of ’em.”
“Yes, you do. But you’ll never find them unless you get me some.” That sneaky, conniving, bitch.
“Diem,” I growl in warning.
“Zeke,” she says, in a terrible attempt to mock me.
I turn the water off and jerk the curtain open. She looks up at me innocently. Glaring at her, I snatch my towel from the rack, wrapping it around my waist as I go look in my closet. They’re gone. All of them. Even the ones I never wear. I walk to the living room and even my tennis shoes are gone. I open the front door, and my boots that usually sit covered in mud on the porch are gone.
I slam the door, stomping through the house to find her still sitting on the toilet with a pleased smile on her face. “So, do we have a deal?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in question.
Any man who has ever owned a decent pair of riding boots knows how long it takes to break them in. I could buy a hundred more pairs, but none will fit as well as my favorite ones do. That goes for my running shoes, my rain boots, and even my fucking flip-flops that I wear on really rare occasions.
“Diem,” I start, moving closer to her. My eyes narrow on hers as the rage inside me begins to build. It’s not just about the shoes—it’s the whole fucking situation. And because she’d just come all over my fingers less than twenty-four hours ago and I couldn’t beat my dick enough to get the memory out of my head.
“I will torture you. I will make you wish you left a long time ago. You’ve played your little games long enough. If you don’t have my shit waiting for me, in the exact condition you found them in, by the time I get dressed, I’m going to put your ass in the trunk of my car and drive you so far into the middle of nowhere that you’ll never find your way back home.”
When I’m finished talking, or shouting, or growling, her head is shoved back against the wall. Fear dances in her eyes. It’s something I’ve never seen from her, and I sure as fuck hope she heeds my warning. Because just like her, I’m a man of my word.
When I emerge from my bedroom minutes later, my shoes are laid out in a perfect line down the wall. At the end of them is a note.
Sorry –D.
10
I DON’T SEE Diem for the rest of the day. And every minute that passes without her presence, I feel shittier. I shouldn’t; she brought this on herself. But all she wanted was some shoes. I was the one who brought her here. I was the one who packed her bag. And she knew what I would say, so she did what she had to do to try and convince me to do what she asked.
By the time Rookie and Carrie show up, I feel like I’ve hit my all-time low. What kind of fucked-up monster was I that I felt more remorse over not buying shoes than I did when I took someone’s life? I needed some serious help. I was losing my mind.
“Where’s Diem?” Carrie asks, holding a department store bag. “I brought her something.” You’ve got to be shitting me.
“I don’t know. She’s somewhere around here,” I say, noticing Rookie narrowing his eyes on me. Just then, Diem appears in the doorway of the house, looking like someone who’d been drug behind a truck.
Her shirt is torn and hangs off her shoulder. Her shorts are big and baggy, nearly falling off her waist. And because I’m an asshole, she’s barefooted. Then I notice that it’s my clothes she’s wearing. I hadn’t seen her in anything but my T-shirt. Could she not have found anything in that bag of hers to wear?
“Hey,” she says, giving them a small, embarrassed smile. “I didn’t really have anything to wear.”
Carrie shoots me a look of hate before turning to Diem and smiling. “You look fine.” She walks in and I finally turn to Rookie, who’s giving me the same disgusted look.
“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” During my fit of rage, I’d called to tell him about her latest stunt. He just laughed and called her spoiled. But seeing her like this, I guess he felt differently. He walks past me, following Carrie inside. What the fuck just happened? He was my brother. It was in the bylaws that he was supposed to have my back—always. Right or wrong.
Diem is standing in the doorway, holding open the screen for our guests. At the pitiful sight of her, I decide that my company can wait. First I’m going shoe shopping. But when she looks over at me, an evil smile spreads across her face. In that moment, I realize Rookie, Carrie, and I had been played. She had shit to wear; she was just doing this to get back at me. Before shutting the door, she gives me the finger and mouths, “I always win.”
And dammit if the bitch don’t.
* * *
“She’s good,” Rookie says, clearly amused at my situation with Diem. We’re grilling outside while the girls are inside, probably deciding how to kill me.
“No, she’s fucking evil. I’m telling you she’s going to be the death of me.” I grab a beer, passing one to him before getting my own.
“Then take her back home,” Rookie suggests with a shrug. “She’s better now. Looks like she can take care of herself.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. If I do that, it’s like she wins.”
“Bullshit. You’re just making excuses because you want her here. Admit it.”
My eyes narrow. “I don’t want her here.” The finality in my tone only makes him smirk.
“I’m not judging, I’m just saying that if she really gets under your skin that much, let her go. There are plenty of whores around these parts. You don’t need her.” I remain silent, and can almost see the lightbulb when it goes off in his head. “Holy shit . . . you haven’t fucked her.” He looks at me in disbelief and I light a cigarette, avoiding his eyes. “You’re falling for this broad.”
“No I’m not,” I say defensively. “She’s practically fucking handicapped. I may be coldhearted, but I ain’t that big of an asshole.”
“Yeah, but you ain’t no saint either.”
“Did you come over here to play Oprah, or can we actually try and get some work done?” I snap, ready to get off this topic and onto anything else other than mine and Diem’s fucked-up . . . whatever the hell this is.
“Whatever you say, boss,” he says, wearing that shit-eating grin that makes me sick.
“Good. Now how the hell are we gonna pull this off? I don’t want a repeat of last time.”
“We’ll just have to target them at church. Prospects aren’t invited in.”
“But they’re still around,” I say, cutting him off.
He thinks a minute. “Then maybe we need to start targeting them from the inside.”
“You mean during church?”
He shrugs. “Why not? Maybe they went in and never came out.” My wheels start spinning immediately. This could be done.
“Rookie, you’re a fucking genius.”
Taking the cigarette from between my fingers, he nods. “I know.”
* * *
We’re seated around the table, and I can’t avoid the glares Carrie keeps giving me. I look to Rookie for help and he shrugs, but gives Carrie a look that tells her to chill the fuck out.
“This chicken is great,” Diem announces, and everyone mumbles in agreement.
“What did you cook, Diem?” I ask, making sure not to taste the potato salad or the baked beans until I know for sure she didn’t cook them.
; Carrie gives me a warning look before smiling and glancing over at Diem. “The potato salad, and I’m sure it’s delicious.” Shoveling a heaping spoonful in her mouth, she pauses, fighting the urge to vomit before forcing it down.
“I’m sure it is,” I say, smiling. Moving it over to the other side of my plate, I make sure not to touch it.
Rookie covers his mouth to hide his smile, and I feel the table move when Carrie kicks him. “Diem,” she says, looking over at the oblivious woman who is somehow managing to eat the rancid potato salad. I’m sure it’s just to prove a point. “How much longer you plan on staying?”
“You know,” Diem says, wiping her mouth before placing her napkin in her lap. “I was thinking that since Zeke and I are both single, that maybe we should just move in together and share rent.”
“I think that’s a great idea!” Carrie beams, and I level her with a look.
“Well,” I start, pushing my plate back and lighting a cigarette. “I was thinking that maybe I could just kill myself and save the misery of seeing your face another day.”
Rookie bites his lip. Carrie’s face grows red with anger. And Diem, well she simply smiles. “Or you could just ask me to leave.”
All eyes are on me, waiting for my comeback. I don’t really want her to leave, but I don’t want her to know that either. She has me by the balls, and she knows it. “Well?” she asks, looking at me expectantly. “What’s it gonna be, Zeke?”
Carrie crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair, challenging me with a look. Knowing I have to win her heart back, I prepare myself for the act of my life. I could give a shit less what Diem thinks, but I can’t stand the thought of Carrie hating me. I have to make this right, and to get a woman on your side, you have to think like one. And if Diem was going to play on Carrie’s emotions, then I was too. So I go in for the kill.
Reaching out, I take Diem’s hand in mine. She narrows her eyes in suspicion, glancing down at our joined hands. I let out a deep breath, drawing my brows together and frowning. “I’m sorry,” I start, hearing Carrie’s intake of breath at my words—knowing it is something we never say.
Softening my tone, I continue. “I know sometimes I’m not a good man. I say things I don’t mean and do things I shouldn’t, but the most important thing right now is for you to get better. And I promise to try harder. Forgive me? Please?”
If Diem’s look could kill, I’d be a dead motherfucker. But there are tears in Carrie’s eyes at my words. She knows the kind of man I really am. And she knows having Diem here is challenging for me. What she doesn’t know, is that I’m full of shit. But it doesn’t matter. I’m forgiven in her eyes, and now it’s Diem’s turn to be on the chopping block.
“Well? What’s it gonna be, Diem?” I ask, throwing her words back in her face.
Clenching her jaw, she speaks through her teeth. “Fine.”
I hear Carrie sigh before clapping her hands together. “Okay,” she says standing. “Who’s ready for dessert?”
When she’s out of earshot, Diem grips my hand and leans forward. “I hate you.”
Jerking my hand from hers, I give her a smirk. “Don’t worry, doll. The feeling is fucking mutual.”
After Rookie and Carrie leave, I fall back in my recliner. My mind is too occupied with Rookie’s idea for Death Mob to pay much attention to what’s going on around me. Before I realize it, my fingers are drawing circles on Diem’s waist while she lays across my lap in her usual position.
“I’m still mad at you,” I say, but I damn sure don’t sound like it.
“No you’re not.”
“You made me look like an ass in front of my friends.”
“Yeah, well I looked like an idiot, so I guess that makes us even. And the whole apology scene? That was a little much.” She yawns, and I consider shoving the remote down her throat until she chokes to death.
“I packed you some clothes, Diem,” I say, getting back to the topic that initiated the fight. “And if there wasn’t enough, you could have asked me to go back and get some more.”
“First, I don’t want you creeping around my house. Second, yes, you did pack me some clothes. Two pairs of underwear, a shitload of sweaters and a scarf. Next time, pull from the other side of the closet. That’s where I keep all my summer clothes.”
“Oh, forgive me. It’s hard to think when there’s a gun pointed at your head.” She looks up at me and rolls her eyes.
“You’re so dramatic. I’ve been walking around here for over a week wearing your T-shirt and nothing else. Surely you noticed I didn’t have any clothes.” I keep my face impassive. I guess I haven’t noticed. Maybe I really am a piece of shit.
Clearing my throat, my eyes focus on the TV. “I’ll make it up to you.”
She sits up in my lap. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that. I know just how you can do it.” Aw, shit. Here we go. Maybe she’ll want me to finger her again. I get excited at just the thought. But this time, I won’t let her come.
“How’s that?” There’s a little too much hope in my tone and she notices.
Tentatively, she tells me what she wants. “Take me out for ice cream.”
Well, shit. “Fine,” I say, the disappointment evident in my voice. She stares at me until I finally give in and look at her. “What?”
“Now, Zeke. I want to go now.” Of course she does.
* * *
“Yeah, let me get a vanilla ice cream cone and a hot fudge sundae.”
“Extra nuts.”
“With extra nuts and a—”
“Oreo McFlurry.”
“An Oreo McFlurry,”
“Extra Oreos.”
“Would you shut the fuck up?” I snap at Diem, who’s leaning over me to look at the McDonald’s drive-through menu.
“Sir?”
“Not you, I was talking to my . . .” My eyes move over Diem, who shrugs. “My dog.” She drops her elbow on my nuts and I groan.
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“First window, please.”
“When we get home, I’m putting you on a leash,” I say, pulling the car around to the window.
“Ooh fun!” she says, clapping her hands together. “How about you put a ball gag in my mouth and some beads up my ass too? I think it’s time we shake things up a bit.” Her big, fake, clown smile appears and she gives me the finger.
“Oh, I can put something in your ass if that’s what you want.” Heat flashes in her eyes for a split second before she looks away.
“You’re disgusting,” she mumbles and I catch a glimpse of pink in her cheeks.
Amused, I raise my eyebrows at her. “You’ve never had it in the ass?”
“I am not discussing my sex life with you.” She crosses her arms and stares out the windshield.
“Come on,” I tease, squeezing her shoulder.
She shrugs me off. “No. I’m not telling you shit.”
I pay for our ice cream, then hand her the tray—taking my ice cream cone and leaving the rest for her. She occupies herself with the sundae, trying to ignore me. “Tell me how you like it.”
“Stop talking.” She shovels a spoonful in her mouth, still refusing to look in my direction.
“Let’s make a deal,” I offer.
Unable to refuse the challenge, she agrees. “Fine.”
“I’ll tell you something, and you tell me.”
“So what’s the prize?” she asks, a little more interested now that it’s a competition.
“The knowledge.”
She laughs. “But I don’t care to know. It’s not like we’re ever gonna have sex.”
“This is true, but in the event I get really shitty and don’t find you repulsive, I’d like to know what pleases you,” I say, images of her riding my cock already flashing in my
head.
“One thing. You tell me one thing, and I’ll tell you one. That’s it. After that, no more talk about it. Deal?”
“Deal.” I grab my ice cream cone, noticing how she watches me as I drag my tongue across it. “My favorite part of fucking is eating pussy.” I pause, waiting for my words to sink in. “I love the taste of a woman’s arousal. Just knowing that it’s me who made her so wet, makes it that much sweeter.” Her sundae is forgotten as she stares at me, swirling my tongue over my cone. I even throw in a moan or two.
“Your turn, pretty girl.” I can feel the heat emanating from her at my words. I know she’s thinking about the other night. But hell, I can’t lie—I am too.
When she doesn’t answer, I look over to find her still staring at me. “Cat got your tongue?” I ask, dipping my tongue into the ice cream. It’s a little overkill.
She seems to snap out of her trance like someone flipped on a light switch. Trouble is written all over her face, and I know I’m gonna pay dearly for my actions. My cock already starts to harden at her admission that I’m sure is coming.
“I like to deep throat.” I nearly wreck us when she purrs the words. “I like taking it all the way in the back of my mouth until my eyes water and I can’t breathe.” She licks her spoon, pulling it deeper in her mouth than necessary. “There’s just something about the way a man’s eyes roll back in his head when you swallow his cock, looking up at him from your knees. It just makes it that much sweeter.” Her tongue pushes against the corner of her cheek while her hand makes a fist around an imaginary dick.
I’m tempted to replace it with something real. So tempted, that I start to wonder what she would actually do if I asked her to. She’d probably bite my dick off. Just the thought has me in pain.
“Wanna play again?” she asks innocently. Knowing she won’t shut up, I make sure to say something that will give me the last word.
“Sure, but let’s change it up a little bit.”
“I like change.”
“Good,” I give her a sardonic smile that widens when that smart-ass look she’s wearing begins to fade. “This time, how about you show me?” And just like I predicted, peace and fucking quiet.
