by Kim Jones
“You do realize he won’t be back, right?” I ask, shaking my head at his confident smile.
“He’ll be back. He wants this too bad.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Why not? This life is great. Power … authority … women … we have it all.”
“I doubt he has fifty grand, a new car and two women just laying around.”
Smirking, he reaches out and twirls a lock of my hair. I try not to cringe. “You seem very sure of yourself.”
I let out a laugh and give him a disbelieving look. “I have every reason to be confident.” Glancing past him, I see Jud still watching us. Despite my disgust, I give Drake my best flirty-smile. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be so sure,” I say, pushing my finger into his chest playfully.
“I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is.” He leans closer, and I breathe through my mouth so I don’t have to smell him. “If he delivers, you go with me to the poker run Saturday. If he doesn’t, then I’ll do something for you.” Do something for me? Eww…
“Considering I’m going to win, I need to know what that something is,” I say, and he grins at my words—dropping those boring, brown eyes to my breasts.
“You’ll like it.” Doubtful.
“How about if you win, I’ll go to the poker run. But if I win, you take me to dinner.” Surely I could stomach one night with this guy for the sake of my plan. Maybe if he thinks we’re going out, he’ll clean up a little. Take a bath. Wash his greasy ass hair.
“Dinner, huh?” I nod. “You really are a classy bitch.” And you’re a tool. He bites his lip, his head nodding as he surveys my body … again. “Jud’s not gonna like this.”
“You his Prospect?” My boldness earns me an angry glare. At least this time he’s looking at my face.
“Hell no.”
“Then we have a deal?”
His lips press into a thin line. “Yeah. We got a deal. And for the record, I don’t give a fuck what Jud thinks. He’s got property. And it sure as fuck ain’t you.”
On second thought, Drake isn’t so bad after all.
He’s bad.
Really bad.
I’m pretty sure I could look past his faults and find something good in him if he didn’t smell so awful. And it took me a while, but I finally put a name to the odor—bologna.
For the last hour, he’s kept his arm around the back of my chair, with me tucked close to him as we watch the karaoke singers on stage. He often dips his head to whisper in my ear, and I have to hold my breath to keep from gagging. In an effort to dull my sense of smell, I’ve been drinking heavily. Problem is, the more I drink, the more I want to tell him how repulsed I am.
I could leave. Get some fresh air. Take a shower. Burn his scent out of my nostrils. But there’s an upside to standing my ground and refusing to bolt. For one, Jud’s palpable anger. And because he’s so focused on me, Clarissa is pissed, too. It’s a win, win.
Then, there’s Cook—a knowing smile on his face. I’m beginning to understand the problem he refused to share with me. He’d said I wouldn’t have a problem finding one of Jud’s brothers to have sex with me. But if they’re all like Drake, the issue lies in finding one I could stomach having sex with.
I want to prove him wrong. I want to wipe that smirk off his face. See defeat in his eyes instead of challenge. If I thought I could do it without vomiting, I’d kiss Drake just to see Cook’s reaction. But it’s not worth the risk.
We’re waiting on Brett, the Prospect, to return. As the minutes tick by, I’m afraid I’m going to have to go on a real date with Drake. Originally, I thought it was a good idea. But that was when I’d weighed it against having sex with him—something I’m now hating myself for even considering.
At least with the poker run, which he evasively explained as a club function, I’d be around other people. Have other scents to distract me. Like the lingering smell of Cook when he passes by. Or the scent of dog shit on the bottom of someone’s shoe. Anything other than bologna.
Like an angel, and with only seconds to spare, Brett appears. I’m so happy to see him, I lean forward in my seat—giving my nostrils a temporary reprieve. I stare in awe as Brett sets exactly what Drake requested on the table in front of us. Fifty thousand dollars in Monopoly bills, a brand new toy car still in the package and two Barbie’s; a blonde and a redhead.
Brett is proud. Drake looks cocky. And I’m being pulled to my feet. “Carmen here had little faith,” Drake says, tucking me possessively into his side. Pretending to stifle a yawn, I cover my mouth and nose. “But I knew you’d pull through. You understand the lesson here?”
Brett nods. “Never offer anything I can’t deliver.”
Thankfully, Drake releases me to hug Brett. I take a breath—my gaze meeting Cook’s from a few tables over. He’s giving me that all-white-teeth-baring grin. I flip him the finger.
“You want me to pick you up Saturday?” I shake my head at Drake who you’d think just won a prize much greater than me. Little does he know, this is one bet I was more than willing to lose.
“No I’ll meet you here,” I offer, jerking my head toward the door. “I better get going.”
Pressing his hand at the small of my back, he gives me a light push. “I’ll walk you out.” Great. If I have to kiss him…
“Drake.” My head jerks up at Cook’s voice. “Ronnie wants a word.” Drake narrows his eyes, giving him a hard look. Cook only smiles. “Now.” I’m surprised Drake doesn’t put Cook in his place. Although I doubt he’d be as yielding as Brett had been. But still … he’s a Prospect. Maybe he’s a high ranked Prospect.
Looking down at me, Drake pinches my chin in his fingers. “Saturday. Here. Ten A.M. Don’t be late.” With that, he walks away and I all but bolt toward the door—my curiosity forgotten.
Once outside, I place my hands on my knees and drag in deep breaths. It’s a little dramatic, but one taste of the fresh air has me hungry for more.
“What is that…” My head still bowed, I turn my eyes to Cook to find him fanning his face as he sniffs the air. “Turkey? Ham?”
“It’s bologna,” I snap. He smiles as I straighten, running my hands down my arms. “Here.” I take a step toward him. “Help me get the smell off.”
He sidesteps me. “Hell no.”
“It’s so bad,” I whine, fearing I might have to torch my clothes.
“Wait ‘till you fuck him.”
I scoff. “I’m not going to do … that.”
“Giving up so soon, are we?”
“I’m not ... giving up. I’ll just have to go with Plan B.”
He quirks a brow. “Plan B?”
“Yeah,” I say with more confidence then I feel.
“Can’t wait to hear it.”
Thoughts of him and Delilah invade my mind. I don’t know where they came from, but they’re more disturbing than I want to admit. She said she’d changed her ways. After seeing how she was dressed today, I’m not so sure. But just knowing she’d been with him sent a streak of jealously down my spine.
It’s silly. I have no claim on him. We’re not even friends. But the idea of him with her and me alone doesn’t set well with me. If anyone is going to suck his dick while he’s in town, it’s going to be me.
“If you want, you can come over later and I’ll fill you in once I work out the details.”
He smirks. “That the only reason you want me to come over?”
Shrugging, I study my keys. “Maybe.”
When the silence becomes uncomfortable, I peek up at him from beneath my lashes. But he’s not looking at me. His eyes are narrowed on something behind me. Turning, I find a group of men across the parking lot.
“You should go, babe,” he says. Taking my elbow, he guides me across the street to my car. “It’s getting’ late and you’ve been drinking. Don’t want you to hit a road block.”
“I’m not drunk.”
He gives me a solemn look, and when he speaks, his voice is off.
“You think I’d let you drive if I thought you were?”
“Is something wrong?” I ask, looking back over my shoulder at the men.
“Nah. It’s all good.” He’s smiling. He even winks at me. But I can tell something is not right. His muscles are too tight. His eyes too aware. He’s not as relaxed as he usually is—despite his efforts to appear so.
When we reach my car, he opens the door, ushers me in and even leans over to fasten my seatbelt. Wrapping his big hand around the side of my neck, he holds me in place as he gives me a hard stare. “Go home, Carmen.”
“Cook, you’re scaring me,” I admit. “What’s going on?” I try to move my head to look around the dark lot, but he holds me in place.
“Nothing is going on. I just need you to go home. I’ve got a lot goin’ on tonight and I don’t need to be worried about you.”
Letting my nerves get the best of me, I have a mini freak out moment. “Why would you be worried about me? Did I do something? You shouldn’t be worried about me. We’re not even friends—”
“Damn, woman you’re exasperating.”
“Tell me why you’re worried about me or I’m not leaving.” I try to sound harsh, but there’s a tremor in my voice. Cook must hear it too, because he softens a little and lets out a breath.
“I’m just doing my job, Carmen.” I raise my brows expectantly when he doesn’t continue. He seems to be struggling with what to tell me. It’s so unlike him. He’s always so confident. And his reaction is so unsettling, I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
“Just spit it out,” I demand, impatiently.
“Ronnie told me to make sure you got to your car. He doesn’t like the idea of you drinking and driving. I assured him you were fine. So if you leave here, go somewhere else, get drunk and get into a wreck, I’m gonna have to answer for it.” That’s what was so hard for him to say?
“Why didn’t you just say that?” Got me all worked up for nothing. Those men were probably part of his ploy to get me to leave. He damn sure didn’t seem too concerned about them now…
“I don’t have the best track record when it comes to lookin’ out for women.” His jaw tightens. “I have a certain weakness, I guess you can say.”
“Well don’t go getting a weakness for me. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. And for the record, I’m leaving because I want to. Not because you told me to.” Told him.
Rolling his eyes, he mutters something under his breath before saying, “I’ll call you.” When he straightens, I reach out and grab his cut before he can walk away—already forgiving him for scaring me into leaving.
“So you’re coming over?” The hope in my voice erases the hard lines in his face and he grins. He drops his gaze and shakes his head before meeting my eyes again.
“Yeah, gorgeous. I’ll come over.”
I feel victorious as I leave. I may have lost the battle with Drake, but I just won my first ever whore-war. Retired or not, she’ll be the one who’s alone tonight. It’s not that I’m jealous of him and Delilah. But I can’t deny that I’m selfish. And If Cook’s plan tonight involves sharing a bed with a whore, I want it to be this whore.
Me.
Carmen…
The Patchwhore.
The Deal
“…I’m gonna let him put his penis inside of me…” I sing, filling my hand up with shampoo for the third time. After thirty minutes in the shower, Drake’s bologna scent is finally gone.
A few more spins, a couple dance moves and one verse later, I shut off the water and grab a towel—continuing my concert around the bathroom.
I don’t remember ever feeling this hungry for sex. But now that I’ve had a taste of Cook and the tricks he can pull with his magic stick, I’m famished for it. The anticipation alone is thrilling. So much so, I have the urge to dry hump the vanity.
Squirting a generous amount of lotion in my hand, I start to massage it into my skin. He’ll be happy to find I took his advice and shaved. Maybe this time he won’t feel like he’s having sex with a cactus.
No.
Not having sex.
Fucking.
“Fuck…” I say to the mirror, trying the word out on my tongue. I’m getting better at it.
Now that I’m smooth and smell like apples, I move on to step two of my pre-sex preparation routine—brushing my teeth. Then I need to dry my hair. Apply just the right amount of makeup to give me that natural look. And find something other than Wonder Woman pajamas to wear.
Then when Cook calls, I’ll sound sleepy but insist he still come over. Run my hands through my hair to create bed head. Answer the door on a yawn, and lean against it wearing a sleepy smile. Just like they do in the movies.
The repeated track, I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island, is interrupted by my ringtone. I’m sure it’s Emily returning my call from earlier, but I nearly choke when I see Cook’s name. Spitting the excess toothpaste out of my mouth, I try to dull my excitement and slip into sleepy voice when I answer.
“…Hello?” Damn. I sound like I have strep throat.
“Bad time?” My thighs tingle and I cross my ankles, grinding my hips into the vanity dramatically.
“No. I must have fallen asleep.”
“You still up for company?” Grinning like an idiot, I nod, even though he can’t see it. After a moment, his voice drops to nearly a whisper. “Was that a yes?”
“Yes. You leaving the bar now?”
“No.” Good. That’ll give me plenty of time to finish preparing. “I’m outside your door.” I stiffen.
“Huh?”
“Your bathroom door.” This time, his voice doesn’t come through the phone. Instead, he’s looking at me from only a few feet away, leaning against the door frame. And the sight of him has me forgetting that he caught me in a lie. In a towel. In my house. That he just entered without permission. Again. In his defense, I never moved the key. Was it because I was hoping he’d use it again?
“Glad you showered.” He smirks, drawing my attention to his lips and the scruff on his masculine, square jaw. I imagine licking my way up his neck to his ear, biting his lobe and then whispering something dirty to him.
“I shaved, too.” Good grief, Carmen.
“How considerate of you.”
He’s also freshly showered. The ends of his sandy blonde hair still damp. His jeans and shirt clean and crisp—a stark contrast to his weathered vest and dusty boots. I want to eat him. I’ve never wanted a cock in my mouth as much as I want his. I bet he tastes … do not say it.
Fuck it … Nailed it!
Delicious.
His eyes burn a hole through me as he pushes off the wall and slowly stalks over. My heart hammers harder with every step. The anticipation is almost too much. And to make it worse, he’s taking his precious time and I’m nearly hyperventilating by the time he gets to me.
“So did you work out the details?” he asks. He’s close, but not touching me.
I have to wet my lips before I can answer. “Details?” Why won’t he just touch me?
“The reason you wanted me to come over?”
“Oh. Yeah. My new strategy.” One deep breath is all it would take for my breasts to make contact.
Lifting his finger, he drags it across the seam of my towel. Which just so happens to run down the center of my chest. “Tell me about it.” My mind scrambles to think as I follow the trail of his finger. But all I can think about is ripping the towel off so he can touch my skin.
“Carmen?”
“Um…” Think, dammit! “Well, I figured it doesn’t really matter if I sleep with those guys or not.” His finger stops at my belly button and trails back up.
“And why is that?” His voice … It’s like a friggin’ drug.
“I don’t know,” I whimper. I can’t concentrate. How can I be so cool around him sometimes, and some wet, horny mess others? He’s drugged me. Possessed me.
Focus. Focus. Focus!
“Jud is going to assume I’m sleeping
with them whether I do or not. I think hanging around his brothers is enough.” As if he’s rewarding me, the tip of his finger makes contact with my skin, tracing the outline of my collar bone and the bare flesh just above the towel.
“So that’s the infamous plan B … let the boys wine and dine you and then let a real man fuck you?” It is now.
“Yes.” I nod. “That’s the plan.” I hadn’t considered the second part. Or maybe I had, just to ensure sleeping with Cook played a role in my newly devised scheme.
Tilting my chin up, he forces me to look at him. He’s not smiling, which immediately makes it harder for me to look in his eyes. But I do and find them blazing. Hooded. Filled with lust and raw desire. For me.
“I don’t share, Carmen.”
Oh.
Wait.
What?
His admission snaps me out of my lust-induced fog. “I don’t understand. I thought you and Deliliah...”
He tilts his head slightly when I don’t continue. “You thought me and Delilah what?”
My hands fidget with the edge of my towel as I try to hold his gaze. Embarrassed, I search for words a little more appropriate than what Delilah had used to describe their relationship. “You share her.”
“She’s not mine to share. Never has been. Even when she was a whore. And she damn sure wouldn’t have been a very good one if she was only exclusive to me.”
“Well … I want to be a good whore too.” His lips twitch at my admission.
“You’re not a whore, babe.”
“I’m not yours either.”
This time, he doesn’t fight his smile. But it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, gorgeous. You’re not.”
There’s something about the way he looks at me. It’s hypnotic. I feel like he’s casting some kind of creepy love spell on me that makes my body and mind crave him. He has me so worked up … so turned on … so captivated. I may not be his, but I can see how easy it would be to fall for him. I guess it’s a good thing I invested in that steel cage surrounding my heart. Thanks, Jud.
