High Class Harlot (Switching Tracks Series Book 2)

by Delia Steele

  “You going to let me get my dick wet tonight?” I turn to Chico. I just stare at him, and I guess he figures it out from the look on my face. As he stands to leave, I find my voice. “You’re not Clay. Those words were meant for him.” Chico laughs as he adjusts his weak excuse for an erection. “Yeah, but Clay ain’t here, and the way that pussy was just sliding across my dick, I know you want it. It’s now or never.”

  I roll my eyes and slide back against the seat. He was baiting me to get me to fuck him the whole time. He didn’t give a shit about my sob story. I sit and watch him walk over to Crystal, who smiles broadly. I’m pretty sure I hear her ask him, “In my mouth or my ass? Daddy’s choice.” I blink and try to keep from hurling. This is really about to happen. Nasty ass trailer park whore.

  “Go ahead, Chico, keep putting that stupid bitch’s stank on your hang down. Fouled-up bootyhole slut. Teenie weenie gonna fall the fuck off,” I call out to him. #buttslut #imoutthisshithole

  I stand up, hating that I have to walk past them to leave. They are already tonguing each other down by the time I walk by, doing my best to ignore them. No matter how nasty I feel inside, I don’t belong in this circle. I would never share Clay with my friends. Crystal’s man is sitting right beside her while she does whatever with Chico. I don’t love Chico; he is just someone to talk to and hang out with. But I might need to rethink that.

  I turn before I get out of sight and wish I hadn’t. Chico has Crystal bent over in front of him, rubbing all over her bare ass. I hear her moan as he slides her ass down over his dick, right there in front of everyone. My eyes bug out as I watch her start riding him. I want to leave, but my jaw drops to the ground and I am frozen in place when I see the hippy boyfriend reach over and lick her thigh, only to continue up until he is licking Chico’s mouth. CHICO IS KISSING A DUDE! What the fuck?! I jump back, not sure how I feel about what I’m seeing. They are all three just going at it, not caring who’s watching. Crystal may as well be sexing herself, though, because the boys are tearing it up in tongue hockey. I turn from the hepatitis love fest and run, not sure where I am headed, but I can’t watch all that fuckedupness. #brainoverload

  I head towards my car, falling three times in the process. I am obviously too drunk to drive, so I choose to walk. I need to find food.

  I stumble into the Hungry House. I haven’t been to sleep, yet I feel like I already have a hangover. Or maybe I’m just still that drunk. I need to get some food in me before I go to Gran’s and crash. I can’t remember eating today at all. I plop down in the first booth I come to and pull my huge sunglasses out of my purse. I know I look crazy, but these fluorescents are killing me. Who needs that much light to eat? I don’t bother pulling out the menu. I already know I want my go-to hangover food: waffles and hashbrowns.

  I feel like shit. Aside from the hangover/drunkenness, I’ve developed this hacking cough. I don’t know if it’s from being outside in the park all night or all the smoking those losers were doing around me. Either way, it’s annoying and makes me feel like I might barf all over this table. I’ve got to eat and get out of here. I go into another coughing fit as a group of three high school boys walk in. They give me disgusted looks as they walk by and take the booth behind me. I give them a death glare; though, I know they can’t see it through these fuckmongous shades.

  “Hey, waiter dude, can I order here?” I call out, the impatience evident in my voice. I fucking hate teenagers. They are just one more annoyance to add to my shitty night. As the waiter walks up, I feel somewhat guilty for being a bitch to him. It’s not his fault I’m in a pissy mood. Fuck you very much, Cabo Diablo. The dude is just trying to do his job, and my attitude is making it worse for him than it needs to be. Rory comes to mind, but I wipe her out as quickly as she pops up. Thoughts of her are definitely not going to improve my mood.

  “I’m sorry for your wait, ma’am. What can I get for you?” the waiter asks. I look at his name tag and see that his name is Danny.

  “No, its fine, Danny. I was being a cunt. Just get me a cup of OJ, two waffles, and some hashbrowns. And drench those bitches in cheese, would ya?” He gives me a smile that says he finds me amusing. I’m glad one of us does.“Sure thing, sugar,” he says as he walks off to give the cook my order. I settle back into the booth and wait. Unfortunately, since it isn’t very busy in here right now, I can’t help overhearing the teenagers’ conversation behind me. Why aren’t those little fuckers at home in bed? It has to be midnight or later.

  “Dude, I’m so over Kate,” the kid directly behind me says. “I mean, dating her was just one big fuckfest. Not that I don’t like having sex. But when you’ve fucked her so many times that you can’t even keep it hard anymore, it just gets old. Not to mention that shit was wore out before she even got to me. Dating Mindy is much more refreshing. It’s not just about sex. Though, I can’t deny the sex is good. She’s a little more uptight about what she’ll do than Kate was, but I kind of get off on pushing her past her comfort zone.”

  What the fuck?! These little douchebags are seriously not sitting here laying out all those girls’ shit like that! I am fuming.

  “Oh, I know, man,” one of the others, says. “Kate’s a whore. A bitch, too. When I was fucking Megan, even she talked about what a whore she was.”

  “I wish I still had all those texts Kate used to send me. I’d tweet that shit so everyone could see what a slut she is.”

  It’s a good thing Danny shows up with my food at that moment because I am about to lay into that little punk. Not only is he kissing and telling, but he’s also talking about cyber bullying. That shit ain’t cool.

  “Thanks, Danny,” I say as he sets my plates in front of me. Man, I’m fucking starving!

  “No problem, sweetie,” Danny says with a smile. “Let me run get that orange juice for you.”

  As he walks off and I start to dig in, I hear one of the pricks behind me say, “Can you believe that lazy ass faggot still hasn’t taken our order? I mean, if he was straight, I could understand him giving that chick some extra attention. She’s kind of hot, except she looks all fucked up and coughs like she’s got something nasty.” The little bastard didn’t even try to whisper. He must have balls of steel because he has no clue who he’s fucking with. If my mouth wasn’t full of cheesy potato goodness right now, I’d rip him a new asshole. When Danny sets my glass of OJ down in front of me, the peckerhead behind me speaks up. “Um, do you think we can give you our order at some point? That sick girl ain’t the only one around here who’s hungry.”

  I look up at Danny, and I know he can tell I’m about to boil over. He gives me a small shake of his head to tell me to leave it alone. That kid had better be glad I like Danny and don’t want to make his job harder. The dude is working his ass off, being one of only two people working right now. Inconsiderate piss ants.

  “Sure, guys,” Danny says as he walks over to them. “What can I get for you?” They give him their orders without any semblance of politeness. As Danny starts to walk back by to take their order to the cook, I stop him. “Hey, Danny. Can I get some syrup?” He smiles and nods his head as he reaches over and grabs a bottle of maple syrup, setting it down beside my plate before he heads back across the restaurant. I am just starting to pour the syrup over my waffle when I hear from behind me, “I think she meant cough syrup. Nasty bitch.”

  Oh, hell no! I lose it. I spin around in my seat and pour the whole bottle of syrup on the little prick’s head.

  “What the fuck?!” he screams as he jumps up and turns on me.

  “I’mma tell you what’s up, motherfucker. I’ve been sitting here listening to you little dick weeds badmouth everyone on the fucking planet, and I’m fucking tired of it! Danny over there is just trying to do his job. He’s working his ass off, and you little shits are too busy telling sex stories to notice. LEAVE. HIM. THE. FUCK. ALONE! And you can sit there and pretend like you know about sex, but let me assure you, YOU KNOW NOTHING! You crusted-up little cunt warts don’t know
jack shit about satisfying a woman. You’re lucky anyone is fucking your pickled-up peckers in the first place! Bunch of bat-winged, ball sack bunion looking motherfuckers.” I turn and grab my purse, pulling out a Fifty and dropping it on the table as the youngsters just gape. “And as for me,” I address them again as I sling my purse strap over my shoulder, “I am a nasty bitch. A hot piece of nasty bitch. You little freshmen fuckers couldn’t handle this if it was a team effort. And don’t get it twisted. YOU WILL NEVER GET THE FUCKING OPPORTUNITY! If I ever hear any of you cum nuggets talking about girls like that again or see you posting any shit like you were suggesting, I will skewer your nuts with the twelve-inch dildo I’ve got in my purse and then BEAT THE FUCK OUT OF YOU WITH IT!”

  I turn and head for the door, calling over my shoulder, “See you later, Danny. I’m out. Spit in those little fuckers’ food for me, will ya?” With that, I shove the door open and sashay out. That’ll teach those fucktards not to fuck with the wrong bitch. I actually send up a prayer of thanks once I round the corner of Hungry House. It would have sucked monkey nuts to fall in my drunken state while bitching them out.

  What did it matter if Danny had a touch of the rainbows? It wasn’t their place to call it. That’s when I realize I did the same with Chico, Crystal, and hippy dude earlier. Seriously though, they are nasty. Like, don’t-take-baths nasty, not just rainbows nasty. I shake my head and say aloud to no one as I walk back to Gran’s, “I won’t judge people like Balt. Black, white, brown, yellow, rainbow chasers, or bible thumpers—doesn’t matter. I will not cast judgment on them. I won’t be the one thing I hate most. If I don’t like you, it will be because of something you have done to me personally.” With a new resolve and a weary heart, I drag ass all the way back to the trailer, tears pouring down my face. I need to be a more accepting and forgiving person. I’m realizing it’s easier to say than to do, though. I want to forgive Clay, but he didn’t really do anything to forgive. It’s all me. And Lord knows I’ll never be able to forgive myself for all the wrongs of my life.

  I’ve sobered up a lot by the time I get back to the trailer. #HungryHouseFTW

  “Where you been, girl?” I look up, startled to find Chico sitting on my Gran’s porch.

  “She hasn’t come out to shoot you?” I ask, wide-eyed and pissed that someone would sit out here and her not know it.

  “She’s knows I’m here. She came out with her double barrel and stuck it right in my nuts until she saw it was me,” he says, rubbing his nuts and smiling.

  “What do you want, Chico? Couldn’t bust your load in a nasty whore ass?” I roll my eyes and make my way up the porch to sit in the swing. I’m flooded with memories of the years I spent on this very swing with Rory, talking about Rome and Toby.

  “I deserve that. Sorry. I shouldn’t have done it, but you hurt my feelings. I know you don’t love me. I know you were imagining I was Clay. I felt the change when you got lost in your head. But it’s been so long since someone touched me for more than a free hit of something that I got lost, too. Then you said that shit, and it hurt, so I repaid the favor. We don’t live by the same rules in here that you people live by out there. It’s a dog eat dog world. Eat or get eaten.”

  I know, to some extent, he’s right. It is different here. “Go home. I need to sleep. I’ve been up almost twenty-four hours straight. We can talk tomorrow.” I walk inside, shutting him out. I need to gather myself and rest.

  The next two days go by quietly. I’ve ignored everyone and everything. Flipping through my social sites, I change my relationships to Complicated. I couldn’t bring myself to do Single. I miss Clay. I want him, but I can’t keep putting him through my crazy trips. I scroll through photos of us and smile at each one, the smile turning to tears before I can flip to the next one. Then I get to one of me, Clay, Rome, and Rory standing in front of the garage, smiles wide across our faces. A big sign hangs over the four of us. I remember the day Clay officially bought into the garage and became partners with Rome. Rome surprised him with a new sign for the shop. In big letters, it said, “R & C Repair.” Clay was beside himself over it. Sadly, seeing that picture and thinking about the shop remind me of another moment in time. I lay my head back on my bed and close my eyes. I want to remember a happy time in life, and Clay is in all of those. I punish myself and allow the memory to consume me.

  “Come here, baby. Let me give you this business.” I turned, looking at Clay’s naked body sprawled across the bed.

  “Did you just say ‘this business’?” I doubled over in laughter. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, but it was such a foreign statement to come from his mouth.

  “Yeah, you heard me, Amandolette. Get your sexy ass over here and let me show you what I’m working with.” He says it so proper, causing jovial tears to pour down my face.

  “Oh, my slick thighs! Seriously, stop! Have you been watching rap videos again?” I wipe my hands across my face to remove the tears so I can see him.

  “No. The guys at the shop talk about it all the time, so I asked once why they were always talking about taking my business from me. They told me it’s how you say you want to fornicate. Therefore, I thought I would try it out. Apparently, I should have gone with the whole parking in your meat garage thing. They said it was a sure win. But now I feel stupid for even trying to be something I’m not.”

  Seeing I had hurt his ego, I crawled across the bed to him. “You shouldn’t ever change who you are, Clay. I love you just like this. All proper and shit. It keeps me in line. Could you imagine the world if we both ran around acting a complete donkey? I mean, if we both went idiot, the world would go under.” I lean in close to his face and breathe him in, closing my eyes and letting our lips almost touch. I open my eyes to find him copying me, so I wait for him to open his, and as they slowly slide open, I smack my palm against his lean chest. “Now, Mr. ‘Business’ Man, go make me some pancakes! All these late night fornication transactions got a girl feeling starved and shit. When you’re done, come back, and I’ll show you what kind of business I’m running.” I roll from atop him and position myself to kick him off the bed. This, in turn, gives him the perfect position to grab my ankles and pin my legs over my head.

  “Houston, we have blast off!” I squeal, trying to kick free, but it’s futile. He pops my ass hard and runs out with his hands above his head, fisting the air like a gold medal winning Olympian.

  The sun outside hurts when I open my eyes. The pain in my body is killing me from the inside out. I grab my bottle from the other night and shake it. Not much left, but it will have to do. I open my bedroom door and head toward Gran’s shower.

  “You OK, Mando?” she asks from her chair in the front room.

  “Yes, Gran, I just need a shower and to stop feeling sorry for myself. I’ll be fine.” I close the bathroom door and hit my playlist on my phone. I throw it in the sink and drop the towel to the floor. I can reach and touch one palm to each wall in the room. I hate this little ass place. I want my porcelain, claw foot tub. I need to soak.

  I turn the volume up so I will be able to hear it over the shower and open my bottle, chugging some. I stare at the girl in the mirror. The one I see isn’t me. She looks dreadful, trashy, careless, loveless. She has three-day-old, caked-on makeup covering her face, her hair’s a rat’s nest, and those eyes… They sink so far into the sockets I almost wonder if I’ve been on drugs unknowingly. I guess the girl on the outside finally matches the girl on the inside.

  I crawl in the shower and take my bottle with me. I lean back and turn up the bottle again while the scorching hot water rolls down my body. My knees go weak, and I slide down and curl up. And that’s where I stay until the water runs cold, listening to my pity party playlist. I finish off the bottle and just leave it in the shower. Who cares anymore? I get out and grab my towel, wrap it around me, and head to my room. I need to get out of here. I need to breathe and stop lying in my own filth. I grab my phone, and in a moment of weakness, I text Clay.

  �
�I miss you.

  I regret it the instant I hit Send. I have ignored every call and every text from him since I left. He finally got it and stopped yesterday. And then I go and do this. I wait for the phone to ring or ding with his reply, but it doesn’t. He is over me. He doesn’t want me. So I text Chico.

  –Want to go out tonight?

  The phone dings within ten seconds. Of course, he wants me—he knows he can’t have me. I read the reply.

  –Meet me at Shooters at 8.

  –K.

  I start getting ready. It’s already five, and it’s going to take a while to get this hot mess suitable to go out. After I get my hair straight and my makeup freshened, with dark charcoal around my eyes and harlot red lips, I pick out an outfit to help me fit in more here. If this is going to be my new life, I need to embrace it. I hear my phone and assume it’s Chico. When I pick it up, I see I have two unread texts. Neither is from Chico.