HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “I will. I really will. That sounded bad, huh? I’ll pay for it. Not turn tricks. No trick Tegan, that’s what they call--”

  “When?”

  Apparently, he had no sense of humor. I let out a light sigh. “I’ll be in touch in a day or two.”

  “You better.”

  “I will, I promise, even if…”

  The silence on the other end reminded me that he had much less interest in talking to me than I had in talking to him.

  Not seeing him face-to-face was in both of our best interests. I found his stand-offish attitude supportive of his lack of interest in me, which made matters that much easier.

  Hopefully his sense of time passing was as non-existent as his sense of humor. I’d wait until I got paid, and then give him a call when I could hand him $1,000 in cash.

  With any luck, by then what little interest I had in him would fade away.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Pee Bee

  I lifted the eggs from the skillet and carefully placed them on the plate beside the toast. It was fine if he broke the yolks of the over-medium eggs I cooked him, but if I did it before I handed him the plate, there’d be hell to pay.

  I laid four pieces of bacon beside the eggs, and carried the plate into the living room.

  “Well, good god damn,” he said as he sat up in his chair. “I wondered if that was for me, or if you were in there getting fatter by the minute.”

  My mother had bought a special recliner with a tray that swiveled from the arm of the chair toward the center, allowing him to eat while he read or watched T.V.

  I spun the tray over his lap and set the plate down. “I’m not fat.”

  He glanced at the eggs and then looked up, grinning. “Pretty fuckin’ close.”

  “Get your own silverware.”

  He scooped up one of the eggs with his fingers, dropped it onto a piece of toast, and picked it up. “I don’t need any fuckin’ silverware, fat ass.”

  “Whatever. Hope those yolks bust all to fuck.”

  He took a bite of his open-faced eggs sandwich. “I don’t give a fuck if they do. Long as you didn’t break ‘em cooking ‘em.”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh and turned away. “I gotta piss.”

  “Lift the fucking seat,” he said over a mouthful of food. “I’ve gotta sit to piss, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna wallow in your piss when I do.”

  I walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and stepped onto the scale.

  231.

  At 6’-8”, I was far from fat.

  I pissed, washed my hands, and walked into the living room. He was wiping his plate clean with a small piece of toast.

  “What’d you weigh?” he asked as he poked the toast in his mouth.

  I sat down on the couch. “I went to piss.”

  “I raised you, you anal retentive asshole,” he said. “What’d you weigh?”

  “Two and a quarter.”

  “Two-forty?”

  “Two and a quarter,” I said again, knowing if it was much more, he’d bitch. He didn’t understand Body Mass Index or body fat percentages.

  “Two-thirty-eight?”

  “Two-thirty-one,” I said without looking at him.

  He chuckled. “Far sight from two and a quarter.”

  I glared at him. “Six fucking pounds.”

  “Just as well be fifty. If you’re going to lie about your weight, why not lie big? Hell, tell those dip-shits you ride with you’re throwing two and a dime. Maybe you can get one of ‘em to take you out on a date.” His eyes slowly widened. “Which brings us to another subject. When are you going to settle down?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean settle down. Stop being a miscreant, find a good woman, and settle the fuck down, Son. Our time on this earth is limited, you’re aware of that, right?”

  I wasn’t willing to listen to another speech about how I was a man-whore, but I felt a need to defend my club brothers. “Why you always got to be talking shit on the fellas?”

  “I told you when you started riding with that fucking Navarro and the rest of those degenerates that I didn’t like it. It’s nothing but a god damned gang. I didn’t raise you to be a gang-banger, Son.”

  “It ain’t a gang.”

  “The fuck it isn’t.”

  “It’s a club.”

  “Kind of like calling your cock a lollipop, ain’t it?”

  I turned to face him. “I don’t see the connection.”

  “It’s deceiving to the listening ear,” he said. “Now put up my plate before that yolk dries on it. That shit never washes off in the dishwasher once it gets hard. When you get back, we’ll finish this discussion. I’m far from done talking about this.”

  I hated rinsing off dishes. Even so, I took his plate to the kitchen, eager to escape his lecture. As I rinsed it, he began to yell.

  “Hooptie just pulled up across the street,” he shouted. “Cute bitch driving. Looks like the fuckin’ thing’s missing a door, though. What’d you do, hire that girl that wrecked your bike?”

  “What-fucking-ever,” I breathed. “I’m coming.”

  “I ain’t shittin’ ya. She’s a real looker, and the car’s missing a fuckin’ door. Looks like she’d fall out of it if she took a hard right turn.” He started laughing, and then caught his breath. “Looks funny as hell.”

  I put the plate in the dishwasher. “Be there in a minute.”

  “She’s got dark hair that’s pulled into a ponytail, and she’s wearing maroon scrubs, like a doctor. Jesus. She’s cute. Hopefully, she’s better than the last one.”

  I was sure he was joking about the door, but stepped into the living room a little curious, nonetheless. After wiping my hands on the thighs of my jeans, I glanced up and peered through the window. Parked across the street, in front of the neighbor’s house, was the very car that had caused the wreck with my beloved bike.

  What the fuck?

  There was a loud knock at the door.

  “You gonna answer that or stand there with your jaw on the floor?”

  I couldn’t fucking believe it.

  The doorbell rang.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you,” he asked. “Answer the fuckin’ door.”

  I stomped to the door and yanked it open.

  She looked quite a bit different than the day she slung her door into the front of my bike, but there was no mistaking who she was.

  “What in the fuck are you doing here? How’d you get this address?”

  Her hand shot to her mouth and she went bug-eyed. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “Uhhm.” She leaned to the side, and peered beyond me, into the living room. After a short pause, she looked up. “This is awkward, huh?”

  “What?” I crossed my arms and gave her a stern glare. “Where’s my fuckin’ money?”

  “I don’t have it. Not yet.”

  Completely confused, and in slight shock that she had somehow found me, I stared at her in disbelief. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

  She leaned to the side again, and nodded her head toward the living room. “I’m uhhm. I’m the. I’m your father’s new caregiver. Home Healthcare, LLC sent me”

  It was like a bad fucking dream.

  “God damn it, you big dumb fucker. Let her in,” my father shouted.

  “Are you fucking shitting me?” I asked, my eyes still locked on hers. “You’re here for the job?”

  She swallowed heavily and then grinned a shallow grin. “Uh huh.”

  “She ain’t coming in,” I said over my shoulder.

  “She sure as fuck can’t help me from out on the fuckin’ porch,” he yelled. “Let her in.”

  “She ain’t coming in.”

  “Why the fuck not?” he shouted.

  “Because.”

  The bike crushing nurse and I continued our stand-off. After a few awkward seconds of silence, Pop started laughing.

  “She’s the one you wrecked into, isn’t she?”

&nb
sp; “Enough, old man,” I said without breaking my stare.

  “Look. I’ve been working part-time since I graduated from nursing school.”

  She paused, and met my gaze. Her eyes were gorgeous, and I wasn’t about to fall prey to them. I shifted my eyes away as she continued.

  “This is…this will be my first full-time job. And, I need this income to pay for your bike. It’s a win-win for us both. Without this?” She shrugged. “We’re both screwed.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” I mumbled.

  I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind me. “I might, and I mean I fucking might let you do this.”

  “I already told you I was sorry about your bike, and I am. There’s no sense and going over it,” she said. “My window didn’t work, my A/C was broken, and I opened my door to cool off. It’s not like I pulled out in front of you or ran a red light.”

  I huffed out a sigh and glanced at her tits. She made a point. Shit happens to the best of us.

  “I’m a really good nurse.” She raised her index finger. “Top of my class. And I love helping people.”

  I looked her up one side and down the other. Her scrubs fit her like a second skin. She was cute as fuck, and she was damned sure built for fucking, but there was one problem. She was small, and my father was a big man. It’d be tough for her to move him from his recliner to his wheelchair.

  “He weighs two and a quarter. And he’s 6’-5. You’ve got to be able to pick him up from his chair, get him in his wheel chair, and then get him onto the toilet so he can take care of his business.” I shook my head. “You’re not big enough.”

  “I am, too,” she snapped back.

  “You’re a tiny little bitch,” I said. “And--”

  “Listen, mister.” Her lips pursed. The muscles in her jaw flared and her eyes went from those of an innocent nurse practitioner to that of a mad woman.

  It looked like I’d hit a nerve.

  She cocked her hip. “I let you slide the first time you called me a bitch, back at the wreck. I felt like I owed it to you. But if you call me a bitch again, I’ll drop your big ass where you stand.”

  “You couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag, bitch. I dare you to--”

  An ear-piercing shriek stopped me mid-sentence. Her foot shot forward with lightning-fast speed and slammed into my shin. I stumbled a few steps backward as the pain shot through me like an electric shock. While I struggled to figure out what the fuck had happened, she let out another screech and kicked me right in the kneecap.

  Half doubled over in pain, I realized she wasn’t a typical girl. It was obvious, and painfully so, that she knew how to fight.

  She barked out another high-pitched warning, but her feet were too fast for me to react. The heel of her foot bashed into the inside of my left knee. My eyes shot wide. I reached for my knee, which was damaged from an old football injury, and started planning my verbal escape from her fast-footed torture.

  That’s when her knee slammed into my nuts.

  Bent over, and about to barf, I looked at her in sheer shock. Standing a few feet in front of me in some crazed karate stance, she returned an intense glare.

  “Jesus…fuck…stop.” I leaned against the house and fought to catch my breath. “God damn, you little spider monkey. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

  She lowered her hands slightly and gave me a look. “You jerk. I told you not to call me that.” She shook her head. “Now I’m screwed. I really, really wanted this job. You’re screwed, too. Good luck getting that money now, dummy.”

  I’m sure she thought otherwise, but she’d gained my respect the old-school way. There were only a couple of guys who could even claim to have got a good punch in on me, but that was when I was in my teens.

  For a girl to do what she had done?

  I may not have liked her, but I owed her respect.

  She earned it.

  “Just hold on.” I coughed and struggled to stand upright. My nuts were in my throat and my knee was throbbing. I glanced over my shoulder, made sure the door was closed, and then looked at her.

  She irritated the fuck out of me for a bunch of reasons, the main one being that she’d taken the one thing from me that I loved wholeheartedly.

  My bike.

  But.

  There was no doubt she had all the qualities to make sure my father didn’t run over her with his shitty attitude and demanding personality. Finding another nurse with her drive and spirit would be close to impossible.

  “You can have the job under one condition,” I said.

  “Oh my god. Really?”

  “Yeah, really,” I said with a slight note of sarcasm. “But you can’t tell him what just happened.”

  “I won’t say a word,” she said. “Not one.”

  I extended my hand.

  She grinned and shook it.

  “His name’s Bradley,” I said.

  “And yours?”

  “Pee Bee.”

  She picked up her purse. “Just like on your vest.”

  I wasn’t wearing my vest. She was perceptive, and that quality would come in handy with my father. I nodded and reached for the door. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

  She traced her thumb and forefinger across her lips.

  I pushed the door open and waved my hand toward the living room. “After you.”

  I fought not to limp as I walked through the door.

  Pop sat up in his chair. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Jesus jumped up Christ. Who’d you hire, Supergirl?”

  I didn’t bother responding.

  He glanced at her, and then at me. “She kicked your ass, didn’t she? What was that about?”

  “She didn’t kick shit,” I said. “We were just fuckin’ around.”

  “I might be crippled,” he said with a laugh. “But I sure as fuck ain’t blind.”

  “Blind enough you didn’t see that banana peel.”

  “I saw the son-of-a-bitch, I tried to kick it.” He raised the only hand he was able and wiggled the tips of his fingers. “Name’s Bradley. Pleasure to meet you.”

  She stepped around me, took his hand in hers and smiled. “Tegan. Tegan Rassini. And, the pleasure’s mine.”

  “So, what was that? Tae Kwando? Karate? Ju fuckin’ Jitsu? Kung god damned Fu?”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” she responded.

  He gave her a look. “I’m crippled, but I can see just fine.”

  “That’s the second time you said that, and I’ve only been here thirty seconds.” She dropped her purse beside his chair and then looked right at him. “Your chart didn’t say anything about memory loss, is that something you’ve just started experiencing?”

  He let out a laugh. “Well, aren’t you feisty?”

  She was a spunky little bitch.

  But I’d never tell her that to her face.

  At least not the bitch part.

  Chapter Forty

  Tegan

  Bradley was big, and based on his size, I guessed that he was very muscular in his younger days. His gray hair was unlike his son’s, and cut short. He was a very handsome man with a face that appeared to be made of stone. His sharp appearance left me wondering what Pee Bee would look like without his beard.

  His attitude, temper, and demanding personality tested every facet of my training, probed the depth of my knowledge of human nature, and offered all-day entertainment. It was day two of me caring for him, and my first full day alone.

  “The bacon’s got to be crisp,” he said dryly.

  Almost to the kitchen, I stopped and turned to face him. “You didn’t specify. That’s how I like it.”

  “It’s not going to work for me.” Pinching the strip of bacon in the middle, he wagged it up and down a few times. “It’s all flimsy.”

  He dropped it onto the plate. “I couldn’t swallow that half-cooked fucker if I had to. Bouncy meat makes my stomach churn.”

  “You asked for two eggs o
ver medium, four pieces of bacon, and two pieces of buttered toast. That’s how I cook my bacon. I’ll gladly prepare it however you like.”

  He looked up as he reached for his fork. “Maybe leave it in the skillet a little longer tomorrow.”

  As he pushed the tines through the side of one of his eggs, I pulled the plate from his tray.

  I grinned. “Be back in a minute.”

  His hand followed the plate as I lifted it. “The eggs were fine.”

  “It’ll just take a minute.”

  I set his food aside, cooked two more eggs, four crisp pieces of bacon, and two pieces of toast. After arranging everything on a clean plate, I carried them both to the living room.

  I held the plate over his lap. “Here you go.”

  He reached for his fork. “Set it down on the tray.”

  I shook my head. “Reach for it.”

  “Just in case you forgot.” He lifted his arm slightly. “My arm’s in a cast.”

  “Your fingers aren’t,” I said. “Reach for it.”

  He glared at me.

  “Your bacon’s going to get cold.” I arched an eyebrow. “Does cold bacon make your stomach churn?”

  He sighed and reached for the plate.

  I sat down on the end of the couch. “It’s called therapy.”

  He picked up a piece of bacon, snapped off the end, and grinned. “I’ll call it abuse.”

  “You’ll thank me later.”

  “Doubt it.”

  I normally ate fast. Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I paced myself to finish my food at the same time he finished his. When we were done, I stood, picked up his plate, and carried them to the kitchen.

  “If you don’t rinse them now, the yolk will turn to concrete on that plate,” he yelled.

  I didn’t respond, but I felt the same way. A dirty sink, a pile of dishes, or any other type of clutter drove me insane. After rinsing the plates, I walked into the living room and sat down.

  “So, what do you like to watch on T.V.?” I asked.

  He reached for his tablet and then situated it in his lap. “Nothing. At least not until Vanna comes on.”

  “Vanna?”

  He looked up. “White. Vanna fuckin’ White. Wheel of god damned Fortune. Her and that little shit of a cohost, Pat Sajak. Ever heard of it?”