Within minutes the faucet was pumping steaming water into the tub. A nice long soak felt like a dream for my tired body. The trip hadn’t been emotional until it all crashed onto me as I sunk to the bottom of that porcelain bath. I was free. I was finally freaking free, and I felt bad about it.
The image of my mom figuring out that I was gone broke into my mind and ripped my heart apart. But who was I kidding? If she hadn’t started blowing up my phone yet, she had no idea. She was probably still in a haze of meth and booze from another week-long binge.
Right before I left, I could tell that’s where she was heading anyway. It was the perfect time to escape: I would be so far gone by the time she was halfway conscious that it wouldn’t matter.
“Critter!” Her hollow cry came from the back bedroom.
I rolled my eyes at her dumbass nickname for me. Wasn’t my real name bad enough?
“Yeah Ma?”
“Get me a fucking coke from the fridge.”
I grabbed the last can of soda from the barren wasteland she called a refrigerator.
I hurriedly popped the top and walked it back to her where she was laying in bed, sick as a dog from yet another withdrawal.
“Here. I gotta get to work.”
Her shaking hand wrapped around the can as her sunken, dark eyes begged me for mercy. She didn’t have to ask; I knew what I needed to do.
“Yeah. I think Vinnie is working tonight. I’ll see what I can get.”
“That’s my girl. Thank you, Crit.”
“I’ll be back late though. Try to sleep and don’t let anyone come over with you sick like this. I don’t want this place to get robbed again.”
I snapped out of my daze of strolling down terrible memory lane when the sound of splattering water echoed in the tiny bathroom. Looking over the side of the tub, I realized about half an inch of water was starting to coat the off white tiles.
Shit.
I lunged for the faucet, turned off the water, and sunk back in to relax and let my fingers and toes get pruney. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had time to relax like that. The quiet and the peacefulness were almost disturbing. It was a far cry from the cursing, fighting neighbors and my mom hollering at me or moaning in some john’s ear all the time.
Good riddance to all that bull crap.
Giving in to my roaring stomach, I drained the water and got dressed. I laid towels on the floor of my soaking wet bathroom to lap up the water that had spilled over.
I made my way to the closest Waffle House my phone’s GPS could find. Luckily it was just up the road and I had a hankering for greasy cooking and a pot of coffee. I quickly scarfed down some scattered, smothered, covered, and chunked hashbrowns with two eggs over easy on the side and tried to think about what my next move was going to be.
Not having a plan was both liberating and frustrating. I knew that the money I had was going to go faster than I could admit to myself. I checked the classified section for jobs while I sipped on hours-old coffee. I wasn’t really built to be a stable hand, and I didn’t think there was a strip joint in Vilas.
As I was getting up to pay my check, Holt and the older bartender walked through the front door. Holt ambled over to me with a sweet smile on his face.
“Nice to see you haven’t left our little town yet. Thinkin’ about sticking around?” He spit into a Dixie cup and I could smell the wintergreen chew that was wadded up in his lower lip.
I held up the paper and shrugged. “A girl’s gotta eat and there ain’t any jobs here for me it seems.”
“Hey Bucky, aren’t we still looking for a daytime bartender?”
He nodded. “Yeah, the one Abel hired last week quit on me Monday night.”
“Well there ya have it. I’ll talk to Abel about it. Come by in a few hours and we’ll get ya all set up.”
Just like that I had a freaking job in a town I wasn’t even sure I was going to stay in. At least I knew I was going to be able to keep a roof over my head and hopefully finance another move, if nothing else.
Unacceptable
An Unacceptables MC Romance
By Kristen Hope Mazzola
Available now to order!
Stupid Hearts
A Steamy Romantic Comedy
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Well, crap.
Got home from a long ass shoot in Virginia Beach at the ass crack of dawn after a terrible flight full of turbulence and a screaming baby. Made sure Dozer was all settled in, filled up his food and water bowls, fluffed his oversized bed in the living room, and made sure he was happily gnawing on a gigantic rawhide. Finally took a deep breath as I slipped off my favorite dark brown and black ostrich boots.
I slunk into my closet-sized bathroom and started running the water. It looked like Pepto-Bismol had puked all over the damn thing. From the tiles to the bathtub and even the toilet, it was saturated in the awful pink color. The old pipes complained loudly until steaming hot water bellowed from the faucet.
I stripped off my typical black loose fitting V-neck and skintight black skinny jeans, then stood staring at my tired eyes in the mirror. The curls had fallen out of my hair a while ago and the makeup I’d applied at four in the morning was smudged and faded. I looked like a freaking train wreck standing like a Looney Tune in my underwear. I peeled off my black lace bra and matching thong and sank into a much needed scalding hot bath to relax.
After toweling off, throwing my long dark brown locks into a messy dripping bun, and slipping into my pajamas at eleven o’clock in the morning, the only thing left to do was unpack my carry-on bag.
By far my least favorite part of the whole traveling for work thing was living out of a suitcase. Oh, and the never ending laundry once I finally got home.
It continued to be a typical Monday morning until I started to go through the zipped pocket of my suitcase where I normally stowed all of my intimates, including my pink bullet vibrator. What the hell did I find?
Nothing.
All of my favorite thongs were gone. All of my beautiful lace bras that matched those thongs were gone. Devastation set in fast when I realized my favorite vibrator—the one that had been on the road with me for the past three years—was gone.
Well crap!
After three hours of no luck with complaining about the travesty of my stolen intimates to anyone that picked up the phone, I slumped onto the couch to stew in a pissed off channel surfing escapade and mourn the loss of my battery powered o-maker.
My phone buzzed on the light wooden coffee table, next to where my socked feet were resting. The screen displayed an unknown eight-hundred number.
I answered, “This is Jolene.”
An automated voice came on the line. “Hello. It has come to our attention that you were dissatisfied with our customer service regarding luggage handling. Please hold for a customer service operator.”
Fester.
Fester.
Fester.
At that point my blood was boiling and I was ready to bite the head off of this customer service operator.
“Hello. This is Maureen. It appears that you placed a complaint call earlier today. Please confirm your name for me.”
“Jolene Abbott.”
“Thank you, Ms. Abbott. How are you doing today?”
She seemed so sweet. Her vanilla-coated voice cooed into the phone, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass. I seethed, “You want to know how the hell I am doing? I get home from my business trip to find that some pervert that works for y’all in baggage handling gets off on stealing women’s intimates. Now I am left with none of my nice underwear or my favorite vibrator! Yes, I did just say vibrator! And y’all won’t do a damn thing because there isn’t a record of anyone searching my bag. Of course the perv didn’t leave a damn record of his sick little game and of course y’all won’t help me. So I’m sorry, Maureen. I know you’re just doing your job, but I am freaking pissed and y’all either need to reimburse me for the personal property that was stolen from m
e or just leave me the heck alone.”
There was a brief pause.
Maybe I’d been too harsh?
Finally her sweet voice came back on the line, a little softer this time. “I’m very sorry to hear that ma’am. I can transfer you to my supervisor. He might be able to help you.”
“Fuck this.” Click.
I threw on a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt and a pair of faded gray skinny jeans, slid my socked feet back into my boots, and applied a light layer of eyeliner and mascara to avoid looking completely dead.
Tossing my phone into my purse, I gave Dozer a few kisses on his egg-shaped head. “Be back in a bit, bud.” His whip-like tail thumped against the plush bed as I walked to the door. Right as I pulled my bag’s strap over my shoulder and opened the front door, he closed his eyes.
Typical.
I shrugged and started to make my way down the ten flights of stairs.
Time to go shopping.
* * *
A successful Victoria’s Secret trip was not all that I had planned for this shopping excursion. I hailed a cab, hopped in, and without giving it a second thought, instructed the cabby to take me to “Seventh Avenue South and Charles Street, please.”
“Alright.” He grinned at me in the rearview mirror, eying my pink striped bag and showing off his lack of teeth along with the ones he did have left, which were stained piss yellow and looked to be hanging on by a thread.
Gross.
I slid out of the cab at the end of the block and made my way to The Pleasure Chest. The faded red brick exterior and the light gray awning did not do the sexual wonderland justice.
A bell chimed overhead as I was greeted by a rather large middle-aged woman. She was covered in tattoos and leaning on the front counter, looking bored out of her skull.
“How can I help please you today?”
The greeting made me giggle. “I have come because of a travesty.”
She gasped and came around the counter to help comfort me in my devastated state. “What happened?” She softly put her pudgy hand—which was decorated with a brightly colored cupcake tattoo—onto my shoulder.
“My Iconic Bullet was stolen!”
The woman gasped again, louder this time, and threw her cupcake hand to her chest. “Well let’s find you a new pocket-sized boyfriend.”
I grinned and followed her to the back wall, past the sexy roleplaying costumes, anal plugs, and strap-ons.
“Now, you might like something like this.” She held up a white ball that looked like it was wearing a weird pink crown.
Nope!
“That is interesting,” I faked, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “What’s it called?”
“This one is the Vibratex Girls Princessa. My girlfriend loves to roll it around on my clit while I’m climaxing.”
Way too much information.
I grabbed a LoveLife Discover from the wall and read its specs: Discover the pleasure of this versatile mini vibe! Made of silicone and USB rechargeable, this sweet little vibrator has seven delicious settings and is perfect for travel or for a not-so-quiet night in.
Pink. Simple. My kind of thing.
“I think this is the one.”
She nodded and within a few minutes I was curbside, trying to hail another taxi to take me home. A cab finally pulled up and right as I was going for the door handle, another hand got there first.
“Excuse me, this is my cab,” I barked, turning to the owner of the rude hand.
I was greeted by stunning ice blue eyes, a strong stubble-covered jawline, and a huge toothy grin.
“Sorry.” His voice was deep and velvety, matching his five thousand dollar suit well. He started to back away from the cab and I panicked. I needed to see more of those eyes so I blurted out, “We could share? I’m heading to the Upper East Side.”
He nodded. “So am I.”
We hopped in and I gave the directions to my overpriced Fifth and Seventy-sixth apartment that overlooked Central Park.
My cabmate chuckled.
“Was something I said funny to you, sir?” I drawled at him in the most southern belle voice I could muster.
“It’s not every day that a bohemian looking southerner lives in that area of town.”
“Excuse me?”
“Forgive me, but you don’t look like you’d live there.” His finger twirled around my outfit. I saw red.
Who the hell does he think he is?
The cab stopped in front of my building and I got out, slamming the door shut without so much as a backward glance at the asshat I’d had the misfortune of sharing a cab with. Beautiful or not, an asshat is an asshat, and I was not going to take shit from someone like that.
“Miss?”
I heard his velvet-coated voice call from the parked cab and the door shut behind him.
“What?” An exasperated tone escaped me as I turned to meet his stunning eyes and a cruel smile raking across his lips.
“You left this in the cab.”
To my horror, he was holding my new toy in his hand.
All kinds of red prickled my face as I took my vibrator from him. “Thanks,” I choked, gulping the last bit of saliva out of my drying mouth.
“Want to have drinks later?”
I was rather taken aback by his question. “What?”
“I’m only in town a few nights a month and I leave in the morning. I’m free after my next meeting and would love to have some company at the hotel lounge instead of drinking by myself.”
He handed me a business card that read “Seth Roberts, CFO” with an address scribbled on the back. “That’s where I am staying. I’ll be in the lobby around eight. See you there if you’d like.”
He got back in the cab while I stood like an idiot, grasping his card in one hand, my vibrator and lingerie bag in the other.
What a freaking weird day!
Stupid Hearts
A Steamy Romantic Comedy
By Kristen Hope Mazzola
Available now to order!
Unspeakable: An Unacceptables MC Romance Page 10
