Taming Mr. Jerkface (The Taming Series Book 1)

by Nia Arthurs

  “That’s Mr. Anthony. He and his wife lead the Senior’s group.”

  “Cool.” I nodded, “So where are all the hot men?”

  “Girl, you joking right?”

  I shrugged.

  “Mel, get over yourself please. You’re annoying me.”

  “Look, I didn’t want to come here, you’re the one that forced me.”

  Mia sucked her teeth at my whining.

  Before she could privately admonish me, the other fourteen Single people gravitated toward the center of the room where a circle of chairs waited patiently.

  What? I didn’t hear anyone clear their throat or announce that the meeting was going to begin. Did all these people have a homing mechanism specifically constructed for Singles Class?

  “It’s great to see everyone tonight,” Mr. Anthony began, “I’d like to start with a prayer. Tiffany, would you do the honors?”

  A shy looking librarian type with glasses and a severe bun bowed her head and started to pray. As one, the other adults followed suit. I couldn’t resist peeking around one last time before I too conformed to the pressures of fitting in and bowed my head as well.

  “Father God, please let us have a good night, Father God and may your Spirit, Father God, fall afresh on us tonight, Father God, and whatever you want to happen tonight, Father God, let it be…blah blah blah, Father God, blah blah blah blah, Father God.”

  Unfortunately, Tiffany lost me after the seventh “Father God”. I only noticed that the prayer was done when she stopped punctuating each sentiment with her favorite phrase. Actually, Mia had to elbow me back to attention because I was still waiting for Tiffany to spring another “Father God” on us. Embarrassed, I noticed a few of the women snickering at my religious faux pas. Thankfully, someone committed an even bigger church indiscretion.

  In the middle of Mr. Anthony’s ice breaker, the door slammed shut and a frenzied male voice rang out, “Sorry I’m late.”

  The snickering women snapped to attention, turning their efforts from seeming bored to looking especially holy for the newcomer. I subtly turned in my seat to see what the fuss was about. My body unconsciously snapped to attention too. Mr. Tardy was a tall, lean black man with a bald head, but when he smiled, whoo, he got ten times more attractive. That man should be on a Colgate commercial.

  “That’s okay Conner. Please have a seat. We were just starting the ice breaker.”

  Mr. Tardy, I mean Conner, settled into the seat directly across from Mia and me. I admit I stared at him a bit longer than necessary.

  Handsome, check.

  Kind, check.

  Goes to church, check.

  Participates in cheesy adult games, check.

  Connor had everyone laughing with his smart comments and ready smiles as we played ‘Mingle Mingle’. The man was extremely competitive and crowed, mooed, and hissed like a snake with all the passion of each living, breathing animal. The moment arrived when both Connor and I had to imitate a horse. He neighed right up to my shy little mewing and introduced himself. Besotted by his goofy vibe, I shyly avoided eye contact.

  “Hi, I’m Connor.”

  “Melody,” I introduced myself.

  “You sing in the choir right?”

  If only. “Oh heck no,” I corrected him, “my voice was the eleventh plague, I guarantee you.”

  He laughed. The man got my joke. Cool.

  Mr. Anthony blew his whistle and it was time to move on to our other animal partners.

  “You’re funny, Melody Reyes. I like you.”

  For some strange reason, I read way too much into that comment than I should have. Even when I mimicked the frog, the dog, and the cat, I felt the impression of my brief time with Connor. Mia gave me a knowing look when we met up during our sound interpretations of elephants. Her tactic of blowing on her upper arm grossed me out. But at least we found each other.

  “So,” she asked quietly, “he’s hot right?”

  “Who?” I played dumb.

  “Connor, you boob,”

  I gasped, “Mia Reynolds, did you just refer to breasts in the house of our Lord,”

  She rolled her eyes, “Our Lord made these chuchas, so it’s not like I said a bad word. And stop trying to distract me.”

  “He’s nice.” I admitted.

  “Just nice?”

  “Do you want me to throw myself at the guy or something?”

  She pursed her lips, “Maybe that would be too obvious. I was thinking you could start by sitting beside him on Sunday.”

  I rolled my eyes. Mia was a handful but even this was taking things a bit far, even for her. I knew that getting over Spencer wouldn’t be accomplished by seeing someone new. And my father was still the same man that he was ten years ago when it came to men. There was no way I would put anyone as nice and funny as Connor through the kind of torture Robert Reyes could dish out to the boys his daughters were interested in.

  And I wasn’t interested in Connor. Okay, maybe just a little.

  Before Mia could torture me anymore, Mr. Anthony blew his whistle and called us back to our seats.

  The lesson that night was about media. Mr. Anthony spoke about the importance of guarding what we watched on T.V. and on the Internet. He suggested that keeping the body pure started with keeping the mind clean too. I listened attentively, but I have to admit, my eyes darted to Connor’s every so often. He looked so engrossed. Could anyone really be that into Singles Group?

  After the session, Mr. Anthony encouraged us to stick around and sample the goodies laid out. This part was what I’d come for. I wasn’t shy about my sweet tooth. Unlike Mia, who hung back waiting for someone to get into line first, I scrambled to be the first person to get the best part of the brownie. I loved the edges and I was selfish enough take two out of the four brownie corners.

  Yeah, I was that guy.

  “Hey,” Surprised, I whirled around to find Connor right behind me, “Melody, right?”

  “Yeah. Hi Connor.”

  “Just a friendly word of warning, I hear the potato pound was spiked.”

  Uh, okay?

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “Do you know if those are weed brownies?” I joked.

  He looked horrified at my insinuation, “Sister Martha would never do such a thing,”

  Hmm, points off for the super religious stick up his butt.

  “Uh, so what do you do, Connor?”

  He moved with me as we collected our plates and selected the desserts that we wanted.

  “I’m the office assistant at the church.”

  “Cool. I’m a public relations officer at BTB.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. There definitely needs to be some lights shining on that hilltop. Did you see all the scantily clad women that they have on the covers of their brochures?”

  I stared at him. Is this guy for real?

  “They’re called bikinis. You wear them when you go swimming.” I stated obviously.

  He laughed as though I’d made another joke. I hadn’t.

  “You’re funny, Melody. But we all know that God calls our bodies temples and calls women to dress modestly so as not to tempt others, two things which those slight pieces of clothing are not.”

  Don’t do it, Melody. Don’t do it.

  My brain tried to stop it, but my mouth took over without much more warning.

  “It’s swimwear. A woman shouldn’t be called immodest if she’s wearing a bikini because it makes you uncomfortable.”

  Connor looked surprised that I’d defied him. We moved from the refreshment table to a section of the folded chairs.

  “1 Timothy 2:9 says that girls should dress modestly, with thought to propriety.”

  “Where in that verse does it say that bikinis are immodest?”

  “Well, the Scripture isn’t literal, it’s-”

  “Subject to interpretation.” I finished for him. “An understanding of this verse stems from the individual’s personal convictions not your personal di
scomfort.”

  With a completely fake smile on his face, Connor rose from his seat with his empty dessert plate in hand, “I’m going to pray that God opens your eyes to the truth,” he said condescendingly before moving off.

  “Nice talk,” I yelled after him.

  Mia unceremoniously plopped into the seat next to me with her plate laden with goodies. I could never eat like that. I’d get a ton of pimples. My friend chomped on a square of potato pound,

  “Wow, you scared him off in less than three minutes. That’s a record,”

  Very funny,” I groused, “Some people just love their rules. I mean, I know there are principles that God gave us for our own good. Like marriage and integrity, but bikinis?”

  Mia rolled her eyes, “You were arguing about bikinis? Who won?”

  I leaned back in my seat. “I’m not too sure. Connor said he’d pray for me, but I think he meant it as a put down.”

  Mia laughed. “You are too much, girl.”

  After the Connor fiasco, Mia hadn’t expected me to return to Singles group. But I did, and I went the next week and the next. Two months rolled by and I never missed a session. I even stowed my bikini away when the group went on an excursion to the beach in Placencia. I knew Connor was watching out for any signs of my “immodesty” and I was pleased when he didn’t get the satisfaction of feeling right about me.

  As the days flew by and my family gathered for Christmas, I found myself grateful for the experiences I’d had in the States. I even built the courage to delete the messages Spencer and I had shared while I was in L.A. That was a huge step for me. And I found that every day got a little easier than the next.

  It’s hard to describe being in love. It’s harder to explain not pursuing that love, even though it is returned. The first few months were hard. Every day, I died. I took a 99 millimeter and I put the cold, hard steel barrel to the head of my desires, and then I pulled the trigger. I strapped a bomb to my selfishness and my pride, and I ran away from the explosion. Every day.

  Being in love is easy. It’s rainbows on cloudy days. It’s feeling okay when everything around you isn’t. Being away from the one you love is draining. You keep up hope and you carry on because you know that one day, you’ll be reunited. But I wasn’t simply apart from my heart. I was killing it. I was giving it away. I was breathing, moving, walking, talking without my heart. I was learning to function without that part of me. I understood why I had to let him go. But it didn’t mean that nothing inside me had changed.

  Spencer Braden had changed me. He had shown me love and in exchange I had given him mine. I would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “You’re dad never fails to scare the crap out of me.” Archie confessed as we grabbed lunch one afternoon, “Have I mentioned that before?”

  I laughed. It felt good to laugh like that again. Belly laughs had come in short supply since I’d returned home nearly six months ago. Mia had been a huge part of my belly-laughing recovery. Archie had done his share too. I was pleasantly surprised when a few weeks into the New Year Archie called to meet up. I’d invited him to the Holy Ghost Gym and Mom had asked him over for lunch after. Since that day, Archie became an unofficial Reyes child to everyone but Daddy. But my father has over-protection issues so I let that one slide.

  “You know my Dad loves you, Archie,” I scolded him, tearing into my fried chicken. My taste buds had never gotten over the joy of curly fries, but it is no secret that Belizean fast food tastes ten times better than American, so I didn’t completely suffer.

  “No way, the man hates my guts.”

  I grinned, “The big bad bearded man is scared of my father?”

  “Heck yeah, I’m scared of your dad. He keeps looking at me and then at the shotgun in the drawer.”

  “How do you know about that shot gun?”

  “Your dad. Duh.”

  I chuckled again, “You are too much.”

  He dimpled, “Probably,”

  He forked some fried rice into his mouth, chewed and swallowed before commenting, “How did your mom and dad respond when you told them about that guy from the States?”

  A few days ago, I’d been convicted to come clean to my parents about my relationship with Spencer. I didn’t divulge all of the details but I did explain that I’d met someone special over there and had fallen in love. My mom was sympathetic but I think my dad’s angry reaction stemmed more from his feeling of impotence than any actual irritation at me or Spencer. He discovered that he couldn’t protect his baby girl from everything and that ticked him off.

  “They took it well, I guess. What else could they do? It was a long time ago and they wouldn’t have known about it if I hadn’t brought it up.”

  Archie nodded, “And how’s Missy?”

  I rolled my eyes at the new topic. Missy was still a pain in my side, but at least I could hold the States trip over her.

  “She’s Missy.” I quipped, “She’s my burden to bear.”

  That cracked Archie up. “I’m sure she’s not all that bad. Someone that beautiful…”

  “Don’t even start,” I scolded him.

  “Okay, okay.” He said, but his eyes still twinkled mischievously.

  “Tell me about the latest case.” I prodded, turning the tide of the conversation to something else. After discovering my innate annoyance toward my co-worker, Archie would pretend to have a crush on her just to irritate me. At least I hoped he was faking it. My loveable blood brother would never be that blinded by physical beauty? Would he? Whatever the case, I’d learned to stem the flow of that kind of talk once it started by changing the topic.

  He grinned knowingly but didn’t put up a fuss. “I got the Bryan’s case.”

  “Really, the high profile one with the Human Service Department and the little girl?”

  “Yeah, I can’t tell you all the details obviously but the HSD have a solid case.”

  “Trust me; you don’t need to tell me the details. The mother will probably post it all over Facebook by tonight.”

  Archie only grunted in response because he knew it was true. Lucy Bryan, the baby’s mother, had raised a stink on Facebook, claiming that the social worker that was in charge of her case had kidnapped the baby. Ignorant Belizeans, who obviously got their law degrees at Facebook University, gathered the scanty facts of the case and became judge, jury and executioner. A picture of the social worker and her daughter was put online and some people began to threaten bodily harm to the woman and her family. It soon became an international issue because the woman had a Guatemalan birth certificate and a Belizean one. In any event, the high profile case was an amazing break for Archie and I was proud of him.

  “I know you’ll do great, Archie. When’s the court date.”

  “Next week.”

  “I’d come cheer you on, but the Judge didn’t like that the last time.”

  “Yeah, that didn’t go well.” He snickered.

  I defended myself, “I thought law courts were like boxing rings, you know. When you do well, people cheer. And you really were killing it in there, so I cheered.”

  “There’s a difference between quietly going ‘yay!’ from your seat and standing and yelling ‘He is so guilty! You go, Archie!’”

  “Hmf, I think our judges are too uptight.”

  “Too uptight? You’re lucky you didn’t get charged with obstruction of justice.”

  I laughed. “Okay, you made your point. I’m banned from the Court anyway.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the support though.”

  “Anytime. You know you’re my brother.”

  “Then please explain that to your dad. He looks at me like I’m going to steal away his baby girl.”

  “Yeah, that’s a dad thing. It’s never gonna change, buddy.”

  Archie sighed and called the waiter to bring the cheque. “Is it my turn or yours?”

  “It’s mine. I got it.”

  “Okay. No problem. I have to run since some peo
ple have to work nine to five jobs every day,”

  “Hey buddy, other people have to travel so they get the day off when they come back home.”

  “I’m just saying,” Archie teased. “Hey, everyone’s still coming for Movie night on Friday right?”

  “Yes, the Step Up Marathon is alive and kicking tomorrow at my place.” I assured.

  Archie and my mom had bonded over Step Up movies. It was quite strange to see the two of them get together when they discussed the films. Neither could dance, but to watch them demonstrate their favorite moves was a blast.

  “See you later,” he fist-bumped me and then scooted out of his seat and left for work.

  I pulled out a ten and a five dollar bill from my wallet and put it on the table. The waitress took it away and returned with my change a few minutes later. I left the tip and strode out of the restaurant. A blast of tropical sunshine bombarded me as soon as I left the cool of the shade. I flipped on my sunshades and strode to my car.

  I sort of missed riding the Metro bus. Riding in a personal vehicle was so cold, so impersonal. I had to be aware of my surroundings at all times since my 4000 lb car could kill people if I wasn’t vigilant. Being alert left no time for people-watching. I wondered what categories of people rode the bus in Belize. Maybe one day I’d find out. With these musings on my mind, I directed the car toward Mia’s boutique and arrived in less than ten minutes. Okay, I definitely didn’t miss L.A. traffic.

  I parked the car and crossed the street to my friend’s little boutique. Mia had been ecstatic when she’d gotten the loan approval to buy the place two years ago. When some people were getting loans to go to school and come back to potential job opportunities, Mia chose to take out a loan in order to create her own opportunity. I was inestimably proud of her. She had come from a dark place and overcome it all. Plus, the boutique was fantastic. I admired the huge sign that brazenly proclaimed “Mia’s Designs”. Mia had been trying to turn in enough profit to afford to install a display window. I knew that her boutique was barely breaking even. As much as I wanted to help her, my girl was stubborn.