by Silla Webb
He follows, reluctantly. I stop at the first piece of skimpy lingerie set I see. Perfect, pink is my favorite color. I hold it up and out to him and ask, “What do you think of this?”
“Ummmm,” he stutters, “it’s pink.” No shit, Sherlock. I’m evil. This is too much fun, but at least he’s imaging what I would look like in it.
“Give me just a sec,” I tell him, “I’m just gonna try this on real quick.”
“Fuckkkk meee,” I hear him mutter. I saunter off to the dressing room knowing my lingerie stash that no man may ever see just got bigger, and my work here is done.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MADDEN
“Eww,” Belle gags, pinching her nose. “Why are you spwayin’ that stinky stuff everywhere?” She’s perched on the edge of my bed while I finish getting dressed for my date.
“You don’t think it smells nice?” Why am I questioning a five-year-old about cologne? If it was left up to Belle I would be wearing cotton candy scent.
She shakes her head rapidly from side to side, her face contorted in disgust. “It smells wike rotted Play-doh.” I roll my eyes at her dramatics. I don’t even wanna know. “Why do you wanna go out on a date tonight anyway, Daddy? You should just stay home with me.” She smiles, fingers laced under her chin as she bats her eyes.
“We’ll have all day tomorrow together, Belly. Besides, Grammy said the two of you are having a girls’ night complete with fingernail polish, movies, and cupcakes.”
“Movies? You mean Golden Girwls? ’Cause that’s the only thing she watches, Daddy. And her cupcakes are muffins—she ain’t got the goods.” This girl has two speeds—full-on personality and attitude and dead to the world asleep. And, of course, I can’t blame her for the muffins. Who tries to substitute cupcakes for muffins? My mom, that’s who.
Momma has always led a very healthy and active lifestyle, but since Dad died from a heart attack, she’s been even more conscious of her diet. She was ecstatic when I made the decision to hire a trainer, even offering to meal prep for me. But this was a feat I was determined to conquer on my own. Her support is clearly unwavering and makes achieving my goals even easier.
Goals.
I’m fuckin’ crushing this weight loss. Twenty-eight fuckin’ pounds. I was confident I was losing weight, with all the workouts and diet changes, my clothes fitting looser, my breath not quite as restrained when running on the elliptical. But I didn’t expect to have lost twenty-eight pounds in the first six weeks.
The clock on my nightstand catches my attention as I pass by to the mirror on the dresser. I give myself a once-over in the new clothes Jordan helped me pick out before turning to Belle. “Alright, ya little diva. Finish getting your bag together. I don’t wanna be late, and I still have to drop you off.”
Belle huffs as she slides off the bed. “Oh alright.” She trudges down the hall to her bedroom as I slap on my watch and slide my wallet in my back pocket.
I walk down the hallway and stop at Belle’s bedroom door, my brow cocking when I see her arms full with a baby doll, crib, and her backpack. “Belly, honey, why?” I chuckle. “You have plenty of toys at Grammy’s.”
“Maybe”—she shrugs, her arms straining under the weight—"but Lilly will cry all night and keep you awake if I don’t take her with me, Daddy.”
I’ve learned in the three years since I’ve had custody of Belle that you have to pick your battles, and this isn’t one worth fighting. She has a creative imagination, and honestly, I think she mothers her baby dolls because if there’s one thing lacking in Belle’s life it’s a mom. My momma, Laney, they fill those shoes as best as they can, and I can only do so much, but there’s no love comparable to that of a momma.
I bear heavy guilt that Casey is no longer in Belly’s life, but there are no lengths I wouldn’t travel to protect my child. End of.
“Okay, Belly. Let’s get on the road.”
*~*
I pull up to the immaculate bungalow and blow out a shaky breath. “Just go on, Madden,” I coach myself, “she’s just a woman.” I continue the pep talk, “Like riding a bike.” I chant this walking up the pathway while also taking the time to notice the extremely neat landscaping she has. I need to find out who she uses, maybe see if I can get them on vendor contract for some of our projects. I knock on the perfectly painted and clean white door and am greeted by a blonde bombshell. “Y-you must be Madden. I’m Ellie. W-welcome to my home.” Her voice is small and mouse-like as she sweeps her hand toward her living room, urging me inside. “Please, m-make yourself comfortable. I’ll be just a few more minutes.” She closes the door behind me and hurries down a short hallway.
The perfection of the outside of her house should have been a warning. If not, then the hand sanitizer, the box of latex gloves, medical masks on the wall by the front door and the scent of hospital-grade cleaner as soon as I walked into her home should have definitely keyed me in. This chick, while a hot little number, is missing a few screws and even more bolts. I’m going to fuckin’ kill Carter. Kill him.
Her home is very … sterile. Clean. Unlived in, even. I sit on the couch and take in my surroundings, my ire for Carter growing. Turtles are everywhere. Large, medium, and small—every size in between. From the walls, to the centerpieces on the coffee table. What in the ever loving fuck has Carter got me into? I’d snoop around, but I’m scared I’d stumble across a turtle carcass in the damn freezer. And what’s with the— My thoughts are cut off when she appears before me, her hands twisting nervously. “A-are you ready?”
I peel myself off her plastic-covered couch and make my way to the door. Wait … where the hell did she go? “I-I just need to clean up after you. Two secs.” Dust buster in hand, she proceeds to vacuum the plastic covering then sprays Lysol on the couch, coffee table, and into the air. She disappears again then returns moments later. She grabs a pair of shoes from the closet and pulls them on, pumps hand sanitizer into her hands and rubs it in. “All set,” she chirps with a shrug as she pulls the door open and pumps more hand sanitizer into her hands.
And the evening only grew progressively worse from there. When we finally made it to my truck—not actually in the truck, but to the truck, it wasn’t that easy, turns out, my truck wasn’t in the top ten safest vehicles ranked by Forbes, so she was apprehensive about getting in. I explained to her that we were only traveling a couple miles through town and there would be no travel on the main highway. After cleaning my door handle thoroughly with a Clorox wipe she pulled from her purse and testing the seat belt a couple times, we were off to the restaurant.
An hour later, after we visited multiple restaurants and finally found one up to health codes, according to her, we finally sit down to dinner. “So, uhm, Ma-Madden,” Ellie, stammers as she wipes invisible lint from the linen tablecloth, what must be the tenth time in fifteen minutes, “y-you’re in con-construction?”
This is my first date in over five years, and so far it’s been a disaster. Luckily, Ellie is cute.
Blonde curls hang in ribbons down her back, framing a heart-shaped face with a smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks, and her blue eyes are round and doe-like. She’s short in stature, with curves for days, but she’s definitely the modest type—the pearl necklace and cardigan draped across her shoulders screams innocence. She seems nervous as hell, her hands trembling, and every sentence she attempts to speak comes out choppy or broken with stutters.
“Yeah, I own Davenport Construction. It’s a family business. What do you do, Ellie?” The waitress interrupts to take our appetizer orders, filling our water glasses while we wait.
“I, uh, work at the Marine Science Center.” Ellie reaches into her purse and pulls out a … straw and a small white cloth? I scan the table, noticing the paper-wrapped straws the waitress left behind. She polishes the straw and inspects it carefully, holding it up to the light before placing it in her water glass. I take the straw from the paper wrapper and shove it into my glass, wishing it was something stronger
than water. Her eyes are laser focused on the glass and my straw, then she sighs, drops her shoulders, and mutters, “One sea turtle down.”
Alrighty then. “I-I’m a pr-project manager of the lo-loggerhead t-turtle co-conservation t-team.” She shakily lifts the glass and places the straw between her lips.
“No shit. That’s pretty cool.” Her brows furrow, and she sets the glass down as the waitress drops off the complimentary basket of hush puppies in the center of the table. She studies them intently. Crap, wonder which animal demise the hush puppies are the result of. I don’t reach out to grab the hush puppies, not because I don’t love ’em, I do, but I’m still on a diet, and I’ve worked too hard to go back now. The silence is awkward, sure as shit uncomfortable.
“So, Ellie, what do you like to do for fun?” I ask.
She looks up at me and blinks. “What do you mean fun?”
“Like hobbies and interests.”
“Oh ummm,” she mutters, “I like to organize things.”
“You mean like planning parties and such.” I just assume that’s what she means.
“No, I mean like my home and office,” she says excitedly. Too excitedly for a sane person. “I like to alphabetize my personal papers, DVD’s and organize my home.”
What the hell?
“Oh, ummm … that’s nice.” That is so not nice. This is fucking weird. What the hell am I doing here, and where the hell did she come from? How much longer do I have to stay here? I glance down at my watch and internally groan. This night needs to move it on down the line.
We continue with boring small talk, Ellie telling me all about the recycling project she’s managing at the community center. I mean, I’m all about saving the turtles and protecting the planet, but this girl seems completely obsessed.
The meal arrives, and Ellie goes to her bag of tricks again. She produces a small bottle of hand sanitizer and proceeds to basically bathe herself in it. I can’t even concentrate on the wonderful meal in front of me because I can’t tear my eyes away from the pile of crazy sitting across from me. When she produces a sanitizing wipe and proceeds to wipe off the silver wear she just unwrapped and then a bottle of antacid medicine to take before her meal, I’m tempted to ask if she has a sedative in that bag of tricks so I can sleep through the rest of this date.
“No-no-no-no-no-no,” she chants and swiftly shoves her chair back and stands, creating a scene and gathering the attention of the entire restaurant over the sound of classic rock playing. Hell, at first I thought she was inspired by Aerosmith’s Love in an Elevator and wanted to dance; obviously not. I stand and stalk around the table, my hand reaching out to take hers. But I quickly think twice about it—I haven’t been properly sanitized. Damn, I wonder what all I would have to endure if I tried to get into her panties. My dick shudders at the thought of being cleaned with a loofa.
“Hey, now,” I offer in my coolest tone, “what’s wrong?”
She has the most serious look on her face, so I prepare for her to tell me she accidentally ate something she is allergic to or that she just remembered a previous obligation she forgot about when she mutters, “It’s just not sanitary.”
“What?” I ask. With this chick it could be anything from the dishes to the shoes I have on.
“Your meal, it is not sanitary. Do you know that lobster was completely helpless when it was just snatched right out of its home?”
Fuck me running, she is this keyed up because of the lobster on my plate. “Okay, okay,” I coo, “I’ll have them take it away. Just sit down.”
“SIT DOWN?” she screams out as if it was a question. “SIT DOWN! I most certainly will not.”
I’m speechless. I have no clue how to deal with this brand of crazy.
“I can’t be here; we must go,” she states before storming out of the restaurant. I fall into my seat, the unsanitary lobster now mocking me with its beady little eyes, wondering what the hell just happened.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JORDAN
“It’s about time you show your face!” Laney chides as I enter the gate to her backyard. She taps her watch and looks up at me. “Where ya been?”
“Sorry, Lan. I had a baking fiasco.” I thrust the baking pan toward her and duck for cover, knowing my brownies will be shoved to the side table. “You spurred this cookout on me last minute, and I was so rushed I burned the first batch.
“Oh, Jo. What did you make? Please, not those horrid chocolate chip kale cookies again.”
“No, it’s just brownies.” I smile, hiding my lie. “Okay, chickpea brownies, but you have to find balance in the macros, Lan.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “You act like I’m trying to poison all of you, when, in fact, I’m simply trying to save your waistlines and kidney function.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jo, leave the diet tips at Dumb Belles and let us eat our grease-ladden cheeseburgers and bratwurst in peace. You don’t wanna be uninvited, do you?” Laney laughs as she places the pan on the table next to … oh my, is that.
“Who brought cupcakes?” And from Mabel’s I’d bet. Damn it all to hell! I’ve already had my cheat treat for the week, and I’m far too busy for an extra five miles.
“I’m not sure, really, but you should have one.” Laney unsnaps the lid and picks up a brownie, sniffing cautiously. Her nose curls in disgust as she turns to me. “Sorry, Jo, but I feel like I’m tortured by preschoolers enough through the week, and eating junk makes me feel like I’m living my life to the fullest. You understand, right? I mean, how do you ingest this shit? Do you enjoy it?”
Oh her dramatics.
I grab a plate and peruse over the selection of food. There are cheeseburgers, bratwursts, grilled chicken, baked beans, macaroni salad, potato salad, a fruit tray and all the burger toppings imaginable. I get creative, making a nice salad complete with grilled chicken, strawberries, and some roasted almonds from the snack pack I keep in my crossbody. The perfect salad can be savory and tasteful without dressing if you have the right ingredients. I grab a chickpea brownie and add it to a side plate for an after salad snack.
I wave at Carter, who is sitting around the fire pit with Maverick and a few other guys, and I notice that Madden is nowhere in sight. Which is odd. Carter raises his beer in greeting, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. I’ll regret asking because my friends have already been playing matchmaker between Madden and I, but it’s just odd that he’s not here. Carter’s like a brother to him, and I know any time he and Laney have a get-together Madden is sure to be present.
Okay…
So I know how that sounds, but that’s not what I mean. I didn’t come in anticipation that I could see Madden outside of the gym. I don’t want to see him outside of the gym. I will keep telling myself that until it sticks. I came to enjoy some good food and great company.
I follow Laney over to the patio where Bryn and a few other women are already eating. Bryn has the body of a ballerina, and although she takes health and fitness very serious, she has a different metabolism and body type than I do, so she can eat differently.
“Oh my heavens, Jo, you have to try a burger. It’s totally worth the calories. Sooooo gooood,” Bryn mumbles around a mouthful of beef. She certainly doesn’t eat as elegant as she dances. Her lips are coated in a sheen of grease, and mayonnaise is smeared across her cheek. It looks delicious, but… I look down at my salad and sigh. The fat girl in me could really go for a burger right now.
“Save it, Bryn. She’s suffering in silence with salad and chickpea brownies.” Laney shrugs, taking a swig of beer.
“Oooh, the chickpea brownies are my fave! I’ve been dying to get the recipe from you, Jo.”
“Damn it, Bryn, don’t encourage her any more than necessary!” Laney laughs. “You health nuts are making me nuts! If y’all wanna make brownies, make them with—"
“When was the last time you worked out, Lan? I haven’t seen you at the gym in forever.” I cut her off, knowing good and well how that statement would
end.
“Well my favorite trainer is maxed out on clients after taking on a hottie single dad, so I’m left lapping the cul-de-sac and my nightly cardio.” She winks, taking another swig of beer. I hold my hand up to stop her.
“Stop right there, let’s not get into that topic tonight, seriously. You’re far too generous with TMI.” I can’t have this discussion among strangers, and why does she feel the need to bring Madden into every conversation?
“Oh, honey, there’s far more filth in store for the night. Finish eating, and we’ll move this party inside.” Laney grins knowingly, and I’m scared to ask what tricks she has up her sleeve.
*~*
“Our newest toy in the upcoming winter line is the Coochie Creamer.”
“What in the ever loving hell is that?”
“That’s a clit stimulator,” Laney whispers.
What? There is no way that little piece of plastic would survive my body.
I can feel the heat spreading through my face. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and of course I’m intrigued.
Oh dear mother of God. My face flames beet red as Jules brandishes what looks to be a small handheld contraption that sucks the clit, stimulating the orgasm. Her sales pitch, not my personal opinion. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this, so obviously I couldn’t testify its power. I’m perfectly happy with my Amazon Prime Deal of the Day, $21.99 with free shipping vibrator with twenty pulsating patterns and ten speeds. It’s the vibrator that gives plenty bang for the buck, and that sucker is sturdy.
“Bryn, nobody told me this was a sex party! Did you know?”
“Shhh, I’m missing the demonstration!”
What the … as if we need this explained, in this graphic of detail. It’s not rocket science. You put the sucker against your girly bits and wait thirty to sixty seconds for your orgasm to activate. Again, I’ve actually never used that specific technique. Who the hell am I kidding, my girly bits are soon to be shriveled up and dry if I don’t get some dick soon. And that is if they can get past the cobwebs first. But I’m just not interested in dating. I’m career-driven, focused on self-love—not that kind obviously—and growth. I’m in a monogamous relationship with myself, but my friends are hell-bent on inserting a man in my life. I’ve never really had heartache—or a genuine relationship—so why set myself up for failure now?