by Jayce, Aven
“Beautiful Div Squish Mittens?” He thinks for a moment then laughs. “Only if the initials lend significant meaning to our relationship.”
It takes a moment to sink in before the words oh damn escape my mouth. Alright, that one’s out for now.
“You’re not supposed to pick a nickname for yourself anyway. It’s a term that will happen naturally... you sure you don’t need help interpreting the genres?” he asks while looking at the sign above my head.
“Nope, I’m good,” I smile and stare until he turns away.
These books suck. They’re all unknown authors who write knock-offs of the bestsellers. Shelf after shelf of male escorts, billionaires, alpha males, and fighters. Oh shit, a Hayden Night book. No way. Why the fuck does she get to be in this bookstore and not Violet Cuddlecock? Bitch. At least she only gets like a nickel or maybe just a penny per book for selling in these discount stores. But still, it’s aggravating enough that I consider hiding her books, that is, until a group of pocket romances are an instant diversion. Brown pocket romances. Brown. Everyone knows brown is the worst color to use on the cover of a romance. Black, red, white, pink, are all good, but brown? Ick.
The books are retro western porn, only new; the covers are designed to look like they’re from the ‘50s, but it’s all just the author’s branding. No kidding, along the lines of an illustrated Hardy Boys Mystery, meets Hopalong Cassidy, meets Ron Jeremy.
Buffalo Gals Won’t You Cum Tonight
Big Guns for Little Women
Dick Desperadoes
My Throbbing Black Horse
Campfire Wieners and Beans
The Big Ho’deo
They’re amaze-balls. Holy shit, I want ‘em all. There’s like forty total. Oh my God, I could display them next to my erotic pop-up books.
But I can’t carry forty books around the mall, even if they are pocket-sized. I wonder if Dan would mind if we took them back to the car. No, he won’t. He can’t. If he does, it’s over.
Has it started yet?
I love the scent of a freshly opened book, and after smelling the pages I place them in a basket, forty-four total, then head for the cashier. This is like finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Classic cheesy romance novels that I can laugh my ass off to, and I know I just know - these books are full of throbbing members.
My favorite is The Three Buck Naked and Depraved Horseman. I’m reading that one first, tonight.
Dan shakes his head with a grin as he eyes my two large bags. “You didn’t follow the rules. Three books. How am I going to find the time to read all of these?”
“Huh?”
“Here,” he hands over his bag and takes mine. “That’s the game. Keep the bags closed and we can open them when we’re alone. I’m eager to read what you picked out.”
Nooo! I want to take my books home with me. Goddammit, J.D. Keller, what the fuck? I got so excited about my find that I forgot there was a plan to his book stop.
“Don’t look disappointed, we’ll exchange them again once we’re finished reading. Trust me, it will give us a lot to talk about on future dates.”
“That’s so unfair. You knew when you were picking out your books that I’d see them, but I didn’t.” He’s gonna think I’m nuts, if he doesn’t already.
“I don’t play fair and I have a feeling you don’t either.”
“You outfoxed me,” I whine. I can’t believe I let my guard down.
“Would you have bought the same ones?” he asks.
“No, of course not... well, maybe. Yeah. Yeah, I would’ve. Let me take one home. Just one.”
“When I drop you off you can slip one out, but just one.”
“I don’t want to slip one out, I’d rather have something slip in.” Oh, Violet. I thought I left you at home.
“And that line, right there, is one of the reasons I’m starting to fall for you,” he grins. “We share a sexual banter that most women wouldn’t like. I like to have a good time, Div. I’m not one of those broken men with a dark past or a bad ass biker who’s gonna fulfill some woman’s fantasy of being kidnapped, fought over, and rescued. I’m a loyal guy who works hard, plays hard,” he looks around and pulls me closer. “And who likes to fuck hard. And I’ll make sure you feel worshiped and adored in the process. I’m not some cold-hearted scum who only cares about myself. You good with that?”
I smile and can feel him knocking at the door to my heart. I’m good with that.
“So, why are you single?” I ask as we continue to roam.
“Why are you?”
“Time,” I shrug. “I’m tenure-tracking and I’ve been writing a lot, so it’s like working two full-time jobs. I’m also a bit of a recluse so it’s not very often that I come across a guy who seems approachable. I mean, how do you meet someone when you’re always home?”
“You slip a note under his door,” he grins. “But, I understand what you’re saying, the working and writing part at least. It’s also hard to find a date in a small university town. Seems everyone’s between eighteen and twenty-one, and I don’t want to be one of those townie creeps who hangs out on campus and goes after the college girls until he’s forty. You know the type. Plus, my last girlfriend took me for a ride. She stole half my savings and disappeared. I wanted some time alone after that.”
“Really?”
“Unfortunately,” he nods. “She asked for a loan to put a down payment on a house, but instead she took the money and ran.”
“How long were the two of you together? Did you call the police? Have you heard from her at all? What the fuck? I thought you said you weren’t one of those broken men?”
He laughs. I can’t believe he’s laughing, what a shit-ass thing for a woman to do. I wonder if her name is Margaret Cole.
“She didn’t break me. It was a bad decision I made, but I can’t dwell on it or punish other women because of her. She’s a bitch and I’ll leave it at that.”
Smart. I’d dwell. I’m a dweller.
“It will be a year this summer.”
I nod. My voyeuristic pursuits through his bedroom window started three months ago. He’s always alone. “And that was your last girlfriend?”
“Serious one, yeah. I had two flings a month later, but nothing I’d pursue; more like rebounds. Then I felt like I needed some time alone... so what are you writing? Is it scholarly? A textbook?”
He changes the subject quickly and I get the drift. I noticed that at dinner as well. He focuses on the present more than the past, which is good, because my past isn’t for the faint-of-heart. I’d like to keep it to myself for as long as possible.
“I’m writing novels based on women’s issues, or maybe you could categorize them as ‘women’s studies,’ how about you?” I lie, kind of. I guess you could call erotic novels ‘women’s studies.’
“Men’s studies,” he jokes. “A side project, actually, on fishing. The proper way to catch, prepare, cook, and eat a good fish.”
“You’re writing about gutting and eating fish?”
“Men like it, just like I’m sure women enjoy your books. Right? Are they published yet?”
“I’ve self-published three, working on a fourth.”
“Same here.” He takes my hand while carrying my two bags in the other.
“Professor Hallowell.” My name is called out by a high-pitched voice. “Professor!”
There’s no escape from the university. The town’s too small and the campus enrollment too large to go anywhere without bumping into a colleague or a student. Oh, Jesus. It’s sorority girl Hannah’s sorority friend; sorority girl number two. Same pink sweatshirt and blue jeans as Hannah. It’s hard to tell these girls apart sometimes, Greekers all look the same, don’t they? Is that racist?
“Hi Bridgette,” I smile. She takes out her cell and snaps a photo of Dan and me then asks the most dumbass and inappropriate question. It’s like I’m back in the classroom with the ditz.
“You getting married? Did this guy k
nock you up?”
Dan releases my hand while Bridgette chomps her gum, waiting for an answer that will never come. She blows a bubble resembling a growing red pimple that’s taking over her face. I want to pop it so it splatters and gets stuck in her hair. A big sugar bubble explosi...
Whoa.
He did it. Dan did it.
“Oh my gosh,” Bridgette whines. “Like, why did you do that?” She starts picking at the gum, only to have it stick to her fingers as she pulls pieces away in long strings not unlike spaghetti. “Grow up!” she yells before vanishing into the restroom.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I gasp. “Holy shit.”
“She had it coming. Look, it’s seven. Let’s get something to eat besides cinnamon rolls and then...”
“James Daniel,” Bridgette shouts from the restroom doorway. “Fuck off!”
He sighs and places a hand on the small of my back, leading us away.
“How do you know her? Did you two date? She’s probably only nineteen.” I speak quickly in need of answers. I won’t date a guy who’s been with one of my students. That’s too close for comfort. Maybe she was one of his rebounders last year, but then she would’ve been eighteen and barely legal.
“She’s my sister.”
“Really?” Okay. Sister, I can handle. Former bed buddy, nope. “Shit, that’s right, she’s a Keller.” I recall her name now from first day of the semester introductions. Did you know she was in one of my classes before tonight?”
“No. We don’t talk all that much about things like school.”
“Then the two of you don’t get along?”
“Food court?” he asks.
“Something light. A smoothie or a salad,” I reply.
“We get along,” he says, pointing to Salad-A-Go-Go. “But we have the classic brother sister TV sitcom relationship. I’ll tease her for the rest of her life and she’ll spend her time annoying the shit out of me. We love one another.”
“Well, I’m an only child, so everything you just said makes little sense to me.” I reach for my bag of books as we stand in line but he moves them behind his back like a bat out of Hell.
“You really want these don’t you?” he grins.
“Why don’t you hand them over so I can pick three for you, and then I’ll take the rest home?”
“Nope.”
“Fine, but just so you know, I bought them for display purposes and not to read.”
“Yeah, that sounds believable. And I buy my books because they make good toilet paper.”
“Seriously, I did.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now you’re getting on my nerves and I hope I don’t call you something nasty, something I don’t want everyone in this line to hear.” I swing the bag around and look at the menu. “Can you order me a Raspberry Walnut salad while I use the restroom? I need to chill out.”
“Give me your bag.”
“Don’t you trust me? I won’t peek.” I walk backward with a sinister smile as he tries not to laugh.
My short escape is the perfect time to check my sales and reviews on my cell. Yes, that’s what I do sometimes in public restrooms. I’m sure a lot of people are texting or checking Facebook in the stalls next to mine. And, one of these days I’m going to open my sales page and see hundreds of books sold in one day instead of fifty. Fifty doesn’t cut it.
Forty. Forty doesn’t cut it either and that’s where I’m at right now. Ass-balls, I’ve got a shitty review as well.
Family and friends must have written the 5-star reviews and if it were possible, I’d give this book zero stars. Don’t waste your time or money. Stay away! I won’t be buying any more books from this author. I deleted it from my Kindle, but wish I could delete it from my mind.
Fucking troll.
This review is such a classic one-star non-informative bunch of bull. Not one sentence has any specific information about the book, which leads me to believe they didn’t even read it. The only thing they forgot was - did not finish! And anyway, I don’t even have any family or friends. Duh.
I hope as punishment she gets flattened by a bus.
Great. Harsh words float around the university and now I’m getting them on my books? You’ve gotta have a thick skin in this world... or be a hermit, which is why I spend so much time alone. If no one else is around, they can’t do you harm. Sounds like a good mantra to live by; only now, Dan is here, and by reaching out to him I’ve complicated my life.
“You ready to go?” he asks when I return.
“No,” I say, confused. “What happened to the salads?”
He holds up the Salad-A-Go-Go bag and nods in the direction of the food court, where Bridgette and her friends, my students, are hanging out. If we lived in a more populated area only rats would crawl out of the sewers at night. I can deal with rats while I eat, but not a fly on the wall.
“Have you ever gone up Rawlings Road?” he asks as we walk to his car.
“You mean the dirt death trap behind where we live? It’s a dead end.”
“It’s a nice place to go when you need a quiet spot to think. It’s only a quarter mile and it ends at the top of a hill. With our new row house community growing, another line of them will be built behind us by next year, right on that hill, and then Rawlings Road will be gone. I thought you might want to see it before that happens.”
“I don’t know. A guy I’ve been out with twice wants to take me to the end of a dirt road. Sounds like a set-up for a horror movie.”
“Tell you what. You eat dinner with me at the top of that hill, and I’ll leave you with an entire bag of books.”
“You’re bribing me with my own books?” I laugh. “And if I say yes and you kill me, you get the books anyway, so how is that beneficial to me?”
“You’re not serious? I mean, we were in the fitting room with no one else around and on your front porch... I didn’t hurt you then.”
“I was within earshot of other people, but up there...”
“It’s pretty, Div. That’s all.” He seems disappointed.
“What if a bear attacks us?”
“Then we’re dead. I can’t kill a bear with my bare hands. It’s a chance you’ll have to take,” he smiles and places the bags in the backseat of his Cherokee.
“Oh.”
Bears. A bear would be worse than being strangled. I don’t want to be eaten and shit out by a wild animal. “Can we stay in your car?”
“Nope. There’s no point of driving up the hill if you don’t get out and walk a few yards to the cliff.”
“Hell no. Now there’s a cliff? I don’t think so, Dan.”
He laughs as we drive away from the mall. “Suit yourself. I’ll drop you off and you can eat alone.”
“Wait, There’re no other options? That sucks. You can’t have all the control in this relationship. You know what, pull over.”
Oh my God, he’s pulling over. Why did I say that? What am I going to do now? I was only teasing.
“Okay. I’m pulled over.”
He waits.
I wait.
Fuck.
“Alright, James Daniel Keller. I’m not even going to use the term relationship because we haven’t even kissed yet, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re hanging out as friends. Once I feel your tongue then I’ll know it’s official. So as friends, I’m sure we can agree on another place to eat, like my...”
You asshole, Div. Shut your fat mouth, open your legs, and fuck him.
Violet.
“Eat where? Your place?” he asks. “That’s fine. Are you inviting me in?”
Yes, enter into my tight dark hole that Div’s been hiding from men for years. If you can break through the cobwebs, you can come in.
I’m not ready for this. “No,” I shake my head. “No, not yet. I need some time to clean before you come inside.”
Liar!
“You know, Rawling Road’s starting to sound okay. Yep, it is. Yes. Yeah, let’s go up that dirt road. It
will be fine.”
“You sure? That was a quick change.”
“I was only kidding around.”
“Like the books, right? They’re for display?”
“You’ll see soon enough, and then you’ll think twice about picking on me.”
“You know,” he says while brushing a finger over his lips. We continue to our neighborhood and I wait for the rest of his sentence. You know what?
“Sooo...” he starts again, dragging the word out as we start to drive up the dirt road. A dust cloud forms behind the Cherokee as the tires seek traction on the steep slope. The short burst of rain last night wasn’t enough to quench the dry earth.
So what? Talk damn it. Sooo, say something.
“So,” he says again after we reach the top of the hill. We’re parked. This must be it. He’s either going to fuck me or kill me. “We’re not in a relationship until you get some tongue action? Is that correct?”
I nod.
“What if I fuck you without ever touching your lips? Would we still be just friends?” His brows and cheeks rise as he steps out and pops the trunk. I follow him with the salads and he pats the floor of the interior of the vehicle where we sit side-by-side.
“And what if I don’t have a tongue? Would you still like me then?” He pries the plastic cover off his salad bowl while I unwrap the plastic forks, handing him one, wondering why we’re up here, in the dark, at the start of mosquito season, where the bears are hiding, and whether or not he has a tongue.
“It smells fresh up here,” I say as my legs dangle and swing outside of the trunk.
“Willows,” he swallows. “The willow tree branches have just started to bud. To me it’s like a mix of potting soil and sweet bread.”
He smells it. Wow, I’ve met a man who can actually appreciate scents. I want a kiss from him. No, screw kissing, I shaved today and my vag needs to make an appearance.
I rush through my salad, nearly choking at one point, needing him, no longer interested in playing games. I’ve deprived him of a kiss not once or twice, but three times. He must feel apprehensive and after three letdowns, if I were a guy, I’d wait for the girl to make the next move.
Unzip his jeans and lick his dick, Div. Do it!