My Way Series: Books 1-3

by H. J. Bellus

  “You big flirt, you never called last night. I just knew the way you were staring that I was gonna be hearing from ya.”

  “Sorry, darling. I just moved here yesterday, and I was pretty tuckered out after dinner.”

  “Whatcha doing tonight?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “Well, sounds like the ball is totally in your court, babe. Give me a jingle if you’re bored.”

  I can’t help but snort at her last line and the sound of her heels clicking as she struts away.

  “Got a problem up there, Willow?” Miles asks.

  I turn to address him. “No problem, baaabe.” I make sure to emphasize the last word, drawing it out in a whiny voice.

  “Is that the sound of jealousy dripping from your voice?”

  Laughing hard, I reply, “Absolutely not. I was just waiting for her to whip out her tit and ask you to nurse. Pathetic, really.”

  “I actually enjoy her company. She’s quite friendly. Just what a new guy in town needs.”

  “You’re a pig,” I hiss, as my eye catches what’s in his cart.

  The man is buying three boxes of Cap’n Crunch, several bottles of orange juice, Skittles, and a bag of salad. He really is a pig of a man. Not able to hold my tongue anymore, I go in for the kill. “You’re really taking a hell of a chance buying that bag of salad.”

  “For being such a hater, you’re sure wasting a lot of time studying me.”

  Fuck you is right on the tip of my tongue when my obnoxious ass ring tone goes off. I know it’s an actual call because the song, “Call Me Maybe” is blaring. Thank you, Annie. I notice Lacey’s name and face plastered on the screen.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, I forgot to put tampons on the list. Can you grab a box when you’re at the store?”

  “You are kidding, right? What do you really need?”

  “A box of tampons and I could really use some KY if you see it.”

  “Lacey, I’m already in the checkout line.”

  “Willow, I’m bleeding like a stuck pig out my coochie.”

  “Enough. Enough. Enough. Bye.”

  Assessing the situation, it looks like I have enough time to leave my cart and sprint for tampons. There are two customers in front of me, one with only a basket of items and the other with a cart. Without a word, I take off for the feminine hygiene isle. Shit! I can’t remember the brand Lacey uses, so I grab three options, and wouldn’t you know the KY jelly products are staring me in the face as I grab the last box of tampons. Grabbing the Ky jelly and balancing it on top of the third box of tampons, I jog back to my cart.

  It isn’t until I’m ten feet from the back of Miles that I realize I’ll have to wedge myself between him and the rack of magazines to get back to my cart while balancing tampons and KY. Motherfucker! I’m going to strangle Lacey with my own hands. Where is the distracting slut-fest waitress when I need her distraction skills?

  “Excuse me. Sorry,” I apologize to people in line as I weave my way back to my cart.

  I notice that Miles isn’t standing at his cart. Instead, he’s at my cart unloading my groceries onto the conveyer belt. Does this asshole really have to be such a gentleman all the time? It would really help if he could amp up his level of dickhead. He turns around and smacks right into the bundle of tampons I’m carrying.

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Willow. I didn’t know you were back,” he says, as he bends over and picks up the box of KY that went sailing to the floor.

  Between gritted teeth, I say, “I can’t believe this is happening right now. One, this shit is not mine, and two, I’m trying really hard right now to be nice.”

  Miles grabs the tampon boxes from my hands and places them with the other groceries.

  “Why try to be something you’re not? You really want to waste your life being fake? Just be you. And for your information, one, I’ve had to buy this shit for my mom my whole life, and two, you make bitch hot.”

  Silence. I can’t respond to him or his ways. Deep down, I’m waiting for him to tell me to fuck off or grab my ass or some prick move expected from hot macho guys like him. But nothing. He’s just him. Simple and clear cut.

  I painfully tap my foot and rub my debit card across my lips as Hilda tries to make small talk about the brand of dishwasher tablets I’m buying. I focus my attention on the smooth plastic of my card as I drag it one way on my lips and then slowly drag it the other way, trying to drown out her voice and Miles’ advice is still bouncing around in my head. Finally, she rings up the last box of tampons and has no comment.

  “Eighty-six dollars and ninety-two cents is your total,” Hilda chirps. I swipe my card.

  As I enter my PIN number, slutty waitress returns with a vengeance. “Hey McSteamy, I’m like so totally late for work. Any chance you’ll let me cut?”

  I turn my head to see the slut holding up a pair of cheap pantyhose and pack of bobby pins. So, those are the magic items needed to be a certified fucknut. And did she really just call him McSteamy?

  “Here’s your receipt, Willow. Make sure you tell your good looking brother Cree hello for me.”

  Managing a grin, I start to throw all my bags back into my cart while listening to Miles.

  “Anything for you, darling. Hell, give them here, my treat this time.”

  “Like O.M.G. You are totally hot and nice,” Skankzilla squeals, and jumps up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

  And again he catches me staring. He lowers his one hand and grabs his crotch very discreetly and then waggles his eyebrows at me. His message is not lost. He made this same gesture yesterday when I was being a bitch to him. I do believe he’s trying to coax out my inner bitch.

  Miles walks up next to me to take his turn to check out and the little hussy follows him like a lost puppy.

  “Have a great day, Willow,” Miles says as he winks at me and wraps his arm around the jizz magnet next to him.

  To hell with being nice, bitch does look good on me. “Fuck off, Miles. Just some friendly advice: you better wrap it before ya take a dip because I think she may have some magic that will fry your nuts. I’m sure Pit Stop here has PLENTY to share.”

  Walking out of the store, I actually giggle out loud. The gasp and look on Skankzilla’s face made my typical shitty day perfect. My phone starts singing, alerting me of a text. I pull it out of my bag, anticipating a cute picture of Olive and Annie displayed on my phone. Instead, I find a strange number.

  I was wrong. Bitch makes you completely irresistible. Major boner alert.

  Me: How did you get my number?

  Rental contract. You’re not worried about my boner?

  Me: Fuck Off!

  Chapter 4

  Fortune Cookie Mystery

  Over the last few days I have continued to receive fortune cookies from a mysterious person. It really isn’t rocket science. Miles moved in, fortune cookies started showing up. His strange addiction to the delicious little buggers has been nice. Every morning I enjoy one with my coffee while catching up on paperwork. Reading the fortune is always the best part and I keep each one tucked away in a drawer.

  Thankfully, I haven’t had a run in with Miles since the grocery store. I’m sure he’s been completely entertained by Skankzilla and her whorish ways. She was right about one thing, he was hot and super nice. There has to be something seriously wrong with him. At first, I would have bet the family farm that he was gay because he was just too good to be true. He’s manly in his antics and gestures, but possesses a kind and giving heart that is worn visibly on his sleeve.

  Now I find myself imagining and dreaming things about Miles. Wanting to know everything there is about him, from his past to his present and definitely his body. Actually every part of his tall, muscular and very tan physique would be a delightful ride to get acquainted with. He is built, not built like he works out in the gym every day, but fit from manual labor. He is all blue collar. No bells and whistles or fluff with this man. No hair gel, cologne, or name brand
clothes, just straight up man. Shaggy brown hair, the scruff of beard peppering his face, and those dimples are a very dangerous combination on any lady’s panties. Even evil bitches whose hearts are closed off to the world panties aren’t safe with him. The couple times that I have seen him he’s always wearing faded blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. His simple sexy is the new definition of hot as hell. No trying, he just is.

  Ding!

  What the hell? We’re closed. The nimwitt high school helper must have forgotten to switch the sign. Elbow deep in buttercream icing and red velvet cupcakes, I round the corner to see who’s in The Shop. Five steps into my journey and I slam straight into the man of my daydreams.

  “Uumph, Miles.”

  “Willow.”

  “Shit. You startled me,” I say as I pull back my arms, trying not to get icing everywhere.

  “Sorry. Milly hasn’t got me a key yet to the back, and it was locked tonight, so I tried the front door.”

  “Ah shit. I lock the back door on the nights I work late. Ol’ dingleberry was supposed to lock the front door. Lucky you.”

  “Yep, lucky me.” He swipes his finger down my arm, wiping up a trail of icing.

  I stare like a freakin’ ass fool as he licks his finger clean. It takes all my control to keep my tongue firmly placed in my mouth. With every fiber of my being I want to grab his finger and lick it clean for him and then rub up on his body and lose all control with him.

  “What?” he asks, breaking my naughty trance.

  “Nothing,” I snap, as I turn and walk back behind my station to finish up decorating eight dozen cupcakes for an engagement party.

  “So, what are you doing?” Miles asks.

  “What the crap does it look like I’m doing? It really isn’t rocket science, boy.”

  “Oh, so we aren’t even trying to act nice today, uh? Good for you,” he replies as he sets down a greasy brown bag and pulls up a lone bar stool.

  I watch as he pulls out two red and white checkered wrapped burgers and a humongous order of golden fries dusted with pepper. That checkered paper only means one thing: Fat Joe’s burgers. There’s one thing to know about me, and that is I will do almost anything for Fat Joe’s, even lick the bottom of someone’s shoes.

  Miles makes no attempt to ask for permission to spread out his little picnic on the counter. He doesn’t make eye contact while beginning to chow down. Staring again. I realize I really don’t want his company. I much prefer him in my daydreams, but I really, really want one of those burgers. My eyes, ass, and brain are all in agreement on one thing…the man is sex on a stick and I want to share a burger with him.

  I sneak into the back and grab a six pack of beer while Miles continues to make love to his burger. I have booze stashed away everywhere just for pity situations like this one. All I need is a shack and a herd of cats to complete my dream. What a fucking life.

  “Here,” I clip, as I slam down the six pack on the counter next to his feast.

  “What’s this?”

  “I want a burger. You can have a beer. I’ll let you stay here and eat.”

  “What’s my other option?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  “Get the fuck out of my work area,” I counter.

  “Bacon, mushroom, guacamole burger,” he says, pointing to the wrapped one.

  Then he pops the top off a beer and tips it back, holding his burger hostage.

  “Or?” I ask.

  Setting down his beer, and eyeing me to see if I was bluffing, “Or a blue cheese burger.”

  Moving in closer, I lean down onto the countertop and I pluck the burger from his hands.

  “I’ll take this one and this,” I whisper as I snag his open beer, too.

  Miles just starts to laugh. I watch him as I hop up onto the counter behind my work station. Amusement dances all over his face as he never breaks eye contact. I settle in and place the beer between my legs as I start to eat the burger. Miles pulls his cell phone from his pocket and points it at me.

  “What?” I ask around a mouthful of beautiful burger.

  “Just need a picture to remind me how big of a con you are.”

  “Yeah, you better.”

  “You don’t fool me, Willow,” he says and just goes back to eating.

  The silence is awkward to the point of being downright deafening. I snag my phone and put on some music to help ease the pain of the silence. We finish our dinners without a word while letting Eric Church entertain us. I keep waiting for Miles to make an advance or proposition, or hell, even an insult to try to make me want him.

  It’s almost like he has a totally different agenda and I’m just a sideshow here to entertain him every once in a while. Maybe that’s how you have to be when you travel from place to place like he does. Obviously, becoming rooted to one person is not an option. Deep down, I think he’s really interested in me, and I’ve proven over and over to myself that I want him desperately, or at least my body does.

  Miles finishes his dinner and starts to clean up his mess. Just like this was a nightly ritual, he collects all the wrappers, throws them away, and wipe downs his area. I watch, frozen on the counter with my now empty beer bottle still between my legs and wrapper in my hand. He grabs another beer and walks over to me. Miles clearly has no space or bubble issues because he plants himself right between my legs. We are now face to face while he takes the beer bottle from my legs and replaces it with a full cold one without breaking eye contact. He doesn’t touch me, but rather places both of his hands firmly down behind each ass cheek.

  “Ready for dessert?” he asks.

  I instantly tingle everywhere, and desperately want to throw my head back, shove my breasts in his face, and let him have me for dessert. I writhe a little at the thought and the friction from the beer bottle is just enough to almost set me on fire with need for this man. And when that switch flips, it will be all over. My life will be out of my control again. Miles reaches back with one hand and digs around in his pocket. Holy Shit! I bet he’s pulling out a condom, gonna throw me over his shoulder, and take me up to his apartment. Here comes his proposition.

  “Thanks for dinner,” he whispers.

  His whisper is so close to my ear that it tickles deep down inside my tummy. He then hands me a fortune cookie, turns his back on me, and starts to leave.

  Stunned into rage and falling back onto my go to action, I yell, “Fuck off, Miles. Oh, and I hate these stupid ass things.”

  “Really? Is that why you eat one every morning?” he stops to question, but doesn’t turn around to face me.

  And for once mean words don’t flow from me or even enter my mind.

  “You’re happy when you eat them. It’s your shred of light throughout your very dark days that are lonely and filled with hate for yourself. So, Willow, you can fuck off and eat your stupid ass cookie. Night.”

  Chapter 5

  Are You Shittin’ Me?

  Every night I have company for dinner. He lets me drink my beer and be a bitch. He takes every put down and joke with a grain of salt, and has even started throwing shit back at me. Each night ends with him replacing my old beer with a cold one and then him gifting me with one of his fortune cookies. I finally built up enough courage to ask him one night why he had such a secret obsession with the little cookies. His reply, “It’ll take whiskey to talk about that.” So, I dropped it and just enjoyed his time with me.

  Don’t get me wrong. Our nightly dinners aren’t typical at all. Most of the time is spent in silence or me telling him to go fuck himself. Then Miles tries to make nice and then I just end up being a bigger bitch to him. Last week he was supposed to go to Tripp’s for our weekend family barbecue. He ended up canceling because he had to attend business out of town. I’m sure that was code for ‘I’m taking a dip in Skankzilla’s sin hole this weekend.’ I’m not sure why it actually hurt my heart to think about Miles with the skankilicious waitress, but if I’m being honest, it stings.

  “Wils, are you re
ady to go?” Annie asks, snapping me out of my trance. “Earth to W I L L O W.”

  “Zip it, squirty. I was just thinking.”

  “About?” Annie asks and crosses her arms as she taps her lime green zebra flip flops on the hardwood floor.

  “I was thinking about—”

  Lacey interrupts, “She was thinking about Miles.”

  Here comes the show.

  “Willow and Miles sitting in a tree. K I S S I N G. First comes love, then comes marriage, and then comes a baby in a baby carriage,” Lacey belts at the top her lungs with Annie as her backup.

  “Wee-wee,” Mac shouts, as he grabs at the bottom of my pants.

  I bend over to pick him up and mentally flip Lacey the bird in the same swift movement.

  “Aunt Wils, do you have a boyfriend?” Annie asks.

  “No.”

  “Aunt Wils, do you want a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Lacey said that you’re probably gonna become a troll under some bridge one day. Do trolls get boyfriends?”

  “Lacey. I swear, if you don’t quit telling stupid stories about me to everyone, I’m gonna break your freaking pinky finger. You’re going to have these kids really believing I’m some freak.”

  “If the shoe fits,” Cree says as he shrugs.

  I pick up the closest object, which just happens to be a package of hot dog buns, and fling it at him. The air in Tripp and Lacey’s house instantly freezes with tension, and I can literally feel everyone hold their breath, waiting for my nasty, cutting words to follow. It felt good to throw something at my brother. It was a happy, joking moment, but I have my poor family on high alert with my pissy attitude lately.

  “You’re gonna think the shoe fits after I take you down to Chinatown, Mr. Weaksauce.”