Bitter

by S. L. Romines

  “I take it you weren’t very excited about this date. Am I right?”

  Poor bastard. He hasn’t a clue. Men and I have a love-hate relationship. You might be asking why and the answer is simple. Once you’ve been screwed over the way that I have, you’d end up bitter too. It’s the fucking pits when you get thrown out like a piece of last week’s pepperoni pizza. Especially because the man you care so much about thinks that screwing his next door neighbor in your bed is a brilliant idea Let’s just say that butcher knives, duct tape, and a gag ball come in real handy in those situations.

  “You’re right. I hated the idea.” I reply and inhale another salsa slathered chip.

  “So why did you accept?”

  I stop mid-chomp as I look over at Jax. His smile is all but faded as I pick up my napkin, wipe my mouth and decide to just let him have it. He wants to know more about me. Well, here goes.

  “Jax, I’m a bitch. No. I’m a bitter bitch.” I tell him. “I’ve been fucked over more times than I can count, and the last one really broke my damn heart. His blonde neighbor’s vagina was apparently sweeter than mine. So needless to say, to me, men are rat bastards.”

  I lean back in the booth and shake my head.

  “Maybe it’s better if we just call it a night.”

  I shove one last chip in my mouth, grab my keys and move to get the hell out of the Dodge. The further and faster I get away from the situation the better. Jax seems like a nice dude and in no way deserves to be with my toxic ass.

  Before I can even get passed the booth a firm grip tightens around my wrist. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes immediately snap down to the connection. Jax’s hand covers a small tattoo of my ex-boyfriend’s name that’s inked into the small sliver of skin right above my palm. Something snaps inside of me. It’s almost as if this beautiful man had just taken away every ounce of stabbing pain with that one small, gentle action.

  “Please,” he says, his voice deep and pleading, “Don’t leave.”

  I go from determination to submission in one split second as Jax pulls me into the booth next to him and I quickly lose the fight.

  All bets are off.

  Chapter Three

  After the cluster-fuck that was our first meeting, Jax suggested we go to Red’s, the town's only bar. He obviously felt the burning desire to spend the next hour or so watching a room full of drunken idiots slam back a butt load of tequila shots and trip over their own feet.

  I pull my Harley up next to Jax and cut the engine. When I’d mentioned to him that I rode a bike, I’m pretty sure he thought I was talking about a ten speed or something as equally embarrassing. And when reality hit, the look on his face was epic.

  “You’re not serious. This sexy thing is yours?”

  “Uh…yeah. Actually, it was my dad’s.”

  “And he just decided to give it away?” he asked, sliding his long fingers across the tank.

  “He kicked the bucket six months ago. Really didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “Shit, Vivian. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “No worries. It is what it is.”

  And that was the first time in a long time that I’ve spilled anything private about myself to anyone.

  “Well, I’ve gotta say that bike of yours isn’t the only sexy thing around here.”

  I whip my head in his direction and pause. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve been given compliments before, but the fact that Jax’s mouth is dangerously close to my ear and my neck as he speaks, makes my body and everything in between react with pure white-hot wicked intent.

  “Let’s go, Romeo,” I say, moving ahead of him, afraid of what I might do if I don’t put at least ten miles between us.

  The place is packed when we walk in. Red’s isn’t your typical joint. On Friday nights you can usually find Double Decker Darlene twerking on the bar—and no I didn’t give her that name but if you saw the woman you’d know exactly why she was dubbed that nickname— and Body Shot Bernice splayed out on a nearby table, letting anyone and everyone lick salt from her nasty belly button. Dirty Bitch. At the same time, Roy Hickenbottom is generally found by the jukebox replaying the same Journey song over and over again, while Sam Brady walks around the joint playing grab ass with all the women and occasionally, a few unsuspecting dudes. We’ve never been able to figure out what team that idiot bats for.

  Wanting to hide from the town’s rejects, I find a dark corner booth and slide in.

  “Is this place always this crowded?” Jax takes in the idiot fest.

  Just then I realized that I know nothing about him. Nothing whatsoever. During dinner, I ended up spilling a few things about myself, like the fact that I work for the worst company ever and that I have a pit bull named Stan. When he asked why Stan, I told him because Killer was overrated. He laughed a little. I gave a half-assed smile, which was weird even for me. And when he asked about my family, I quickly dodged the question. As far as I am concerned Jax and I are on a need to know basis and he sure as shit doesn’t need to know anything about my family. Besides, tears and I don’t mix, and emotional revelations don’t bring out the best in me.

  “Get some beers for ya?”

  I look up and see Tracey Blair— Red’s resident whore in waiting— standing next to our booth eyeballing Jax like he’s a thick, juicy rib eye.

  “Slap your eyes back in their damn sockets, Tracey,” I sneer.

  The ugly whore box gives me a nasty little sideways glare. She’s about to get her ass handed to her.

  “Raggin’ it again, Vivi?”

  “No. I’m allergic to skank whores. What’s your excuse?”

  For a moment I feel bad for Jax sitting there like his life is about to be put in danger as both Tracey and I size each other up. I hate that ugly breather. The bitch has a revolving vagina. And I should know. Simply put, she was the one I found my ex-boyfriend fucking. The dirty bitch even had the audacity to smile up at me while he was nose deep in her nasty diseased infested herpes trap.

  “Well, at least I get laid, baby girl. Derrick wasn’t a choice fuck but he was doable.”

  Before I can get a word in, Tracey winks over at Jax and heads back over to the bar.

  When things ended with Derrick, there wasn’t any closure. There was no big blowout. I didn’t go all postal on either of the douche bags. If I’m being honest, that shit hurt like hell.

  “You okay?”

  I can feel my skin vibrating with anger when I hear Jax speak. I hadn’t even noticed that he moved to sit next to me and that he’s now holding my hand.

  “I’m fine. But right now I need about twenty shots before I beat that bitch’s raunchy ass.”

  “Jack or SoCo?

  “Jägermeister.”

  Jax’s smile is wide, and if I was in a right frame of mind or mood there are so many filthy, fuck-hot things I would do to that man. But of course, we are talking about me; broken, jaded and bitter. His sweet ass definitely deserves so much better.

  My head snaps up when a tray full of shot glasses is pushed toward me.

  “You trying to get me drunk?”

  The side of Jax’s mouth lifts in the sexiest lopsided grin. Oh, this man is way too fucking perfect for his own good.

  “Maybe,” he says, holding out a glass. “Wanna play a little game?”

  The last time I played a drinking game I ended up butt naked and passed out on my kitchen floor with a cucumber in my hand. Don’t ask because even I don’t know the answer to that one.

  “What game?”

  “Twenty Questions.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  I glance over at Jax. He looks like a fat kid in a donut shop, eyes wide and expectant.

  “Because we’re on a need to know basis,” I reply, tossing back my first shot, feeling the liquor burn its way down my throat. I slam the glass down. “And you, Sir, only need to know when I’m good and ready to tell you.”

  Jax’s beer is nearly empty when I take
my second shot. The heat slowly crawls across my skin and I’m finally starting to relax. With my third one down the proverbial hatch my toes begin to go numb, and after the fourth, even my vagina is feeling the numbing effect.

  “Alright,” I say. “I’ll play, but nothing too personal. Got it, Mister?”

  And there’s that platinum smile again. “Got it.”

  “So how do we play this game of yours?”

  “Well, one of us asks a question and if the other refuses to answer, ya take a shot.” Jax takes the last pull of his beer. “I’ll ask first. Oh, and if we need more booze, I’ll get it. I told the bartender not to send that skeezy chick back over here.”

  Sexy fucker.

  “Okay,” he says, nodding toward me, “what were you like as a kid?”

  “For real?” I ask. “That’s the best you got?”

  “Yeah, for real. I’d like to know what little Vivian was like. Did she play Barbies and dress up or did she play with mud and beat up boys?”

  An actual, genuine laugh escapes me as I automatically toss my head back and cackle like a fucking hyena.

  “So basically you’re asking me if I was a crazy little bitch when I was younger. Much like I am now?”

  “Basically.”

  I laugh at him again. “No. No, I wasn’t a little whackadoodle when I was a kid.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Jax, replies, taking a swig of his second beer. “What were you like?”

  I take my seventh shot, everything is starting to feel slightly fuzzy as I start to think about his question. When I do think of my childhood, my thoughts aren’t filled with fluffy little bunnies and glitter painted unicorns. My childhood, rather, was filled with things that no kid should ever experience. If I’d ever gone to see a therapist, I would’ve made that fucker very rich.

  “I was a just a little girl. No Barbies, no mud, no beating ass, just a little girl.”

  Even though I answered his question, I toss back two more shots. I am in no way a lightweight, but the effects are quickly catching up to my ass.

  “Okay. Your turn. What do you do for a living? Oh, wait. Let me guess,” I say, trying to think of an unsavory occupation. “Garbage man?”

  Jax smiles yet again. “Funny girl. No garbage man here.”

  “So if you’re not a garbage man, what do you do?”

  “What do you think I do for a living?”

  Vague fucker.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say, mechanic, construction worker, or truck driver. Am I close?”

  “You’re pretty good,” he says, “I’m kinda of all three of those. But, if I was going to sum my occupation up to one category, I’d have to say that I am a…Marine.”

  “A what?”

  “I’m active duty in the United States Marines. And right now I’m on leave,” he says with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Well, for the next two weeks.”

  I sit back in the booth and take this bit of information in. Now let’s get one thing straight. I have a whole lot of love for our service men and women, active and retired. I can’t imagine what it’s like for the men and women who serve our country, risking their lives each and every day they are in the line of duty, or even away from their families. I applaud that and respect it to the fullest. But, being honest, I’m not so sure that it’s something that I want to jump into. I’m more than fucking convinced that Jax is a good guy, better than most, but getting involved with someone that could leave me for months on end, and could quite possibly be taken from me in a split second, doesn’t sit well with me.

  “Did I throw you off?” he asks.

  And then I pull a very despicable move. Something that even my ass should be ashamed of. But I’m not.

  I pull out my cell phone and act like I got a call. “Shit. I have to take this. Text from my sister. Something’s going on with my nephew. Be back.”

  Jax gives me a fraction of a smile, and I can tell that he isn’t happy. How on earth am I supposed to tell this guy, “Hey, sorry but I don’t think, under your current fucking job status, that this will work out. It’s not you, it’s me.” Yeah. I don’t think so. I’ll just walk my happy ass to the restroom, pretend to take a call from my non-existent sister about my non-existent sick nephew, go back to the table and tell Jax that I need to go. Family emergency. He should understand.

  As I haphazardly make my way to the restroom, I bump into everything along the way. The narrow hallway that leads to the crapper is dimly lit, and fuck me if there isn’t a long line of pissed off vaginas waiting to use the damn toilet. Leave it to Red to only have one damn toilet in the restroom. I decide to stagger my ass to the end of the hallway and wait the two minutes out, the time I’d figure it would take to complete my fake emergency call.

  Leaning up against the wall with my head resting, my body starts to relax. My cell phone, which I had held up to my ear as I walked away from the table, rests in my hand against my leg, as I feel my body hum.

  “I thought you had a phone call.”

  My eyes quickly snap open. I try to adjust them on Jax and realize that it’s a losing battle. There is three of him, maybe even five. And he is seriously all kinds of fuzzy and warped. The expression on his face is unreadable. Fuck I’m drunk.

  “Yeah. We got cut off.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed, obviously not believing a damn thing I just said, “You got cut off or was it some lame excuse to run for cover?”

  Bingo!

  “Look, dude,” I say, trying really hard to focus on his face. “It’s like this…”

  And before I can say anything else, Jax’s lips are on mine, fast, hard and unforgiving. My palms find his chest and I press as hard as I can against him. Jax slides one of his hands around the back of my neck while his other hand slithers around my waist. A push and pull game begins. A fight of the wills ensues. I’m losing and I know it. All fight against this gorgeous man is gone. I hate him for it. I have to maintain control. Control is all I have. If I can control my life, it will never get away from me again. I’m a control freak. I’m well aware of it. But I have to be. I will never let another dirty bastard fuck me over. I need to be in the driver’s seat with this one. I’m almost completely lost in him, in us, in this kiss. God, I’m so scared.

  And as if the timing couldn’t be any better, the song Turn Me On by Norah Jones starts playing over the speakers. The words only intensify my body’s reaction to Jax. As his hands continue to pull me closer, I retreat, give up, surrendering to his every touch. I meld into him so easily, running my palms up his hard chest, snaking my fingers around his neck. The closer he pulls me I can feel his hard cock press against me and thoughts of tasting him on my tongue send me into a kind of frenzy that I’ve never experience with any other man.

  Breaking the kiss, Jax brings his hand to my face, gently cupping the side. His chest rises and falls in quick succession. “I like you, Vivian.”

  My head and heart are at odds with one another and I can almost feel my emotions start to spiral out of control. I hate to want him. I want to need him. And I hate myself for it. It makes me sick.

  “You’re drunk,” I say, bringing my hands from his neck and press them against his chest. “I’ve gotta get out of here.”

  I push harder against him, slipping from his arms. With only a short distance between us, Jax catches my wrist, spinning me back in front of him. He traps me between his arms and presses his body against mine.

  “Why are you fighting this?” he asks.

  When I try to speak, another kiss crashes against my mouth. This kiss is different than the last. It’s slow and lingering. My body crumbles against Jax as he teasingly bites my bottom lip, grazing his teeth against it. Chills run across my skin, reaching my sensitive nipples and it’s almost as if my body was made for his fucking touch. I’ve lost all control.

  “Let go, Vivian.” He slowly slides the tip of his tongue up the shell of my ear. “You don’t have to be afraid with me. I’ll never hurt you.”

/>   Those four little fucking words quickly sober my ass up. The last asshole that said those acidic words to me fucked the town skank and left me confused and heartbroken. That shit ain’t happening again.

  Without breathing a word in Jax’s direction, I push my palms hard against his chest and tear down the hold he has on me. I may have been an idiot in the past, but I will never, ever let another man bruise my soul like Derrick had.

  I make my way to the exit and fling the doors open. The chill in the air assaults my senses and I immediately start to feel all kinds of nausea. The cold air intensifies my buzz and I brace myself against the building to try and regain my composure.

  Damn him! Why does he have to be so fucking hot and so fucking tempting? Why?

  “If you feel that way, why are you running away from me?”

  Really? Seriously? Did I just actually say that out loud?

  “Um…yes. Yes, you did.”

  This shit just keeps getting better and better.

  I don’t blink when I make the decision to be a nasty, cold-hearted bitch to Jax. He’ll thank me later.

  “Leave me alone already,” I say, not even giving him eye contact. “Get the hint, Romeo, I’m not fucking interested.”

  “Bullshit. You can try to be a bitch all you want. But seriously, I can see right through that shit.”

  Without thinking, or considering the fact that I’m certain that my dinner is going to make an encore appearance, I spin on my heel and rush toward him.

  “Fuck you, Jaxon!” I sneer, sizing up his large, muscular frame. My nostrils flare as I glare at him. “I’m the baddest bitch you’ll ever meet and you are a fucking pain in my ass!”

  Again, Jax effectively presses his body against mine, pushing me up against the wall and encasing me with his strong arms. Asshole!

  “Pain in your ass?” he says, slowly sliding his index finger down the side of my face, parking the damn thing between my boobs. “Baby, you have no fucking idea how much of a pain in your ass I can be. But you’re welcomed to find out. All you have to do is say when.”

  And with that, folks, every wall and barrier comes crashing down around my feet.