Screw It

by Nicki DeStasi

  “Jesus Christ, Becca. Shut it, and listen, so I can explain.”

  She leans into me. “Don’t tell me to shut it!”

  I’m done with this, so I reach over and snag her around the neck, pulling her mouth to mine.

  The second she opens her mouth—knowing her, it would be to say, Hey!—I slide my tongue in.

  She bites it but not hard enough to draw blood. It is hard enough that the pain radiates down my tongue.

  I let her go. “Fuck!”

  She jabs her finger at me. “This isn’t some bullshit romance novel. You don’t shut me up with a fucking kiss. Quit being a dick, and I’ll listen.”

  I stare at her, shocked, before my jaw hardens. “I can’t believe you just bit me.”

  She glares at me. “Remember that lesson. Don’t stick your body parts in my mouth when I’m pissed.”

  I can’t help it. There’s no way she’d bite my dick. She loves my cock, and I know that ’cause she’s told me often. So, I bust out laughing.

  “That’s not funny!”

  “Babe.”

  “It isn’t!”

  “Babe, would you ever really bite my dick?” I ask, still chuckling.

  She takes a few seconds to decide. Then, she mumbles, “Probably not.”

  “Right.”

  “I wouldn’t test that theory though.” Her tone is low, warning.

  I grin. “Probably a good idea.” My laughter peters out. “Right. Back to my parents.”

  She sighs.

  “My family is tight, real tight. I met every one of both my siblings’ boyfriends and girlfriends early on. Just the way we work. Started with my sister, and Jed did it, so now, I’m doing it.”

  She presses her lips together. “I don’t get out of work till six.”

  “We’ll go when you get off.”

  She looks away. “I don’t think I’m ready to meet your family.”

  My pulse rises. “Babe, seriously?”

  “And I should do some work. I still haven’t found a truck I like.”

  A muscle jumps in my cheek, knowing she’s making bullshit excuses to stay in her bubble. “That’s ’cause you’re too fucking picky.”

  “Excuse me? Is this your future we’re talking about?”

  “Woman, the last one we saw on Tuesday would work perfectly.”

  “The window was too small!”

  “Then, I’ll make it bigger for you!”

  She opens her mouth to shout back, but she snaps it shut. Then, she mumbles, “I didn’t think of that.”

  I drop my head back to the headrest. “You’re the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Me? Screw you, Zach. You’re the most frustrating man I’ve ever met—except maybe Matt. Only he and you have ever been able to get me to give into anything…”

  Her words keep coming, but I’m concentrating on the warmth consuming my chest, gut, and my heart. She compared me to Matt, a good man and a good cop, a good husband, a good dad, and a good brother to Becca. She loves him with her whole heart—very clearly in the brother sense. She likened me to him, and seeing as I’m sticking my dick in her, it’s very much not in the brother sense. She softens enough to give into me when she only gives into Matt—and quite possibly to Krissy and the kids, too, but still.

  I don’t think she knows what those words really mean, but I do. I’m sure of it just as I’m sure of the sweet smiles, soft eyes, the way she sleeps tucked in beside me, the way she burns up for me when I touch her, and the way she shares after her dreams. She cares for me and does it deeply. I watched her fall for me the first time, and thank Christ, I get the chance to watch it again.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  I focus back on her. “Will you bite me if I kiss you again?”

  Her head jerks back. “What?”

  I cup her jaw with my hand and swipe at her freckles. Every time I do this, her eyes soften.

  “Or maybe I’ll kiss those cute freckles.”

  Her eyes widen. “My freckles?”

  “Or your nose?”

  Her face scrunches. “My nose?”

  “Liking the thought of your mouth best though.”

  Her jaw sets. “You weren’t even listening to me.”

  “Oh, I was listening.”

  Her face scrunches again. “So, you want to kiss me because I said I’d go and I make a mean play-dough guy?”

  I grin. “Something like that.”

  Then, I take her mouth.

  She doesn’t bite me.

  But we do fog up the truck windows.

  Saturday night, I’m picking up Becca at Mario’s to walk her to Hole, and she’s stomping in my direction, her face thunderous. She brushes past me and through the door of Mario’s. Swear to God, her tiny body, her red hair, her innocent girl-next-door type of hot stomping around with her face twisted in anger is hilarious.

  I don’t share that with her, but I do ask, “Bad tips?”

  Stopping, she looks at me. “What?”

  “Did you get bad tips tonight?”

  “No. It’s Saturday. I always rake it in on Saturdays.”

  Looking over her short white shorts, I don’t doubt it. “Asshole looking at your ass?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What’s with the bug?”

  “Bug?”

  “Up your ass.”

  Her eyes widen, and her jaw clenches. “Did you ever think to ask what’s wrong instead of being a dick?”

  “Yeah. But then I wouldn’t be a dick, and I couldn’t get the cute you throw out when you’re ticked.”

  Her jaw drops. “Are you shitting me?”

  “Fuck no. Why do you think half the arguments we have end up with you on your back?”

  Her eyes flash fire. “You didn’t—”

  I grin. “Or your knees.”

  She grits her teeth. “I can’t believe—”

  “Or you straddling me.”

  “You’re such—”

  “I can keep going, sweets. We fuck a lot.”

  She throws her arms up and stomps away. “Arg!”

  Chuckling, I fall in step beside her. “All right, you gonna tell me why you are so pissed you’d rip the lollipop out of the hands of a two-year-old with pigtails and smash it on the ground?”

  She stops, turns to me, opens her mouth, and closes it. Then, she busts out laughing. “Only you can make me laugh when I’m livid at you.”

  Warmth hits me in the chest, gut, and heart.

  Jesus.

  I wanna kiss the shit out of her right now, but I hold back, knowing she’d be late to work.

  The minute her laugher dies, she looks up at me, pain evident in her drawn eyes and tight jaw. My gut twists.

  “I lost my Sundays. It’s getting bad. This place has been around since the fifties, but they’re worried with the economy. Bertie told me they’re barely holding on now.”

  I fold her into my arms. “Aw, sweets, I’m sorry.”

  She sighs deeply. “Me, too.”

  I release her. I grab her hand, interlace our fingers, and bring her hand to my lips. When I kiss it, her eyes soften. I love that—her eyes going soft when I do something.

  “Look on the bright side, sweets. Now, you have even more time to get that truck off the ground. And I don’t have to juggle work to help you. We’ll have all day.”

  She sighs. “I suppose you’re right. It sucks. Even with the fire, I can still get the truck. I just have to save more for the permits. Plus, I’ll have more time to find an apartment.”

  My gut burns, and I clench my teeth.

  She looks at me. “Speaking of, you never told me how much I owe you.”

  My brows snap together. “Owe me?”

  “Yeah, for the rent, utilities, and shit.”

  I press my lips together. “You aren’t paying me shit.”

  She stops walking. “Yes, I am.”

  “No, you aren’t.”

  She rips her
hand from mine. The loss makes my muscles tense.

  “I am!”

  I look to the sky and then back at her. “Babe, you buy the groceries, feed me, and clean the place motherfucking spotless. That’s your contribution.”

  “That’s not enough!”

  My body relaxes. “It is for me.”

  She opens her mouth and then snaps it shut. Her eyes soften, and then she looks around. Her eyes come back to mine before she says softly, “Thank you.”

  “No thanks needed, babe.”

  I grab her hand and walk her to work.

  The next morning, I wake up with Becca’s body curled into mine, and I smile.

  Her having Sundays off means I get her all day.

  And today, she can spend all day with my family.

  Hate My Job

  I fucked up huge.

  I need to leave now.

  I knew I shouldn’t have gone to his parents’ house, but I had no idea how right I was.

  Yesterday, when we got to his parents’ house, Nick and Ashley came dashing through the room and attacked my legs.

  My heart warmed, and I smiled big.

  “Auntie Becca is here, Mom!” Nick shouted.

  My smile froze, my heart thundered in my chest, my stomach churned, and my lungs seized. I hadn’t thought twice when the kids called me Auntie Becca at Matt’s because Ana and Alison did. Nick and Ashley were following their lead.

  Now, here in this context, like they’ve accepted me into their family, doesn’t sit right with me. It feels wrong.

  I know I shouldn’t have gotten other people involved in this farce, but I did. Those kids will suffer when I’m gone, and that’s on me. I’ll suffer from losing them when I’m gone.

  So, right now, mid-afternoon on Monday, I’m shoving all my clothes into a black trash bag. I dig clothes out of the dresser and snatch my dresses off hangers as tears blur my vision.

  Yesterday, I met Zach’s mom. She was sweet, quiet, soft, and classy—the heaven and hell opposite of my mom. And she was the best cook. If this thing with Zach and me were real, I’d be all over her for recipes to add to my collection.

  But it’s not real.

  His sister, Christy, was strikingly beautiful, kind, and refined. Her husband, who was tall and a bit arrogant with a dry wit, obviously adored her. After meeting them, it became clear that I didn’t fit in with his family.

  I’m a product of a drunken prostitute. I’m busting my ass, so I can crawl out from under that label, but the filth and rot running through my veins is still there. My food truck business could go national, but the infection would always be there. I could shove my success in the faces of those who look down on me, but I’d never belong.

  I also met sweet Anna and Jed. Jed is just like his brother, minus being a dick. Zach’s dad was fun-loving and clearly thought his wife made the sun rise. Zach’s other niece and nephew were just as sweet and just as fun as Nick and Ashley. This all further cemented the fact that I don’t fit.

  It was exactly like bringing the daughter of a drunken prostitute to meet The Brady Bunch.

  And the reminder of what I was slithered and crept under my skin. I didn’t let on to how I was feeling. I was distant but still nice. I answered questions that didn’t involve my past. I asked questions when it was warranted. I smiled. I laughed. I helped Zach’s mom set the table with Christy and Anna. And I played with the kids a lot. For someone like me, I had too much fun. I made too many memories with people like them.

  I’m better off in my own world. When I’m working my ass off and keeping my focus, I’m not reminded of how much I don’t belong.

  Now, I’m in the bathroom, gathering my shampoo and my razor, in a frantic race to get the fuck out of here before Zach gets back.

  Zach.

  When we got back last night, he was wired. Intense energy was seeping out of his pores and clogging my throat. At first, I thought he was pissed, but the second the door shut, he was on me. His hands, tongue, teeth biting and clashing against mine, and heavy breathing told me he was turned on. And I was all for it. With the way he grazed my nipples before sucking them into his hot, wet mouth, there was no way I could not be all for it.

  So, I was surprised when he slid slowly into me.

  “Faster,” I said.

  “No,” he whispered into my neck.

  My brows furrowed as he glided out and slipped back in just as deliberately. My lips parted, and a moan crawled out, long and loud. I could feel every inch, every ridge of him. Each torturously lazy stroke set me on fire with exquisite ecstasy.

  His face still in my hair, he said one word that made me realize I’d fucked up, “Stay.”

  My heart beat out of my chest, my pleasure forgotten. “What?”

  He lifted his head, his eyes scanned my face, and his mouth was firm. Then, he kissed me deep and sweet, slow and intense. It was perfect, absolute perfection.

  He broke the kiss, and when he did, I wished there were such a thing as time travel because I’d never, not once in my life, forget his soft, burning eyes and gentle smile as he said, “I’m falling for you, sweets.”

  My body locked tight as a board. This was it. This was the moment I had been working for and waiting for, and that was my cue to laugh in his face and tell him that I screwed him.

  But I didn’t do that.

  He was right all those weeks ago. I’m not that person. I can be a bitch. I am stubborn. I don’t see people doing something for me as a gift. Instead, it’s a way for them to take away my control. It rocked me to my core when Zach pointed it out. I like to be left alone in my own world, void of distractions and void of relationships.

  But I am not someone who would purposely let a guy fall for me and then ruthlessly smash his heart.

  I don’t know why I ever thought I could pull the plan off in the first place. I’m not the type of person to inflict pain. I knew that pain. I knew loss. Zach did that to me. My mom spread her legs to get by, but I’ve been toying with a human being. I am taking away his control.

  So, as I gather my toiletries, I’m frantic and desperate to get out before Zach catches me. I’m leaving, and I know it’s gonna hurt him to come home to an empty house, but it’s better than dealing with the alternative. Or maybe I’m a scared baby, running from the disaster I created. Zach was right about that, too. I’m shit-scared of a relationship.

  That’s the only good thing to come out of this mess. I’ve learned a lot about myself. I don’t want a relationship just because I don’t want the distractions. I’m also terrified of the emotions that come along with it. And God, I should have never ignored the warming in my chest and belly.

  As I check the bathroom thoroughly to make sure I’ve gotten everything, my heart hammers, my tears sting, my breathing grows heavier, and my limbs are lead.

  Shit.

  I care for him.

  A lot.

  Too much.

  And it’s worse than six years ago. I have the real Zach, the whole one. The piece of him I had then was beautiful, but this one…God, is perfect.

  I dash into the living room and shove my things into the black trash bag at a frenzied pace.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Whipping around, I let out a startled yelp. My pulse thunders in my temples, and my skin tingles. I stare at his gorgeous face—those beautiful full lips, the hard angles of his jaw, and then his eyes.

  Christ, those handsome, expressive eyes.

  I grit my teeth against the prickling in my nose.

  He steps farther into the room, and I step back until my legs hit the couch. His blazing, irate eyes hit my feet and then my eyes, and his fury morphs into a wrath I’ve never seen—not ever, not on Brian in my apartment, not on anyone. The level of Zach’s anger is one I didn’t know could be achieved.

  His long legs eat up the room as he makes his way to me. At his first stride, my eyes widen. His second step, my mouth drops slightly. His third, my lungs squeeze the breath out of me.
When he gets to my space, I let out a squeak as he lifts his hand. I’ve never seen him be violent, and for the first time, he’s scaring me. But he reaches past me and grabs the trash bag that’s on top of the couch before dumping all my shit on the floor.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he roars.

  His voice is so loud that I half-expect the windows to shatter.

  I flinch. “I—”

  “You were gonna leave?” His voice is just a shade quieter.

  Despite my heart battering my rib cage, I try to explain, “We—”

  Dipping his head so that he’s a breath away, he says low and controlled but seething, “What the fuck, Becca?”

  “We’re not good togeth—”

  “I’m shutting that bullshit down right there. Fucking horseshit.” He takes a step back and turns around. He runs his hands through his hair and stares at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

  “Zach, this would never work out.” My voice is soft.

  He spins around, his eyes slicing to mine, and they shoot even more fire than before.

  “That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard in my goddamn life!”

  My breathing is heavy. “But we’re—”

  “Where don’t we work?”

  “I’m—”

  “Seems to me that we work out just fine when I have my cock in you.”

  Okay, there’s that. “We do, but—”

  “Do I take care of you?”

  I grit my teeth. “I don’t need—”

  “Becca, I know you don’t need me to take care of you, but that’s what a man does for his woman. A man takes his woman’s back.”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I never thought of it like that.

  He points to his chest. “I don’t trample over your life. I don’t demand you stop working so much when you really fucking should. I don’t interfere with your dreams. I offer suggestions and help you. Tell me, how’s that not working for you?” He jabs his finger at me.

  He’s right. Not once has he insulted my dream to own a food truck.

  Who dreams of owning a food truck?

  I just told him I wanted to own my own business, and because I was a good cook, it made sense to me. That worked for him. He didn’t blink. He didn’t ask for more of an explanation.