Single Dad's Bride

by Melinda Minx

  She’s the first woman I’ve “been with” since Stacy that feels...real? Like someone I want to settle down with. I didn’t think I could settle down with anyone ever again after Stacy died, but Rita has changed that. So why does she have to be fucking mad at me?

  And Elsie’s mad at me, too. She overheard the conversation between Rita and me. She didn’t grasp all of it, but she’s old enough to know enough. She knows that I “had sleepovers” with lots of other women, and that Rita is mad at me for it. So Elsie has decided to side with Rita and be mad at me, too. I made Rita leave, so I must be the bad guy. Damn first grader logic.

  It’s fucking bullshit.

  I hear the bathroom door open, and Santiago looks at me red-faced, dripping with sweat.

  “Jesus, man,” I say. “You look like shit.”

  He’s still got his shirt off, and he’s panting.

  “Yo, Deacon,” he says. “You promise you won’t get mad if I’m straight with you?”

  “Promise I won’t get mad?” I ask. “What are you, my kid?”

  “Promise,” he says, looking totally serious.

  “Fine,” I say. “What did you do?”

  “I clogged the shit out of your toilet, man,” he says. “The plunger you got in there is useless, bro, you gotta invest in a top quality plunger if you’re running a—”

  “If I’m running a tattoo shop on Taco Tuesday?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Fuck it,” I say. “Get back in the chair, I want to finish this phoenix.”

  “You don’t want to unclog the—”

  “No,” I snap. “I want to finish this thing. You clear your pipes?”

  “Nah, man, they’re clogged, I told you—”

  “I mean,” I say. “Your stomach all emptied out? You don’t think you—”

  “Ah,” he says. “Yeah, I emptied my pipes while clogging yours.”

  I point to the chair, and Santiago gets back in.

  I get back to work. I figure I need another two hours to finish this thing up. Everything is done but the phoenix’s right wing, which reaches up all along Santiago’s left shoulder.

  I knock out a solid thirty minutes of work, and just as the creative spell washes completely over me again, I hear Santiago let out a pained yelp.

  “Shit,” I say. “Did I hit a nerve? Sorry—”

  “No,” he says. “I...I still got some ammo left.”

  “Dude…”

  “I gotta use the toilet.”

  “You clogged it!” I shout.

  “Can I use the one in your house?”

  “No,” I snap.

  “It’s...it’s that or my pants!”

  Fucking hell. Everything is going wrong today.

  “Follow me,” I say.

  He waddles behind me, and I pray that he won’t drop his tacos before he gets to the toilet.

  I unlock my door and he follows me in, shirtless and bleeding and sweating, into the house.

  Anna looks at him and wrinkles up her nose. He’s shirtless and his back is bleeding. His fat rolls are jiggling with each step, spilling over the top of his leather pants.

  “Deacon,” Anna says.

  “Emergency,” I say, rushing Santiago toward the bathroom. I open it up for him, and he goes inside and slams the door.

  Anna gives me a look.

  “Don’t clog it!” I shout through the door. “Flush after each shot!”

  “Got it!” Santiago shouts back.

  “And turn on the fan!”

  I look into the kitchen and see Elsie trying to work a mortar and pestle.

  “You guys are cooking?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Elsie says. “Since Rita is gone, and because you are bad and can’t get girls to stay with you, I decided I need to learn to cook.”

  Anna smiles at me. “Elsie’s helping me make an herb-infused bread dip, and I’m going to stir-fry some vegetables.”

  “I gotta finish this tattoo,” I say. “After Santiago finishes his tenth shit of the day.”

  “Potty mouth!” Elsie shouts. “Girls don’t like potty mouths!”

  “No one likes a snitch,” I mutter under my breath. Then I say louder, in a sweet voice, “I can’t wait to try your bread dip, Elsie! I bet it’s going to taste so good.”

  She ignores me.

  Then there’s a knock at the door.

  “I bet that’s Rita,” I say.

  I open up without checking the peephole, and I’m greeted by a woman in semi-formal clothes and a man in a suit.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  They hold up a badge. “We’re from child protective services,” the woman says. “I’m Kristen Wood, and this is my colleague Darren Alfonso. We got a call.”

  “Was it Michael and Sheryl?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

  “We can’t divulge that information,” Alfonso says. “Mr. Shepherd?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Deacon Shepherd. What did they call about?”

  “You run a tattoo shop out of your house?” Wood asks.

  “No,” I say flatly. “The shop is that building across the way,” I point vaguely in that direction. “The house and shop are separate.”

  “You had a biker brawl outside your shop a week or so ago? The police came…” Alfonso says, scowling at me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Not in the house and not in the shop. I kicked those two out of my shop, I don’t tolerate violence.”

  “It still happened on your property, outside or not. Do you really think this is a safe environment for your daughter?” Wood asks.

  Alfonso checks his notebook and says, “Elsie.”

  “Yes,” I say. “This is my sister Anna,” I point to her. “She’s here watching Elsie whenever I’m working.”

  Anna smiles and reaches out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Alfonso takes her hand as if it was a dead fish, and lets go of it just as quickly.

  “It’s almost ready!” Elsie shouts. “Or maybe it’s ready!”

  “That’s great, sweetie,” I shout back toward the kitchen. I smile at the agents. “She’s making a bread dip.”

  “A first grader is cooking?” Wood asks skeptically.

  “Bread dip,” Anna says. “She’s smashing up garlic and oregano with a blunt pestle.”

  “You won’t mind if we look around?” Alfonso asks.

  “Sure,” I say. “Go for it.”

  “Ahhh!” Elsie screeches. “It’s on fire!”

  We all look at each other, but I’m the first one to turn and run. I race into the kitchen, and I see a pot of oil roaring with flames. Black smoke is rising up.

  I grab Elsie and take her away from the kitchen. I set her down in the living room as the CPS agents and Anna are still staring in stunned silence.

  I rush back into the kitchen, which is so full of black smoke now that I can barely see or breathe. I reach for the oven handle and snatch a kitchen towel off it. I turn on the faucet and soak the towel in water, and then I throw the soaked towel into the flaming pot.

  The flames go out, and even more smoke rises up.

  I turn on the exhaust fan, switch off the heat, and pull the smoking pot off the burner. I cough my throat out and retreat back into the living room.

  The smoke there isn’t so bad, but the fire alarm is going off.

  Anna and Alfonso scramble to turn the alarms off while Elsie shrieks and cries.

  They get the alarms off as I rub smoke and tears out of my eyes.

  “Well, you can see I keep my fire alarms in good working order,” I say, laughing nervously.

  “Oh my God,” Anna says. “Deacon, I’m so sorry...I forgot I was heating some oil up on the stove…”

  “You left your daughter unattended in the kitchen,” Wood says. “With the stove on and a pot full of oil.”

  “If you guys hadn’t barged in,” Anna snaps, “then I wouldn’t have left it!”

  Alfonso grabs his notebook and starts scribbling notes.

  I pick
Elsie up and try to calm her down. She’s still crying.

  “Where is your wife?” Wood asks, scrunching her nose up at the smoke.

  “She’s...out,” I say.

  “She’s not,” Alfonso says, checking his notes, “Away?”

  “Away?” I ask. “What does that mean?”

  Elsie is crying into my shirt now, and I hold her tight as I move toward the windows and open them up one by one.

  “Maybe you had a fight,” Wood says. “And she’s not staying with you.”

  “Maybe?” I say, feeling furious. “Maybe my in-laws called you because they are trying to take my daughter away, and maybe they hired a PI to dig up dirt on me, and maybe they fed it to my wife, and—”

  “Dirt?” Alfonso asks. “Why is there dirt on you?”

  “Everyone’s got stuff they aren’t proud of,” I say, setting Elsie down. “You ever had a PI hired against you?”

  “I can’t say that I have,” Wood says.

  Alfonso gives me a smug grin and shrugs.

  “So you got your notes,” I say. “The tattoo parlor is not in the house, and my sister left some oil on the stove. Happy?”

  The bathroom door swings open at that moment, and the worst smell I’ve ever experienced seeps into the living room like some kind of pestilence.

  Santiago barrels into the living room, shirtless, his tattooed back bleeding, and his face drenched in sweat. His face is red as a lobster under a broiler, and he’s panting so hard that his fat is jiggling with each breath.

  “Dude!” he says. “You don’t got any legit fucking plungers anywhere, do you? The one here is worse than the one in the shop!”

  The agents look at Santiago, their jaws dropping open.

  Fuck. I forgot he was in here. This sure as shit doesn't look good.

  Santiago looks around, then looks down at Elsie, who is staring at him wide-eyed.

  “Did I just say ‘fucking’ in front of the kid?” Santiago asks. “I meant ‘flipping.’ You don’t got any legit flipping plungers in any of your shitters—er—crappers. That kid’s old enough to hear me say ‘crap,’ right?”

  20

  Rita

  I wake up a lot less angry. I have coffee with my parents, and then I eat some granola with milk.

  “I think you guys are right,” I say, biting my lip.

  My mom cups her ear and leans toward me. “Say that again, please.”

  “You heard me,” I say. “You’re right about some stuff, but wrong about a lot of other stuff.”

  My dad laughs. “I’ll take it.”

  “I’m going to go talk to Deacon,” I say. “Thanks for letting me crash here.”

  I drive over to his house, and when I reach the door, I decide to knock. Even though I have the key.

  Deacon opens the door, and furrows his eyebrows at me. “Back?”

  I nod. “Mind if I come in?”

  He steps out of the way, and I walk inside. “Goodness, what is that smell?”

  “The plumber tried to rip me off,” I say. “Wanted like $1,000 to come last night. I told him to shove it, so now he’s dragging his feet.”

  I hear the fan in the bathroom droning, and all the windows are open.

  “We’ve been hanging out in the kitchen,” he says.

  I see Elsie and Anna sitting at the kitchen table. Elsie pops her head around the corner and smiles. “Rita!”

  She runs up to me and hugs me, wrapping her hands around my legs.

  “Hey, sweetie,” I say.

  “Are you still mad?” she asks.

  “Uh,” I say, looking at Deacon. “I’m trying very hard not to be.”

  “Dad got in trouble yesterday,” she says. “Anna made a fire, and Santa had diarrhea.”

  “Santa?” I say, cocking my head.

  “Santiago,” Deacon says. “The phoenix guy.”

  “He had diarrhea in here?” I say, suddenly understanding the smell.

  “After clogging the toilet in the shop,” I say. “Stacy’s parents sent CPS here, just in time to catch the fire and Santiago’s huge load.”

  I frown. “I’m sorry...I should have been here—”

  “It’s fine,” Deacon says. “I should have...understood your point of view better. I’m getting there.”

  I nod. “And I’m getting there, too, even if I don’t totally understand or agree.”

  Anna smiles at me. “You want to try some of Elsie’s bread dip?”

  “You made bread dip?” I ask Elsie, looking surprised.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I used the mortar and pester.”

  “Pestle,” Deacon says.

  “Yeah,” she says.

  We go into the kitchen, and Anna breaks me off a piece of crusty baguette. Else takes a pinch of her dip and drops it onto a small, shallow plate. Deacon uncorks a bottle of nice olive oil, and pours some over the ground-up herbs.

  “What’s in it?” I ask.

  Elsie says, “Aunt Anna found the recipe. I helped find all the stuff, and I put it in, and I crushed it. There’s salt, some green stuff, garlics…”

  “Rosemary,” Anna says.

  “It smells good,” Elsie says, holding the bottle of it out to me.

  I sniff it. “Yeah, it does, and I bet it tastes better.”

  Deacon dips a piece of bread in the dip and swirls it all around, then hands it to me. I take a bite. It tastes really good. “Wow, Elsie, it’s amazing!”

  “I didn’t make the fire, it was Aunt Anna.”

  Anna laughs.

  “You’d really have to mess up bad for a bread dip to start a fire,” I say, smiling.

  Deacon and I excuse ourselves to go upstairs while Elsie works on her homework.

  As soon as he shuts the door to the bedroom, he pulls me in toward him, locking eyes with me.

  “We good?” he asks.

  Instead of answering, I just kiss him.

  We kiss for a long time, moving toward the bed as we do.

  He breaks away just short of the bed, and says, “I guess we’re good then. Rita...it’s different with you, and I’m not just saying that.”

  I really want to believe him. And I do believe him, mostly.

  Deacon pulls me tight against his body, and he squeezes my ass through my jeans.

  “Elsie is downstairs…” I say.

  “We have to be quiet then,” he says.

  “And...kind of fast,” I say.

  He laughs. “So skip the foreplay?”

  “Or just cum really fast,” I say.

  “No can do,” Deacon says. “I always last long.”

  He takes his shirt off, and starts working at his belt. He looks up and sees me just standing there, watching him.

  “Get your clothes off,” he says. “And lock the door.”

  I lock the door first, and then I take off my clothes. I feel myself getting a little bit wet already, and when Deacon’s pants fall down, and his steel hard cock springs up, I get soaking wet.

  “How do you want to do this?” he asks, grinning at me, his eyes sinking down and drinking in the sight of my body.

  “Uh,” I stammer, “I’ve never...I want to be on top.”

  “You’ve never,” he says. “Not even all those times on the ship—”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “You were just so in control, and—”

  He falls back onto the bed, and he grabs hold of his cock, pulling at his manhood and gripping it so it’s pointing straight up. “Get on.”

  I laugh. “So romantic.”

  “Elsie’s homework will be done in like thirty minutes,” he says. “We can be more romantic later, when she’s in bed.”

  I smile. My heart is pounding, and I realize that this might not be the most traditionally romantic thing in the world, but having to quickly do it during the middle of the day—mostly because we just can’t keep our hands off each other—is in some ways more romantic than candles and flowers and endless foreplay.

  I jump onto the bed and crawl t
oward Deacon’s hips. I grab his cock by the shaft, and he lets go. I hold it up. If I let go, it will slap right against his abs.

  I straddle him, my wet pussy pressing against his rock-hard abs. I slide back until I feel his throbbing cock pressing against my ass cheeks.

  He smiles hungrily at me, and his hands reach up my body, exploring it, until he grabs firm hold of my breasts. My eyes roll back into my head, as I feel his veiny cock pulsing between my ass cheeks. I want him inside me.

  I press up until I’m hovering just above him, and I grip his shaft in my hand. I guide myself just above him, and I lower myself down until he begins to slide inside me.

  “Fuck,” he whispers. “That’s good.”

  I’m too focused to comment. I hold him steady, and I lower myself down inch by inch. I feel my lips spreading, and my channel tightening around his girth. My wetness helps me slide down his full length, and his warm cock fills me up.

  I lower myself all the way down, until he’s filled me all the way up. I rest there like that, and I let go of the base of his shaft. He’ll stay at the right angle now, with just my pussy holding him.

  I touch his abs with open palms, and I rub my hands up and down along his rigid muscles. He touches my breasts, teasing and pinching my hardened nipples.

  I squeeze my inner walls against him, as tight as I can, until I feel his pulse through the veins of his dick.

  “Your heart is racing,” I say, flashing an evil grin.

  His cock twitches and expands inside me. “You have that effect on me.”

  I move up, beginning to ride him. My wet insides slide slickly against him, until he’s nearly outside of me, only his head still inside. Then I lower myself back down, and the friction and heat and wetness overwhelm me.

  Before I know it, I’m bouncing up and down on him without abandon. My ass slaps against him each time I lower down, and I start to moan.

  “Shh,” he says, grunting and straining. “Elsie’s downstairs…”

  I bite my lip, whining deep in my throat as I ride up and down on his perfect dick.

  I try to buck my hips as much as I can, getting as much rhythmic movement and friction as possible between us.

  I fuck him as hard as I can, bouncing wildly until my hips start to feel sore, until my ass is red from slapping against him. Then I raise myself up until his cock slips out of me.