Must Love Hogs

by Xavier Neal

  “I’d love to,” Ford instantly states.

  Hearing the word off his lips presses mine together.

  “Promise I won’t hog nap.”

  The comment causes me to snicker, shake my head, and lead us back into my apartment.

  Well, I guess there are worse ways to start the weekend. Discussing parental rights over a farm animal with an overly attractive male stranger who just happens to be in an equally screwed up relationship situation definitely isn’t too terrible. At least not yet…

  This is not how I saw this weekend going. At all. Hell, if someone would’ve said I would be arguing with a brown skinned beauty over the custody of my hog, I would’ve laughed them off before telling them it might be time to switch to something lighter, like sweet tea. It’s crazy. This whole situation is crazy…Carol Ann leaving without warning. Her giving my hog away. Showing up here to get it back after demanding she tell me who she passed it off to. Mama’s always said a little crazy is needed in life to make it worth livin’. I just figured she said that shit to try to stay sane raising five boys. After meeting Ollie…I can’t help but wonder if maybe she was right. It’s been awhile since I smiled that wide. Or that long.

  The pink hog brushes its wet nose against my arm redirecting my attention away from the runaway thinking I’ve been doing since I stepped foot in this apartment. With a crooked grin I declare, “No way in hell am I callin’ you Princess Pinky.”

  She grunts a bit as if arguing.

  “You can’t really like that name.”

  She repeats the noise.

  “You jus’…you jus’…well you jus’ can’t, alright? That’s not a good name for a hog. Guess it’s better than Bacon, which is what Blake named his first hog, but that’s not really sayin’ much.”

  Blake, the brother closest in age to me out of the four, is simple when it comes to humor. Life in general to be more exact. He’s a lot like Pop in that aspect. Both have a habit of nagging me for overthinking everything.

  “Oh good,” Ollie’s voice joins the conversation. “I’m not the only one who talks to her.”

  I dart my eyes up to see her leaning against the door way to her bedroom, thick legs now covered in a pair of black shorts I want nothing more than to trade places with. The upper half of her body is being tightly hugged by a white tank top that allows the top of her full tits the opportunity to play peek a boo. Talk about a dangerously delectable sight.

  My cock gives the zipper to my jeans a knock of approval.

  And this is the problem with having to jerk off for months when your fiancé cuts you off. Again. Just the slightest glance of someone attractive, or in this case drop dead gorgeous, causes your manhood to go haywire.

  I try to peel my eyes away from her chest when I notice her nipples hardening from the air conditioning that’s just turned on. My tongue swells in excitement of running my tongue around them while my cock thumps its agreement against my jeans.

  This is absolutely insane. And wrong. So goddamn wrong to find this woman attractive. She’s my ex fiancé’s new lover’s ex-girlfriend. That’s too Jerry Springer meets Mama’s not so secret favorite soap opera for me….

  Ollie wets her lips slowly obliterating my previous objection.

  Lord, I need fucking help….

  I clear my throat, adjust the hog so she covers my crotch, and ask, “Have you fed this little girl yet?”

  Her immediate cringe makes me shake my head.

  “You do know hogs need to eat, right? Like people.”

  “Are you saying pigs need to eat people or eat the same way people eat?”

  The question cracks open my mouth in bafflement.

  It only takes a minute before she’s giggling at my expense. “Man, you’re easy.”

  A small laugh escapes and I find myself helpless again when trying to dial back my smile.

  What is it about this woman that makes everything feel so damn easy?

  “Do you have food to feed her?”

  Ollie folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t know. Daryl didn’t exactly leave me with instructions so much as just a paper goodbye and maybe you can die alone with this creature rather than a cat.”

  Anger grips me by the back of the neck.

  It’s bad enough the asshole took Carol Ann, but to break this little darlin’s heart in a note really makes me wish we were standing toe to toe. Nothing about her screams she deserved what she got. Damn sure not on her birthday. What kind of man treats a woman like that? What kind of man makes the woman he loves feel so…unwanted? I used to go out of my way to make Carol Ann remember she still meant something to me even when it was clear as day she always had one foot out the door.

  “So,” she tries to push past what could become awkward silence, “what do we feed Princess Pinky?”

  I shake my head. “Can I just call her Pinky?”

  “Princess Pinky,” Ollie corrects with a smirk. “That’s her whole first name.”

  The comment causes me to chuckle again. “Then she gets my last name.”

  Her mouth drops to object but abruptly stops to ponder over the idea. After a small beat, she shrugs. “Deal.”

  “Deal,” I echo softly.

  Compromising like this has never been something I had to do. When Carol Ann made a decision that was the end of it. Screw what I had to say or how I felt. She’d always been like that. It’s one reason I’m stuck with a downtown apartment I absolutely hate.

  Princess Pinky whines louder in my arms reminding me once more to get back to the original subject. “She’s still young. She needs milk. Sows milk. A few times a day. Out of a small bowl. She’ll resist the bottle.”

  “Sow? Like cow?”

  “Pig.”

  “Right!” Ollie brushes off. “I knew that. I don’t have that but I knew that.”

  I offer her a smile. “I believe you.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Not really, but let’s stay focused here,” I continue. “She’s going to need pig feed. A place to sleep. She’s still small, so a heat lamp or pad to stay warm. Probably a small litter box to help with potty training. A collar and a leash if you’re going to take her on walks.” As the words fumble freely from my mouth, I begin shaking my head again. “Are you sure you wanna keep her here? It’s a lot of work to raise a hog in the city.”

  “Yet you were going to let Carol Ann do it.” The snip in her voice is more than apparent. “What’s so special about Carol Ann anyway? What’s she have that I don’t? Why does everyone think she’s better than me?”

  There’s no hesitation in my response. “She’s not.”

  Our eyes connect, and Ollie seals her lips.

  Unsure of exactly what compelled me to announce that as a concrete fact, I inform, “I have a house in Middlebrook-”

  “Where?”

  “Middlebrook.”

  “Which is…”

  “The small town right outside of the city. We’re talking right on the other side of the city lines.”

  “Haven’t heard of it.”

  “Not surprised. People typically just pass it by when they’re on the highway.”

  “I thought that was just nothing but farm land.”

  “There’s plenty of that as well as ranches, much of it owned by my family, but there is also a small town.”

  A look of surprise slips onto her face.

  “My house is on a portion of land near my parent’s home. Short walking distance. We built it there to help me stay close to the brewery I own. They gave me a piece of land a few miles down from it to get my business up and running. When I started making a bigger effort to grow my business past the small town market, it required more frequent visits to the city, which Carol Ann loved, and is what lead her to begging me to rent us an apartment here. Shortly after, Carol Ann got a job downtown and insisted we make it our permanent residence. I refused. We fought. And eventually I agreed we could spend the majority of our time in the city. Princess Pinky was never me
ant to live just downtown. We were going to have her travel back and forth. She was supposed to be a token of a little country life brought here. A peaceful bridging of a gap.” The hog nestles against me, and I drop my attention down to it. “It was a stupid idea…”

  “It wasn’t,” Ollie argues, lifting my eyes back to hers. “It was sweet. Without a doubt more thoughtful than anything I’ve ever had gifted to me.” Her face cringes again. “Shit, that probably sounds like I’ve had a string of losers in my life.”

  I don’t comment.

  “Not a string. I’m not a string girl. I’m more an…awkward not sure when to stop talking when I start kind of girl. Kinda like now. It’s a problem.”

  “Only if they can’t appreciate the sound of your voice.”

  Her cheeks flush at the same time she gives her bottom lip a bite.

  It has gotta be morally wrong to want to be the reason she makes that face again. Hell, it’s gotta be wrong to be interested in anyone else right after your fiancé walks out of your life. Yet here I am, trying not to let drool fall from my mouth and command my cock not to rise to the occasion.

  “I wanna keep Princess Pinky,” she declares. “Whatever we’ve gotta do to make that happen Farm Boy, let’s do it.”

  The unexpected nickname crinkles my brow. “Did you just call me farm boy?”

  “In a loving sort of way.”

  Loving…Hm. It’s been a long time since anyone outside of my family did anything like that my direction. I can’t even remember the last time Carol Ann said the word let alone did anything to prove she meant it. Maybe that’s why I’m not the broken up man over losing her I should be. Maybe it wasn’t really a loss…

  Rather than confess those pathetic facts and possibilities out loud, I nod. “Why don’t we take a trip to the pet store, and I’ll fill you in on the shit you wouldn’t find in a basic Google search, like why Princess Pinky is gonna need fresh dirt to play in and why most people recommend you don’t feed her table scraps.”

  “She’s a pig. That should totally be okay.”

  Standing up, I simply sigh, “You wanna change or go like that?”

  Ollie’s eyes dip down to where her thighs are whispering for my touch. “Maybe just the shorts…”

  Thank goodness. I have a feeling if she wore those I would spend more time trying to fend off possible Daryl replacements than educating her on how to properly care for our new shared connection. Huh. It’s not really my place to stop other men from coming after her. She’s not my fiancé. She’s not my girlfriend. Hell, she’s not even really a friend. Up until an hour ago she was a complete stranger. Why should I give a damn who comes after her? Who wants her. Better yet, why can’t I get rid of the feeling in the pit of my stomach it should be me at the front of the line, prepared to destroy any other competition?

  To my surprise the day effortlessly flies by. After arguing with me about which pet store to visit, Ollie eventually caved, and allowed us to visit the one I knew wouldn’t let us down. While most of the truck ride was filled with bad directions from her, proving her truly terrifying dependence on Google, the trip around the store was more productive. I did the majority of the talking, and she hung onto every word. At one point, she stopped and wrote herself a memo on her phone, desperate not to forget anything. It took us about an hour and half to gather all we needed, but she never complained. Never whined it was too much or not enough. The biggest shock came at the end when we fought at the register over who should pay. I’ve spent my whole life catering to one woman without resistance. Carol Ann expected to be taken care of. Ollie’s insistence otherwise causes a discomfort I’m not used too. One I’m not sure I want to get used too. What’s wrong with letting a man, just be a man and pay? Or letting him take care of his woman? Damn it. She’s not my woman…Maybe that was the underlying point she was trying to make? Then again, when it came to grabbing a meal after spending the afternoon caring for the hog, I didn’t even give her the option. Her tantrum at the pet store to make the cashier split it in half was more than enough. I drove. I got to pay. She argued again, but Princess Pinky’s hunger squeaks ceased the discussion.

  A door shuts and I look up at Ollie from where I’m giving my hands a good deep wash in her small kitchen sink. “She asleep?”

  “She’s on her way.” Approaching me, she lets out a large sigh, “Who the hell knew raising a pig would be so hard? She requires the same amount of work as a real baby!”

  With a smile, I scoot over, and allow her hands to fall under the hot water while I dry mine. “Hogs are not an easy thing to raise.”

  “No joke,” she mutters.

  Once the two of us have clean hands, we grab the fast food bags along with the six pack of beer and relocate to her couch.

  As I busy myself with unloading the bags, she turns to me and states, “Thanks again for today, Ford. You were…way better than anything I could’ve read online.”

  Not sure if I like hearing her call me by name or the nickname more, I reply, “Any time, Ollie. All you gotta do is ask.”

  She smirks and reaches for the beer. Instead of asking for help popping the cap off, she struggles to twist it, pull it, and eventually settles on banging it against the side of her coffee table. Amused as well as impressed at her stubbornness, I simply watch the growing frustration increase to new levels.

  “What did you buy? Impossible beer?”

  I shove a fry in my mouth and offer her an innocent grin.

  Ollie’s struggle continues to comedic levels. She groans. Hits it again. Alternates twisting with her hand and the edge of her shirt. The flashing of more of her skin defeats the desire to continue to laugh at her expense. All of a sudden, a crossbred squeak-cry escapes her pouting lips causing my chest to ache.

  Unsure of what it is about her that provokes the instinct to want to help her or at the very least not let anything harm her, I ask, “Need some help?”

  She glares.

  “I literally just told you, all you had to do was ask.”

  “I thought you were talking about with Princess Pinky!”

  “Anything, Ollie. Just. Ask.”

  Her face falls, taking my heart with it. “I’m not used to needing to ask for help.”

  “With beer?”

  This time she emphasizes, “With anything.”

  We didn’t talk much about anything too meaningful during the day. Past the basics, which were only required for our ‘proper’ introduction, we didn’t get too personal. Most conversations revolved around caring for Princess Pinky or wild stories about the pigs and hogs on the farm. To say she enjoyed them would be a lie. She loved them. Her beautiful dark brown eyes lit up. Her laughter was loud and lively. Her body shook with joy. It was such a sight to see, all I wanted to do was keep telling her every hilarious thing I could think of just so she would never stop.

  “Why not?” I ask as Ollie transfers her beer to my grip. Immediately, I use the bottle opener on my keys to assist. “Daryl one of those men who just…naturally did everything without having to be asked?”

  “Daryl was a self-absorbed asshole who had me confused with his maid and mommy.”

  The jab grabs a bigger grin from me than intended.

  She curls her finger back around the bottle. “I don’t know…I guess I grew up being independent. I never had a lot of friends and my parents were both huge on the idea of me ‘doing it myself’ or ‘figuring it out myself’, that it wasn’t long before I just became very self-reliant.”

  I attempt to lighten the situation, “Or in some cases…Google reliant.”

  Ollie gives my bicep a playful punch, but instantly winces afterward. “God, what are you made out of, brick?”

  My lips curl upward. “Flattered.”

  I really am.

  After an eye roll and fry grab, she tries to hide the additional color in her face that I have begun to enjoy seeing. “T.V. requests, Farm Boy?”

  “I’m a fan of westerns.”

  “Of course
you are.”

  “You asked,” I chuckle and pop the lid off my bottle. “What about you?”

  Ollie puts her untouched beer down to grab the remote. “Prefer my movies typically with more animation.”

  “Like cartoons?”

  The irritation from my question is unmistakable. “Something like that.”

  “Meaning?”

  Her shoulders drop, and she turns back towards me seconds before I have a sip of my beer. “Pretty much anything drawn and made to move or even CGI now. I’ve always been obsessed with drawing, and the movies that require it instead of people. I love it so much I went to school for and now I actually draw character art for a video game company.”