I bent forward and caught the kid before Beckham, who really was interested in this whole mess, dropped her own kid.
Beckham didn’t even notice that she was giving him away to me before she was insinuating herself into the bullshit.
I tipped back the beer and settled the kid more solidly on my shoulder.
He snuggled in deep, buried his face in my neck, and promptly sneezed all down my neck.
Gross.
CHAPTER 3
Vaginas are expected to be bald, super soft, no stubble and taste like a mango. Yet there are so many hairy, discolored, sweaty and salty ball sacks demanding to be in a mouth. How is that fair?
-Belle on double standards
BELLE
Eight weeks later
“Somebody should tell him,” I heard one of the men at the table next to mine say.
“I’m not telling him shit,” another replied. “Do you know how pissed he’d be if he heard that his new girlfriend was cheating on him? There’s a reason that they have the term ‘don’t shoot the messenger.’”
I slowly turned my head so that I could see the table next to me.
The table was filled with bikers.
Bikers that declared themselves part of the Souls Chapel Revenants MC.
There were five of them in total.
One, whose nametag I could read, was named ‘Sin.’ He was by far the prettiest that they had.
Then there was the blond with the glasses. I could just make out the very edges of his nametag. Something that ended with an ‘nt.’
The only word that my analytical brain could come up with at that point in time was ‘Cunt.’
But I was sure that he didn’t go by that.
At least, I hoped he didn’t.
And, before I could stop myself, I started in on the spiel that my brain couldn’t help but output.
“During war, kings and warlords needed a way to communicate,” I found myself saying. “They called a truce with certain individuals under a white flag. It was formal and respected.” I frowned. “It’s also said that Shakespeare is responsible. In Henry IV, part two, Cleopatra threatens to treat the messenger’s eyes as balls when told Antony was marrying another.” I tilted my head slightly. “Then there was just the mention of town criers who spread news. If you hurt the messenger, it was considered treason. Therefore, people didn’t do it, and made mention of ‘not shooting the messenger.’”
The table of men turned their attention to me.
“What I’m getting at is that you should tell him,” I finished, repositioning my feet on the barstool next to me.
I was at a bar-height table, the only chairs in the entire place that had backs, and I had my feet up with a book in my hand.
There was a cold beer on the tabletop in front of me, and I was a quarter of the way through a book that I’d never intended to start.
Why didn’t I intend to start it?
Because I was supposed to be meeting a date here an hour and a half ago, yet my date had either no-showed me, or he’d been called in to do something at his work and hadn’t had time to call.
Both of which were very possible.