“I’m not a complete asshole all the time.”
“So just with me then?” Naomi asked. “I feel so lucky.”
“Cards on the table?” I didn’t feel like sugarcoating it. “You’re not my type.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” she said.
“Nope.”
“You’re not attracted to me, so that means you can’t even be civil to me?”
The back door opened, and we watched Max and Silver exit with the last bag of trash. They marched it to the dumpster together and high-fived after heaving it in. Max waved, and Silver tossed me another salute on their way to their respective cars.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t attracted to you. I said you’re not my type.”
She groaned. “I’m definitely going to regret this, but I think you’re going to have to break it down for me.”
“Well, Daisy. It means my dick doesn’t care that you’re not my type. It’s still standing up, trying to get your attention.”
She was quiet for a long beat.
“You’re too much work. Come with too many complications. And you wouldn’t be satisfied with just a quick fuck.”
“I believe Knox Morgan just said he couldn’t satisfy me. If only I had a phone to immortalize that statement on social media.”
“A. You’re getting a new phone immediately. It’s irresponsible to go without one when you have a kid to think about.”
“Oh, shut up. It’s been a handful of days. Not months. I didn’t know I was going to have a kid to think about,” she said.
“B. I could satisfy the hell out of you,” I plowed on, pulling out of the parking lot. “But you’d just want more, and that doesn’t suit me.”
“Because I’m an ‘uppity, needy pain in the ass,’” she said to the darkness out her window.
I didn’t have a defense. I was an asshole. Plain and simple. And the sooner she realized that, the farther she’d stay from me. Metaphorically speaking.
Naomi let out a weary sigh. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to slap you, jump out of this vehicle, and crawl home,” she said finally.
I turned onto the dirt lane that led to home. “You can slap me tomorrow.”
“Probably just make you want me more.”
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You’re just mad because now you have to find a new spot to pee in your yard.”
THIRTEEN
HISTORY LESSONS
Naomi
Waylay and I had survived nearly an entire week together. It felt like a monumental accomplishment as our lives continued to hang in limbo. There had been no contact from the court system or Child Protective Services yet.
But I’d ground up zucchini and green beans into last night’s meatloaf to sneak past Waylay Witt’s discerning nose just in case anyone was watching.
I’d worked two more bar shifts, and the tips were starting to add up. Another financial boon was the arrival of my new credit and debit cards that I got in the mail. I hadn’t gotten all of Tina’s charges erased from my credit card statement, but having access to my meager savings had helped immensely.
I’d had the foresight to pay the mortgage early this month in anticipation of being too deliriously happy on my honeymoon to worry about things like bills. That plus the fact that I no longer had a car payment or insurance to cover meant I could stretch a dollar surprisingly far.