Bitches don’t like it when you call them on their bitching.
My high school friends, while they didn’t scatter the way Zeke did, still led a different life than I did. They had parties and proms, where I had diapers and no time for bullshit. I was too busy to follow them around and didn’t have the energy to make new friends, so I led my solitary life and didn’t let it get to me.
Iusedto want to host dinner parties. Home-cooked meals, girlfriends, maybe a boardgame once the dishes were packed away. But I let that shit go once my life gotrealand socializing was replaced with bone-deep exhaustion.
When Mac got a little older and started kindergarten, I was the twenty-one-year-old mom at school drop-off, where all the other moms were in their thirties and forties and career-driven. They were married to their corporate husbands and paid someone to walk their purebred dogs, while in our home, we ate baked beans for the protein boost and shared a bed because we could.
Mac and I walked to school because, more often than not, I was already on shift, so he’d hang out in Franky’s office or in a booth for the morning, then we’d hustle out the door and run, since school wasn’t that far away and we didn’t have a car anyway. But those other moms, they drove their seven-seater SUVs and wore skirt-suits.
No matter how hard they tried to involve me, and they did, I’ll admit they truly tried, but no matter how many pity lunches they invited me to, we couldn’t relate. I had no time or money for a fancy lunch, and they couldn’t understand why I wouldchooseto “ruin” my life at such a young age. They looked down on me with pity; they whispered about me when they didn’t think I was listening, and then beyond the first grade, they stopped inviting us places altogether.
My poor, sweet baby had to learn how to enjoy his own company, because after a while, those snooty bitchesgentlynudged their precious babies away from my probably-going-to-be-a-statistic child.
Ironically, he became exactly who they pegged him to be.
My son was arrested when he was just eleven years old because he broke into one of those mom’s cars just to prove to himself that he could. It’s what he does; he protects me. He walks across town at nearly midnight to walk me home from work and shoves his father without knowing the whole situation because Zeke was standing up to me and had that wild look in his eyes.
I never told Mac those moms snubbed us, but he’s not stupid, so he figured he’d defend my honor and teach those jerks a lesson. The problem is that, by defending me, he made more work and bills for me.
But that’s just who he is: honest to a fault, loyal to the point he practically sleeps on my head at night like a kitten would, and so unbelievably well-intentioned, it makes it hard for me to get mad at him.
Usually.
But being brought home by the chief of police in the middle of the night, no matter how well-intentioned, doesn’t fly without me losing my ever-loving mind and screaming until he lost his hearing.
Mac and I have been a work in progress since day one. I was still a baby myself, so I never claimed to know everything. I never promised I wouldn’t make mistakes, and I never said I was perfect, but I did vow to try my very best every single day.
“Algebra helps develop our critical problem-solving skills.” Eric turns in his booth and rests his arm on the top of the seat so his eyes bore into mine. Mac’s gaze comes up, but DeWhit stares at me until my heart races.
It annoys me that he holds me captive with only a pair of light eyes. It kills me inside that I’m all about theI don’t need a manlife, but I stop in my tracks every time he looks at me. It pisses me off that I allow him to look at my chest, that Ihopehe looks, and that I don’t snap his neck when he stares too long.
“It helps us assess a situation faster,” he continues in a deep voice, “so instead of counting to thirty by individual numbers, we know it could be three tens, or two fifteens. Algebra helps us calculate faster, so we can make decisions quicker in situations that might require a speedy response. It’s especially handy for people in high-pressure jobs like mine; sometimes I need to make a decision fast, perhaps run in front of a swinging baseball bat before it splatters someone’s brains. So I find the value ofxon the fly. Perhapsxis how far I have to run and how much time I have to get there, then I follow through and do the thing I have to do before the cheating bimbo ends up with splattered gray matter all over the concrete.” Pausing, he flashes that smug grin and finally looks to my son. “Algebra could also help calculate how many rolls of duct tape a woman needs to repair a broken glass door because her unruly customer wanted service faster than she was willing to give it.”
Mac coughs and adds another layer of awkwardness. “Well, that was specific and in extremely gory, but totally necessary detail.”
I was walking away. I was willing to take my in-debt-and-need-this-job-to-pay-the-rent ass to the kitchen to collect Ray and Gloria’s dinner before I get caught up in Eric’s web of sexy chest and ink ogling, but now the jokey jerk wants to take jabs at me while I’m standing right in front of him.
Not in my house.
Stopping by the red and white booth with narrowed eyes, I ignore the crackle that runs beneath my skin when our eyes meet. It happens every time. Every single friggin’ time this man walks in here, the air changes until it feels as though it’s powered by electricity rather than oxygen. It makes my heart race so much faster when he flashes that handsome grin and his light eyes twinkle.
I don’t remember the last time my heart raced just by a man’s proximity.
Fuck him for ruining the carefully laid out routine I busted my ass to create for me and Mac.
This man, thisstrangercomes into Franky’s several times a week,alwayssits in my section,alwaysmakes me list the specials but orders a burger anyway, barely speaks more than three words other than that, andneverleaves a mess when he’s done.
Fuck him for not being an obnoxious messy prick that I could love to hate.
Eric bringing my pride up isn’t such a big deal. Everybody knows I’m as stubborn as they come, and I know he watched me tape that door with my nose in the air last night. His wit isn’t a concern for me, but his quick smile says DANGER! DANGER! This man is dark and mysterious because of his usual lack of words, but at the same time, I see jokes in his eyes; I see the goofy grin that twitches every time I have to read the specials when webothknow he’s going to order the burger.
Every good girl wants to bag herself a bad boy, but I learned my lesson more than a decade ago; just because they’re handsome and fast to smile, doesn’t mean they’re good for my health or happiness. Andthisman, Eric with sandy blond hair and sexy scruff on his chin… he screams trouble.
“Thank you for that wonderful math lesson, Mr. DeWhit.”But if you try to throw jabs at me in my own workplace again, deserved or not, I’m going to stab you in the eye with a rusty spoon and feed it right back to you until you choke.Spying his almost empty coffee, I move back to his table and fill it with a sugary sweet smile plastered over my face and all of that pride I’m so fond of. “I’ll be sure to use your example next time he asks.”
I refuse to meet his eyes as I pour, and when the mug is full and I’ve yet to toss the hot jug in his face, I turn away and make a beeline for the kitchen before the stranger has a chance to tempt me back with a sexy wink and a crook of his finger.
No, Katrina! Hell no.