She smiles, shaking her head like I’m joking. Disappointing.
“You’re serious? You want a dress code to babysit your little girl? Jesus. This one even goes to my ankles.”
“My house, my rules. I’m paying you for keeping her company. Not distracting my sorry ass every time I come in for a cup of coffee. Be here at nine again. Hopefully you can shuffle around your hours for whatever else.”
“You’re insane,” she says, fighting through the beet red flush. Hesitation scrunches her face, and then defeat. “Whatever. You’re lucky I’m flexible.”
She doesn’t specify with the job, leaving my brain to imagine bending her into all kinds of positions. God damn.
We have to get out of here.
“Mia, it’s time to go. Say bye-bye to Sadie. She’ll be hanging out with you again tomorrow – fun, right?” I take Mia’s little hand, leading her to the door, while she waves frantically with the other. We all step outside together, Sadie in front of us, giving me one more parting view of that dangerous, full ass.
My hand twitches. So does something else for the thousandth time today.
Fuck.
She heads for her car while my little girl calls after her. “Bye-bye, bye, Ms. Sadie!”
“Bye, sweetie! Tomorrow we’ll go north on your game and I’ll show you some polar bears. My grandpa spent a lot of time in Alaska. I always loved his stories.” She’s beaming like my four year old daughter is an old friend, rather than a child she’s paid to keep up with. I’ll admit I admire her attitude.
My eyes jerk toward her one last time after I settle my little girl in her seat, and then slide into the driver’s seat. Red’s older Toyota pulls out of my long driveway and curls down the overgrown path toward the highway, a few stray icicles breaking off the trees, littering the road behind her.
The rest of the evening goes peacefully. A rarity.
The guy with the boat motor pays up without a fuss, singing my praises for a job well done. I put a little of my haul to good use in Davenport. A new pair of shoes for Mia, pizza, and ice cream before we head home.
Eating out in a bigger city is actually a pleasure because nobody recognizes me. They keep their eyes to themselves. They don’t whisper Castoff under their breath, secretly wondering if I’m fit to be a father.
That last part is the only thing that ever gets to me. The rest, I’m used to.
I’ve never had to use fists over it yet. The coward assholes in this town who like to mutter get up and run the second I stand, muscles flexed, giving them holy hell in a gaze.
That’s for the best. I’m willing to stand my ground, but any extra altercations will just make my life harder, and my exile from Port Eagle’s polite society even longer, more irredeemable.
Later, at home, I help Mia clean up and put her to bed. She picks a story out of the big fairytale book I bought her last summer. It’s Little Red Riding Hood.
How fucking fitting. Every sentence drags my warped brain far from the innocent kid’s story involving a good girl in over her head and the big bad wolf.
She’s snoozing softly by the end of the tale, right when I get to the part where the hunter shows up and saves the day. It’s just as well because I’m too damn distracted to come up with a PG ending.
Those Grimm brothers make every parent’s job harder, reading their twisted crap verbatim.
I tuck her in, kiss her forehead, and switch off her light, then walk through the house until I reach the kitchen. Part one of my nightly ritual is over.
Part two, visiting my shop in the off-hours, I skip. Probably for the first time in weeks.
Freezing out there in layers with the wood burning stove while I rifle through fury, guns, and dead men’s memories can’t rip me away from a hot shower tonight.
The balmy water beckons to a part of my soul I’d buried a long time ago. The old shower head hisses, pouring steaming droplets down my back in rivulets. They trace the rough, deep crevices between my hard body like lonely fingers. They tease muscles built in haunting memories, always on edge, but tonight they lull them to sweet forgetfulness.
It’s not the past on my mind when my hand dips below my abs, grasping the throbbing spike between my legs. The source of this ache in my balls is very much in the present.
Sadie.
Red.
“Fucking Red!” I’m grunting her name when the long, hard strokes wrapped around my cock pull the come out of me.
It’s the crack of her ass caught in my head when everything up my spine goes nuclear, except there’s no dress this time. Just my imagination. Just my thick hands on her cheeks, pulling them apart, taking hold to slam her cunt hard and deep.