Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a whiner. I’m a twelve, so she’s probably a ten,” she said to herself, and then she fucked off into the racks and apparently I didn’t need to have anymore input. She was gone for fifteen fucking minutes before she came back, an armload of clothes.
“Okay, Mr Scary. I’ve got two pairs of maternity jeans, two pairs of leggings, four dresses and four t-shirts. I also put a pretty dress in there in case you wanna take your wife out for a nice dinner. Just because she’s massive doesn’t mean she wants to be stuck at home forever, you know?” She handed them to me to add to the dress I was already holding. “Anything else?”
I just shook my head, feeling a bit overwhelmed, not that I would ever admit it. I could torture a man for hours and not even blink, but a teenage girl and a fucking baby store made me a fucking pussy.
Stephanie led me to the checkout and I ignored the worried looks of the grey haired lady behind the other checkout. Her name badge said Karen. I knew without a doubt Karen would definitely have called the cops. But not this kid. “How old are you, kid?”
Stephanie had the fucking gall to roll her eyes at me. I’d beaten the shit out of a prospect for that level of disrespect. “Nineteen. Baby face. Two hundred and thirty six dollars, Mr Scary.”
I handed the cheeky brat three Benjamins. “Keep the change.” On impulse, I pulled out my business card. It just had my name and phone number on it. I handed it to Stephanie.
“No offense, Mr Scary, you’re hot and all, but you're old as shit. I’m not going out with you.”
Now, I rolled my eyes. “Get real. You’re a fucking baby. No, keep the card. If you need a favor from Damnation, call the number. I owe you one.”
She looked at the card, reading my name, her eyes widening. “I’ve heard of you. I don’t think I’ll be needing your type of help any time soon.”
I nodded. I hoped she was right. I grabbed the bags and left the store. My bike was exactly where I left it, and I stuffed the plastic shopping bags into my saddlebags. Then I hopped on my bike and roared out of the parking lot.
I rode around for a little longer, grabbing a hot dog from a street vendor who refused to take my money. When I took the back roads, I knew I was subconsciously avoiding going home.
Because then I’d have to give the woman the stuff I’d bought. What had I been thinking anyway? This was a fucking stupid idea, even though I hadn’t planned it. Now she was going to start fucking thinking I wanted her to stay around. I didn’t. I wanted her to have everything she needed so she’d fucking leave and let me get back to my damn life.
By the time I’d pulled into the parking lot of the Clubhouse, I was fucking furious. Rage coursed through my veins. I wrenched the bags from my saddlebags and stormed through the front doors, every single eye turning to me. I was used to it.
I moved through the room, not stopping to talk to the few people loitering around at the bar in the middle of the day. I climbed the stairs two of the time, my angry stride eating the distance to the woman’s door. I thumped on it heavily. To prove she was an idiot, she opened the door.
She was still in my damn shirt. She looked like she was napping, which she probably was considering Cain was up most of the night eating her fucking pussy like it was his damn last meal.
I thrust the bags at her chest, and she clutched them instinctively. “I want my shirt back.”
It popped out of mouth before I meant it to. Sure, that's why I bought her the stuff. I wanted my damn property back. That was it.
I was a fucking liar.
“Now? Don’t you want me to wash it first?”
I curled my lip. “No. I want it now.”
She gave me an angry look. Finally, she was showing some fucking spine. She dropped the bags at her feet, grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it over her head.
Except, she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. My eyes shot to her full, heavy breasts, her dusky pink nipples hardening in the coolish air. Then I looked down at the swell of her stomach, then back up to her tits. I couldn’t drag my eyes away. Well, at least until she threw the shirt at my head and slammed the door in my face.
I held the shirt in my fist. It smelled like her. Like jasmine and sunshine. She smelled like the light. I stood there for what could have been seconds or an hour, just staring at her door in shock. Not even a damn thank you. Did she even know what was in the bags? Fuck, I was such a fucking pussy right now.
When I turned, I saw Solomon at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall like he was propping the damn thing up. I wondered if he’d see the whole thing. I snarled at him, pointing at his fucking smirking face. “Not a fucking word, asshat. I don’t want to hear it.”
Solomon mimed zipping his lips, but his eyes laughed loud enough that I could basically hear it bouncing off the walls. Fuck this shit. The girl needed to go.
I could hear Solomon’s laughter as I reached my own door, and I slammed it so hard after me that it rattled the windows. I gripped the shirt, throwing it on my bed next to my pillow. I would throw it in the washing pile tonight. Get one of the Old Ladies to do my laundry, and then she would be erased from my life. I could go back to pretending she didn’t exist. I’d given her a peace offering, what more did those fuckers want from me?
But when I fell into bed that night, I forgot to put it in the laundry pile. And the next night. And the night after that.
16
Serendipity
When your life has been one big shit show for so long, two peaceful days of nothingness is like a holiday. Both Judas and Goliath avoided me, which hurt a little but I needed the breathing space anyway.
But Cain and Solomon seemed to be going out of their way to be in my company. Solomon had taken me out to see the ruins of Van Slyke Castle, then around the lake. I’d spent hours in the workshop with Cain as he worked on bikes, sitting on his office chair reading the baby books Sweetie had given me. Normal human babies were a lot of work apparently. What would a three-quarter angel baby be?
The whole thing had been nice. I should have known better than to get comfortable. Because it’s when you are comfortable that life likes to karate-chop you in the damn face.
Solomon sat on my bed, looking around at all the crap that littered my floor. Even though Taylor had left with the other Old Ladies, she’d come back today, bringing her daughter and an entire truck load of baby crap for me to pick over.
I had strollers and bouncy chairs, a bassinet, a change table, so many tiny little onesies that there was a literal small mountain of them.
“I thought you were going to keep it light?” Solomon teased and I groaned. What the hell was I going to do with all this stuff?
I sagged onto the bed beside him, and when he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, I relaxed into his side. “I was. But they are so damn persuasive, and they made everything sound like it was 100% necessary or the baby would grow up to be a hooker giving handjobs in a back alley for crack.”
Solomon laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “It’s not that bad. You heard them, anything you don’t want you can just donate.”
I needed a nap. I looked up into Solomon's pretty blue eyes. I was pretty sure if I asked, he’d lie down with me. Maybe I could convince him to spoon me. Maybe I could convince him to do more than spoon me.