AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What about yourself, Wilder? Do you have family nearby?” she asks, shocking me out of my thoughts about her maturity.
I silently shake my head. “I grew up in foster care. Bounced around. I was nine when I went in, so I guess I wasn’t cute enough for a family to adopt me.”
I say it just like that whenever anyone asks. Blunt. If I dance around it, people usually find out anyway. Sometimes, they find out when I don’t have a family to go to for Christmas. Sometimes, they just figure it out. Some women learn about it and suck me off a few minutes later like they can dull the pain of my childhood with their mouths.
She looks concerned with the standard creased brow and pity face they all give me. God, I can’t fucking stand their pity.
“It’s really fine. My dad is in prison, and I have no idea why. Never knew him anyway, and I don’t speak to him. Mom had a boyfriend that liked to knock me around as a kid. A teacher reported it, and the child protective people showed up. Mom didn’t even answer their questions or try to protect me. She put a few of my clothes in a garbage bag and basically handed me to them and slammed the door.”
Savannah puts her hand over her chest. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry,” she says, reaching for my hand.
I hate pity, but I like the warmth of her fingers. Her thumb strokes the top of my hand, and I stare at her fingernails. They’re pretty and polished a neutral shade. They’re cut short, unlike the cat-like nails that are in style. God, I can’t stand those, especially when they accidentally scratch my balls during a good rub and tug.
I shrug and sip my coffee. “Where’s your dad? You talk about your mom.”
“He died.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. Tears glisten in the corners of her eyes, and I want to bang on the table at the unfairness of this woman losing a dad that actually loved her. I got stuck with a mom who’s alive and well somewhere in the world but couldn’t give a shit about me. It’s simply unjust.
But when is there ever really justice? When I was little, I thought the world was full of it. In the past few years, there’s been none. Not for people like me, at least.
“Let’s talk about happier things.”
We talk about TV shows, our favorite colors, and our favorite music. At least we both like the color green, but I chant to myself that this is only for a few months.
I can’t deny that I’m attracted to her. She’s obviously attracted to me, if the way she runs her hand up my arm is any indication. She scratches my forearm with light movement, and it’s all I can do to not get an erection right here in public. By the time Savannah’s friend comes to tell us she has to close the coffee shop, I’m ready to get back to my tent and jerk off at the thought of this woman’s warm hands moving all over my body.
“Can I see you again tomorrow?” I ask, getting up from the chair and adjusting myself behind my jacket as subtly as possible. “Maybe dinner?”
She smiles at me, and my stomach drops. “That would be nice. Do you like Middle Eastern food?” she asks.
I fucking hate Middle Eastern food. “Do you like Italian?”
She grimaces. “Chinese?”
I smile. At least we have Chinese food and the color green. “How does seven sound? Do you know Chinese Pagoda on Randolph Street?”
She nods, and we walk back to the bar, the speed dating crowd long gone. She walks to a sedan, and I straddle my motorcycle as her eyebrows crinkle. I make a mental note to get her on the back of my bike before our contract is up.
Tomorrow night is the night to spring the contract on her and kick off this cuffing season.
I have this gorgeous fish on the hook, and since we don’t have a lick in common, I’ll have no problem throwing her back in the pond on February fifteenth.
October 15 - Savannah
Mom won’t be able to complain that I’m not trying. Not that she would. I haven’t even talked to her since I left last night. Apparently, Mom hooked up at the event and ended up taking her own beau home. Part of me hopes it was the older gentleman I met who sat across from Mom and engaged her in conversation. He was handsome, and I wonder if part of why she was so sad at the end of the event is that she liked him and didn’t want to talk to anyone else.
I push the thought of Mom from my mind since I have my own issues, and I really don’t want to think about Mom hooking up.
I’m having dinner tonight with a real human man that’s handsome and sexy and causes my stomach to do things that remind me of fireworks and swooping birds. I came home last night and got in the shower to cool myself off. The heat from his arm and the way his eyes were hooded and dark makes me think he’ll devour me if we were ever intimate. I can’t recall ever having these feelings about a man.
But it’s just dinner, right? I’m sure not the kind to jump into bed with someone, even if he does things to my body just by being in the same coffee shop. I’ve always been awkward around men, so the idea of him being a date for a few events over the next few months is perfect.
Even so, I take care in getting ready tonight. I don’t want him to think I’m one of those women that gets dressed up for a first date and then breaks out the ponytails and sweatpants on the second.
Everyone knows that’s third date stuff.
The skirt I put on is a little too tight, but it pairs well with my black, strappy Mary Jane heels and silky green blouse. I pair it all with the black jacket from last night, and take care with my makeup, even considering the fake lashes my mother put in my stocking last Christmas. I’ve never had an occasion to wear them, and I consider them until the tiny glue tube is too much for me to maneuver. Part of me worries I’ll glue my eyes shut, and I toss the tube into my bathroom trashcan. Mascara will have to do.
