Page 30 of The Fed Sex Man

I closed my book in a dramatic fashion and put it back on the shelf. “I mean it.”

“All I’m going to do is buy this book. If she goes gah-gah when I do, I can’t help it.”

I gestured toward Jo with my eyes. “Come on, Romeo.”

Giggling and clutching books close to their chest, two women walked past us, toward the front door. Although one was an extremely attractive women, Shawn seemed unaffected. Surprised by his unwavering focus, I meandered to where Jo and the cowgirl were standing.

I looked at Jo and smiled. “Good morning.”

She smiled in return. “What a surprise.”

“‘Mornin’.” Cowgirl extended her hand in Shawn’s direction. “I’m Jenny.”

She was wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans, boots, and an equally snug white tee shirt that appeared to have had the sleeves ripped off mere minutes prior to our arrival.

Stray threads dangled from the arm holes. The word BITCH was emblazoned across the front of the garment. I wondered how true the description was, and if she had another shirt that read CRAZY.

Shawn set the book in front of her and then shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Shawn.”

She glanced at the book. “Do you read CD Reiss?”

“I haven’t yet,” he responded. “But that one looks good.”

“Everything she writes is good.”

Shawn chuckled. “I decided when he unzipped her dress and let it fall on the porch that I needed to read it.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Are you a voyeur?”

“I wouldn’t describe myself as one, no,” he said. “But sexy is sexy, and that was sexy.”

Jenny scanned the book and then handed it to Shawn. “That’ll be $11.72. Do you drive a truck?”

“Say again?” Shawn stammered.

“Eleven. Seventy. Two. For. The. Book.” She cocked her head to the side. “Do. You. Drive. A. Truck?”

Shawn handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “I. Do. Not.”

“What. Do. You. Drive?”

“A. Mustang. Cobra.”

She leaned to the side and looked beyond him. After satisfying herself that there was no one standing behind us, she folded her arms over her chest. “Tell me a story.”

In a mimicking gesture, Shawn crossed his arms. “About what?”

“I’ll let you pick.”

Wearing a delicate smile, Jo looked at me and shrugged. At a complete loss as to what was going on, I returned an awkward grin and waited for Shawn to do what he did best.

“It was about two in the morning on a Wednesday night,” Shawn began. “I was going home from the bar. Probably a little drunker than I should have been, but not so drunk that I couldn’t recognize a hunger pang. One hit me in the ribs about halfway home, so I pulled into a Circle-K to get a chilidog.”

He tapped his ribcage with the tip of his index finger and winced in mock pain.

“You’re not going to tell that story, are you?” I asked.

He gave me a look. “I was planning on it, why?”