Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I need to endure this. It’s because I’ve gone without for so long. Beefer’s been after me to fuck around, and maybe that’s what it’s going to take to get rid of these sordid thoughts.
Beefer’s answer would be for me to pick a girl from the stable. Mary would fuck me if I asked. She pretends to hate me, but she’s desperate because Cesaro hasn’t come through on his promise to elevate her to the main territory, which means she’s stuck here sucking Beefer’s dick. And I’m powerful enough at this point for her to believe it would be to her advantage to climb into my bed. I don’t want that.
I don’t want a prostitute. I don’t want any other woman at all. Or man for that matter.
I’m coming to the realization that I’m probably going to die without having had sex because the one person I do want is the only one I can’t have.
I lie like a statue until the sun breaks through the windows. I take that as a sign to leave. She’ll be safe today. I’ll leave her a note telling her to stay in the apartment. After a good run to sweat out my arousal and a stint at Marjory’s, I’ll have myself under control.
We can eat dinner, talk like two rational adults about where she’s going to spend the winter vacation, and then we’ll go to our separate bedrooms and fall asleep. I’ll maintain this routine until she leaves.
It’s a good plan.
I end up running for eight miles. It takes that long for my brain to shut off. To be safe, though, I go to Marjory’s and wash myself off there with a hose. No one else is here this early in the morning. The restaurant doesn’t open until eleven and the cooks don’t roll in until nine or so.
But my plans for a solo morning are busted when Beefer shows up when I’m neck deep under a faucet, rinsing my hair out.
“The water line break at your apartment or something?” he asks.
“Something like that.” I straighten and let the cool water run down my bare back.
Beefer eyes me speculatively while handing me a thin dishtowel. I take it gratefully and wait for the inquisition.
“You look like shit. Water busts are the fucking worst. We had one a few years back. Remember? The wife made me put her up in the fucking Plaza for a week. I swear to God, I was ready to divorce her.”
I mop my face, hair and pits and toss the sopping dishtowel in the trash. There’s a stash of clothes here and I trade my sweaty workout gear for a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck.
“So, Bitsy,” Beefer says. “I’d kinda forgotten about her.”
That was the whole point, and I’m sick that Bitsy’s main source of protection has evaporated. I need to get her away from this city before any more questions are asked. Unfortunately, Beefer’s curiosity has been pricked.
“She said she graduated early. Didn’t know that was even a thing.”
“Me either.” I pull out the coffee beans and measure out enough for Beefer and me.
“We should get our girls together. Camella could stand to be around a smart girl like yours. I’m tired of her hanging around those sluts at the club.”
Yeah, that’s never going to happen. Camella’s on a bad path and I don’t want her dragging Bitsy down to hell.
“I can’t decide if your girl’s pretty or not. She was a homely kid, but, yesterday, there were some angles where she looked kinda good. Your girl could encourage Cammie to get some more schooling while Cammie could make her look nice.”
“Bitsy’s fine the way she is.” More than fine. She is beautiful and any man who doesn’t see that is blind. Beefer’s probably trying to hide his attraction to Bitsy so I don’t pluck his eyes from his skull.
“You have to say that. You’re her—” He breaks off and frowns. “How was it that you were related? I forget.”
Here’s where I say she’s my sister because as my sister, no one is touching her, just like no one would have dared lay a finger on Camella before Beefer gave her to Cesaro. But when my dumb mouth opens, I say, “We’re not related.”
Beefer’s eyes widen in surprise. “The hell you’re not. Why’d you take care of her all these years?” And then the eyes narrow. “Wait. Are you? Have you?" He doesn't finish either sentence, but I know what he's thinking. "That’s not right, Leka. Not right at all.”
I turn toward the coffee pot to avoid his insightful gaze and fight the heat threatening to crawl up my neck. “She’s a kid, Beefer. I took her in because she had nowhere to go. If you believe I’m that kind of man, why the hell would you have worked with me all these years?”