Yes, an actual tingle ran up my spine, and before I could consider what the fuck was happening and when exactly I’d turned into a giant wuss, I heard Bess’s voice.
Sneaking a quick glance, I saw she was preoccupied and talking with her head stuck in her notebook, so I hurried up and made my way over to her. The tingle ramped up into a full-blown electric shock with every inch closer I got to the source.
When I said hello, she asked what I was doing there. I wanted to come clean, I really did, but before I could, she brushed me off and went on her way to do her job. Like an idiot, I thought there would be another chance, so I waited.
It finally dawned on me she wasn’t coming back when she sent runners to get her drinks. So I ordered a steak and moved back to my original seat, where I had a better view of the restaurant floor. I always planned better on a full stomach.
No way was I leaving now.
AJ
Ipaced my kitchen until the oven timer rang, signaling the turkey was done.
Thank fucking God. Now these asses can eat and go.
My Christmas was sucking big-time. I wanted Bess to be with me, but she wasn’t.
I kept picturing her bursting through my door, all bundled up for the cold and apologizing for being late, but there was nothing. No random noises or car lights outside. Just my recovery gang and me shooting the breeze around the fire, avoiding bellying up to the bar, and killing time until December twenty-sixth when this miserable holiday was officially over.
“That smells fucking great,” my buddy Pete yelled from the other room.
I’d rather smell pussy; Bess’s tight one, to be exact. Once I got a taste of that sweet cunt-sugar, I didn’t want any other. And I wanted her now. By my side.
My mind was in overdrive, unable to slow or halt the continual loop of Bess. Somewhere, the rational side of me knew it was my addictive personality. The addict in me didn’t care. I wanted my next hit.Now.
“Damn right! I know what to do with a bird,” I shouted back to my room full of guests, sliding my poker face on. I’d perfected that shit when I was using, and refined it more when I got sober and started giving construction estimates.
I was a master of disguise. Thank fuck because no one outside this kitchen could know what drug I’d traded up for—a brown-haired one with legs that went on for miles.
Slapping the turkey onto a platter, I called out, “I’m gonna grab a quick smoke outside and then I’ll serve dinner.” But I couldn’t even think about eating.
