I can tell by her reindeer in the headlight look, she wasn’t expecting electricity, either. I mentally count our drinks. We haven’t even finished our second brewski so whatever is going on is not alcohol induced. It’s those goddamn pheromones. Again, with the survival of the species. It’s biology class one-oh-one.
Hell, I need to get out of here before I do something incredibly stupid, like take her home and bang her senseless. I look down at my phone, grab my stuff, and shake my head.
“I’m really sorry. I need to take this call.” I pretend like I’m having a life and death conversation and walk away, leaving her alone at the table.
Clutching my gym bag has become my lifeline. Other people will return their skates, but I will carry home my leg and foot. The physical deficiencies are the easiest part of me to deal with. The psychological ones would scare the shit out of her.
No woman deserves me.
To make sure she understands we are not a thing, I sit down with my buddies and share a few drinks while she watches. Hopefully, my asshole move will erase the look in her eyes, the one that haunts me through the rest of the evening, in my dreams, and hardens my morning wood.
Merry Fucking Christmas, you dipshit dumbass moron.
Chapter 2
Rose Morelli
Having been dumped the evening before, I wallow in self-pity and pour a second glass of wine. What kind of name is Wheels, anyhow? He sounds like a getaway driver. Well, he bolted out of my night, that’s for sure.
I probably wasn’t pretty enough or sexy enough or young enough or… Fuck men. Damn them all to hell. I wish to God I enjoyed sex with women because they wouldn’t be such complete and total jerks. It may or may not be true, but the thought cheers me up.
I converse with the only male I can tolerate, my toddler nephew, sitting in my lap. “Mikey, promise me you will never grow up to be a jack-apple.”
“Ja-pa-pa.” His brows furrow and a hazmat-worthy stench accompanies his grunt.
“Seriously, little dude? I thought we were friends?” Jumping up, I hold him away from my body, and shout up the stairs. “Sam, your son just exploded.”
“Bring him up, I’ll change him.”
With him outstretched, I walk him up to the former attic. In the kitchen, I hand over the poopy baby.
As she walks him down the hall, I help myself to another glass of wine.
“When are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Because she calls out from the bedroom, she can’t see me cringe.
“I already told you. We’re not talking about it.”I’m sure she knows. Why rub salt in the wound?
“I saw you skating together. I thought you were hitting it off.”
“We were. Then, we kissed.” I relive the humiliation and clunk my head on the table.
“And…?”
Let’s just say he was a complete D I C K.” I wander to the changing station and hold my nose. “God almighty, what are you feeding him?”
“Don’t blame me. His father made his dinner.” She grabs his ankles, removes the diaper, folds it, and tosses it in the nearby waste basket.
“Figures he’d leave you to clean up the mess.” I pull a hundred or so wet wipes and start shoving them at her.
“Wow. Not fair. Suds is one of the good ones.”
“Sorry. And you’re right. I’m down on all men. Do you think I had bad breath? Stinky arm pits?” I reach an elbow into the air, dip my chin and sniff. It seems okay.
“Maybe my kisses were sloppy? Oh my God, I have no idea what I did wrong. You have to ask Suds why Wheels ran off.”
“You know those guys don’t kiss and tell.” Finished cleaning her son, she sprinkles sweet smelling baby powder which almost masks the stomach-churning stench wafting from the container.
“Fine. I’m going to adopt a dozen cats, dye my hair blue, and crochet dainty white doilies and decorate all of your armchairs.”
