An understatement.
My life is—well, let’s just say there’s no place for a woman in it. Or anyone else for that matter. Nope. I need to focus on my work, riding my Harley, and fucking women whenever the need arises.
Looking around my condo, I frown. The place is nice; I mean, the address is sought after. It’s just there’s no life in it. That was by design. I’ve boxed up my photos so I never have to look at that shit again.
4
Maggy
“So, how was Saturday night?”Robin asks, winking at me the minute I walk into the shop on Monday morning.
It’s too early. “I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet, woman. Let me wake up.”
I’m not being honest with my friend. I’ve had two cups of coffee, and I’m wide awake. It’s just that I don’t want to talk about Saturday night, and I especially don’t want to talk about Sunday morning. So, I change the subject. “How ’bout you. Did you go home with the burly guy?”
Robin blushes. Something she rarely does. I think that means she likes the guy. “We’re going on a date sometime.”
A date? “Wow, that’s great. So, you didn’t go home with him?”
“Oh, sure.” She snickers. “I took him home.”
“You took him toyourhouse?” That’s something Robin never does. Her house is her sanctuary. As far as I recall, she’s never taken a man to her place, and I’ve known her for sixteen years, give or take. “What was his name?” I think I should know, since I suspect I’ll be seeing him around.
“Venom.”
I cough. Well, choke is more like it. “Venom?” I ask after I’ve regained some composure.
“Well, that’s his biker handle. His real name is Gus.”
Gus. Wow. He didn’t look like a Gus. When I picture a guy named Gus, he’s average height and weight with brown hair and eyes. He’s probably an accountant too. This guy is not a Gus. Venom probably fits him better, since he was as wide as he was tall, which is saying something. The muscles in his right arm were bigger than both of Robin’s legs put together. “How old is he?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Wow.” I cackle and raise my hand for a high five. “Nice work!” Robin’s forty-nine, soon to be fifty. “Cougar.”
Robin has always wanted to be a cougar. Always.
“I know. But he’s an old soul, so I’m not too worried about the age difference.”
“Nor should you be. He’s an adult.”
“He sure is.” Robin says, looking off into space. Her voice is all breathy when she adds, “He’s all man.”
“Welp.” I reach out and touch her hand. “I’m happy for you, dearest.” I really am.
“Was he good?” Ooh, that she-devil. She switched the subject right back to me and the night I want to forget about. Well, the night was good. The morning after sucked.
I might as well get it over with. “The sex was adequate.” See what I did there? I just gave him the same assessment that he did me.Take that, you jerk.
“And?” Robin’s gotten closer. She looks like a cat who ate the canary. “Adequate is good. Right?”
“Yes. It was fine.” I sigh as I walk around the front counter to the back where the coffee maker sits. I could use a third cup today, since I didn’t sleep well last night. “He was a rude asshole the next morning.” He made me feel like a prostitute. But I’m not telling Robin any of that.
“Was he a cranky pants?”
Cranky pants?Okay, that makes me laugh. “Yes,” I say once my giggling has stopped. “He was definitely a ‘cranky pants,’” I add, using air quotes.
“Well, hon. You probably kept him up all night with your sexy self. Lack of sleep makes the best of men a little tetchy in the morning.”
