“You might not like this part," he tells me, glancing over through the corner of his eye.
“I've already assumed the worst." As long as it isn't worse than that, it'll be okay, after I knock her down.
“She is the owner of the strip club I worked at."
“Well, isn't that super fun," I tell him.
“She was all business back then and I quit when we started dating, but the industry got to her head and that's when things changed. I know this all sounds like a nightmare, so if you don't want to come in with me, you can stay here. It's up to you."
“Your mom must have loved her," I mutter.
“Actually, my mother hated her, and since I felt like I still had something to prove, I dated this woman, beyond my better judgement, for the purpose of showing I had control over my life."
“Wow, that's pretty deep, Wesley."
“Anyway, it's in the past. The experience made me cut my mother out of my life, so it all worked out for the best. I know it makes little sense, but even shitty things happen for a reason."
At least there is an explanation behind his decision. I'm not sure I'd go so far to prove a point to either of my parents, but Wesley seems more scarred by the occurrences in his life than I am by my past.
“Do you want to come in or stay here?" he asks again.
I ponder my decision for a minute, but as dumb as I will feel walking in there, I'm not giving this woman satisfaction of having the control she thinks she has. “Hell no. I have no problem making it clear to this bitch that you're mine." I think I sound certifiably insane after this ride. I debated a relationship label, let my guard down, and now I'm becoming protective of what I want. Who am I? Whatever. All I know is, if I'm going into a relationship, this bitch is not going to think she can have the whole damn cow for free. I didn't say that right again, but I know what I mean. Maybe she'll feel dumb enough today to stop making the service calls for dairy with a side of a friendly conversation.
“Just ignore what she says. Trust me. Like I said, she's fallen out of the cuckoo's nest one too many times."
I release my seatbelt and pry open the heavy as hell door.I hope she looks like an ogre.Wesley is around back, aligning the glass bottles of milk inside the cute wooden crate that looks like it made by hand with a hammer and nails, circa 1940.Maybe she's older too.
The question of what kind of behavior is necessary to resolve this issue, is one I can answer.
“You're bringing your lunch into the house?" Wesley asks me.
“I might get hungry."
“That's not your lunch, is it?"
“Nope." I place the bag down next to the milk crate and unroll the bag to pull out the contents.
“Is that?"
“Yup," I say with a proud smile.
“See, you're wrong about that book you keep putting down. The suggestions are working for me in so many ways right now. I attracted your awesomeness with my positive thoughts, just saying."
“Just wait," I tell him, feeling like a monster as I pour out the old milk into their original containers, and replace the contents with the new milk.
Wesley grabs the crate and closes the back door. I will slow my roll for the time being, or until further intervention is necessary, which I assume won't take long.
The door opens almost the second Wesley rings the bell, and I didn't think intervention would be necessarythissoon, but the chick is standing before us in transparent lingerie, with the compliments of baby bottle nipples placed in the accurate locations … What the— “Hi! I'm Madelyn, accompanying Wesley with his deliveries today. Is it okay if we step inside to place the carton of milk down for you?"
The woman's seductive simper drops into more of a sneer. “Who are you?" she asks.
I can't believe she's practically naked, wearing baby bottle nipples. Someone should arrest herfor indecent exposure at her front door. Wesley didn't mention this part, and I'm curious if this is how she's been waiting for him every day. “I'm pretty sure I told you my name is Madelyn. Am I speaking too fast for you? I'm happy to slow down." I grin and open the storm door to let myself in, feeling Wesley follow in my footsteps.
If Wesley didn't tell me what she does for a living, I would have concluded to three distinct possibilities—a stripper, a porn star, or a webcam porn girl. Her lips scream porn star, her toned body, screams daily pole exercises, but her manly jawline screams, “You only need to see below the waist on a webcam." Maybe she takes part in the other activities too, just for fun.
Wesley moves past me with the crate, bringing it into the kitchen which I can see from here. The whole house looks trashed like it's never seen an update or a vacuum. The wallpaper covered walls have tears and holes, and I can't imagine what the hell happened to this place.
“Do you always open the door in your underwear?" I ask her.
