Smoke came out of Wreck’s nostrils. He didn’t respond.
Har threw out a hand. “Well? You’re accusing me of shit, what is it I’m doing?”
“I’m not saying. I’ll say it at church. With all the brothers around.”
Har looked over his shoulder toward the couches. He saw Layla lounging with her legs spread, straining the hem of her denim skirt. Her eyes darted away the moment he focused on her and he knew she’d been watching them.
A small smile curved his lips when he turned back to Wreck. “How is Layla? I know she used to suck cock like a champ, but it’s been a while for me with her. She’s also got a thing for gossip instead of pillow talk.”
Wreck’s eyes narrowed and he stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “Fuck this.”
“No, fuck you, Wreck. You let snatch come between you and your President, that’s low even for you,” Brute said.
Wreck turned away with his middle finger in the air.
“What can I get you, Prez?” a prospect asked from behind the bar.
Between this and losing money at the casino, he should have stayed home tonight, but the temptation of Stephanie was too much.
The blonde and brunette had returned, but the blonde edged closer to him than to Brute.
Har took her in fully. Brown eyes, full lips painted bright pink, face made up, a jade-green dress hugging her curves. Those tits were huge and probably fake, but he didn’t care. He could damn sure have his way with her, many different ways at that.
He smiled at her, but slid his eyes to Brute. “You planning a threesome? Or can I take one of these women off your hands, brother?”
“Whatever you want, man.”
Har’s eyes slid back to the blonde. “Are you interested, honey?”
She smiled, her teeth gleaming. “Sure.”
“You like whiskey or vodka?”
Her eyebrow jumped. “Tequila’s better, but I like vodka.”
He turned back to the prospect. “Get a bottle of vodka from the freezer, and bring it to my room.”
Taking the blonde’s hand, he led her to his room. Once there, she immediately cupped his crotch with one hand and pulled him by the neck to her lips. He kissed her and forced himself not to compare her to Stephanie.
The prospect knocked while Har was making out with the blonde. He tore his head away and hollered, “Come in, leave it on the dresser.”
When he heard the door close again, he got busy with the blonde. Imagining she was Stephanie the entire time, and feeling like a royal bastard.
Chapter 10 You're the Worst
Stephanie
I HADN’T SEEN HAR IN the past three and a half weeks, but I had heard him in the house. Once it became clear he was avoiding me, I returned the favor. It wasn’t mature, but if he wanted it like that, then that’s how it would be.
Though, the way he’d made me come played on my mind daily. I wanted more of that in the worst way.
My vibrator should have given up the ghost by now, I was using it so much. But as I had learned so long ago, I could rely on my battery-operated-boyfriend while men, not so much.
I knew Har was coming and going, not just because I heard him, but also because of the fridge. A prospect showed up every Wednesday with his groceries. The first time, the prospect had scared the shit out of me. I probably scared him, too, since I was in the kitchen with a butcher knife at the ready.
“Sorry, sorry, Stephanie. Har said he would let you know about me comin’ by. Guess he didn’t do that.”
“Sure didn’t. Sorry about the knife. I’ll get out of your way,” I had said, and went to my room.
Now, as I rode down his street, I was thinking about how lonely it was being in that damn house, and didn’t notice the maroon GMC Acadia in the driveway until I had already pressed the button for the garage door. Thus, I couldn’t ride by and wait for this person to leave. In fact, for all I knew, Har was there entertaining someone. But, as I pulled my bike up the drive, I saw Har’s bike wasn’t in the garage.
Great.
I took off my gaudy pink helmet and dismounted my bike while a woman got out of the SUV.
She took off her sunglasses and I recognized her as Har’s mother. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Uh...” I stalled.
“Surely, you know your name,” she said in a motherly tone.
I wanted to ask how she didn’t even remember me, but a girl went through lots of changes from ten to twenty-five. Seemed Mrs. Walcott hadn’t aged a day in the last fifteen years, though. Her long wavy hair framed her face and her green eyes looked at me with curiosity.
“I’m Stephanie Combes, though you knew me when Mom was married to Sam Vaillant.”
She closed the distance between us, her eyes scanning my face and recognition struck. A reluctant smile crossed her face. “Yes, I remember you and your sister, but only you hung around with your stepbrother and Michael.”
I nodded.
She looked to the side for a moment. “Now, you’re living with him. And he’s never had a woman live with him before.”
I shook my head. “I don’t live with him.”
She chuckled. “You opened his garage and rode that bike in here like you live here.”
I smiled. “Yes, but... well, it’s complicated. Do you want to come inside? I made sweet tea last night. I can fix you a glass.”
She nodded. “That sounds nice, and you can explain how you’re not living with my son.”
I let her precede me into the house and hit the button for the garage door.
She set her glass of tea down and swallowed. “You make good tea.”
“Thank you.”
“So, how is
