Lucky bitch, whoever she is. #2
“No problem Laney.” In the background, Atti gripes about something. I can’t hear his specific complaint, but I can hear his grouchy tone. “Gotta go; Atticus is annoyed with me.”
“How unlike him,” I quip. “See you tomorrow.”
Another reason I love working at the Wrench Kings here in Oakcreek is Beau. He’s such a good boss; if I could be a mechanic here, I could work with the coolest people and be close to home. All the more reason to really make this arrangement with Miller work.
Ten minutes later, I’ve got Mara in the passenger seat, and we’re headed to Karate.
The mixed martial arts studio where she practices is on the main street in Oakcreek.
It seems cruel to me to place a fitness studio next to the Wilting Daisy, the best bakery in town, but then again, maybe that’s smart business.
I nod to the bakery out the windshield as I cruise into a forty-five-degree angle parking spot out front.
“Should we treat ourselves to a cookie after?” I wiggle my brows at my younger sister across the cab.
Her hair is thick and curly like mine, despite the fact that my stepdad Art has shaggy, dark hair.
Mom’s hair genes were strong. My own father had straight hair, too, from what I can remember.
He’s not dead, and I’m not pining over a worn photo of the two of us before he left this heavenly Earth. He was a fucking jackass with a heavy hand and a short fuse, and trauma has made him completely forgettable.
Thanks, Trauma. I’m fine with not remembering the man that made me hold my hands to my ears while hiding under my bed many nights. Fuck him.
I reach across and tuck some loose strands into her ponytail. “My treat.”
Even though Mara is only twelve, Mom makes her earn her allowance and has since she was eight.
Did the same with me, too, and I’m grateful.
But because Mara is young, she doesn’t earn a lot because she doesn’t have a lot of expenses.
That being said, a four-dollar cookie and a five-dollar hot cocoa would probably be a lot to her. And I can treat her.
Since I’m living at home, I don’t pay rent. I do help with the bills and food, though, and not because my mom and Art ask me to but because I want to. I want to contribute to the household that I love; it gives me a sense of accomplishment that goes beyond anything I learn in the garage.
She wrinkles her nose. “Maybe, but that’s so much sugar.” She drops a hand to her lower belly and fans her fingers out over her gi.
Unclipping my seatbelt, I twist to face her, tapering my gaze on her. “Why are you worrying about sugar?” I don’t like that.
She looks at her slide sandal-covered feet for a moment, then back to me with pink cheeks. “I’m so much bigger than everyone in my class.”
I tip my head toward the brick and glass building with red painted letters across the window reading OAKCREEK MMA. “Your class here?” I snort. “No, you’re not. You’re tall . Taller than them. That’s it, though, Mara.” I knock her hand away from her belly. “Quit. ”
Her shoulders slope her concession. “I know, but I feel like a giant being two feet taller than everyone else. It makes me feel massive.”
I roll my eyes. “Massive is a bit extreme, and so is two feet. You’re maybe a foot taller but let me tell you this, Mara. Being tall is a good thing. You have those gorgeous long legs and a longer torso—clothes fit you the way they’re meant to fit!”
She smiles, so I continue. “And those other girls haven’t hit puberty yet. In another year, you’ll be taller, and so will they, and they’ll be jealous of those extra few inches you have.” I wink. “Long legs are not a bad thing.”
Only looking moderately convinced, she gives me a partial smile. “Tall’s good, huh?”
Nodding emphatically, I’m ready to call Beau’s wife, Beck, and put her on speaker and get a third-party perspective on this to prove to her she’s perfect. I hate that at twelve, she’s already feeling the crush of insecurities. Being a woman is hard, but being a young woman is a bitch.
“Tall is very good. You have more opportunities with sports and clothes.”
She laughs. “That’s good, I guess.”
I tug her ponytail gently to get her smiling some more. “Don’t worry about food and your body. You eat what you want when you’re hungry and you stay active; that’s all you do. You don’t worry about your size, okay?”
She nods, but I feel so mama-bear over Mara that I physically ache to hear the words. “Say it, Mara. Say you know that you are beautiful and perfect, and you don’t need to worry about your body.”
Rolling her eyes, she opens the door but doesn’t get out yet. “I’m not saying that because this isn’t the heartfelt moment on a family sitcom. But I won’t worry about food, okay?”
She’s getting sick of me, so I take her okay to heart and relax some. “Okay.”
Inside the studio, there are too many little kids running around in wrinkled gi’s and belts marked in sharpie with their names across. I ruffle the hair of one little boy named Marcus, who zips past me on his way to the mat for his class.
“Delane!” he grins as he whirrs by.
The kids know me because Mara is serious about karate, which means I’m serious about karate, too. Art and my mom are here as much as they can be, but we all work a lot, so it’s a group effort. Truthfully, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Because I’m here usually two or three nights a week, I know most of the families. And all of the instructors, too. Unfortunately, there’s one of them I know too well.
“D, D, D,” comes a hair-raising chant from behind me. Mara splits, heading toward a huddle of girls waiting off the mat nearby. I take a preparatory breath and turn to face him.
“Rock, what’s up?” I blink up at my ex. God, I hate that he’s even an ex at all. Last year, at a stupendously low point in my life, after both Beau and Atticus decided the singles club was breaking up, I finally said yes to this fuckface when he asked me out for the hundredth time.
Red flag: if a guy asks you out many, many times after being rejected, it’s because he’s actually crazy. Not just crazy for funsies, but really crazy.
Enter: Rock.
We dated for all of two months and we broke up when I refused to have sex with him.
Yep, guys like that still exist.
Reaching out, he runs his disgusting hand down my arm, and I swear to God I have the strongest urge to gag. “You look hot tonight, D.”
“Don’t call me D. No one calls me D.”
“I call you D,” he says, smiling as I bat his hand away not one but two times. Seriously. Two times I have to push his hand off me. One of the many red flags planted on Rock is a man who thinks he can put his hands on another person.
“And I’m asking you not to,” I deadpan, taking a small step back to put space between us. But of course, he lurches forward, his black TAPOUT t-shirt sticking to his large, sweaty body.
Yeah, he’s big. Rock is very built, which is not the typical build for karate.
Most of the male athletes here are strong but lean, in fighting condition.
Rock looks like he’s been deepthroating a bottle of steroids for the last five years.
He’s always sweaty, even when he’s not leading a class, and his aggressive personality goes against everything karate is about at the core.
But Oakcreek isn’t brimming with trained karate instructors, so Rock has a solid spot here.
I’d take Mara somewhere else if there were somewhere I could afford to take her.
It gives me peace of mind knowing Rock will never be her instructor, though.
I can tolerate him for her to stay here.
It’s my own stupid fault for letting loneliness cloud my vision. No, it didn’t cloud my vision. It fucking blinded me. It must have. That’s the only logical reason I went out with this fucking turd in the first place.
“Where you been? I was looking for that fine ass of yours last week. Thought I spotted it out back, but she turned around, and I knew it wasn’t you.” A disturbing grin spans his face. “She had big titties, knew it wasn’t my mosquito bitten D.”
That’s it. I have no more niceties to give him. Turning, I head toward the metal bleachers positioned between two mats. I join the ranks of tired moms and working dads and face the mat where Mara’s class is warming up.
I don’t give Rock a single second of my time or attention for the hour and twenty minutes I’m there watching Mara. The best thing I can do is ignore him. Eventually, he’ll quit.
Mara has a great class. She nails all her drills, and I can see the confidence dripping from her, shoulders back, chin held high.
We end up getting cookies and hot chocolate on me because she deserves it for working so hard.
On the drive home, we call mom and fill her in on the good practice.
When the call is over and we’re close to home, Mara asks, “why does Rock always bug you?”
I shake my head. “I went out with him for two months last year. He was a total creep, so I dumped him, and he’s been a skeevy prick since.
” I twist my lips to the side as I flick my blinker on.
“Actually, he’s always been a skeevy prick.
It was my poor judgment going out with him in the first place. ”
“Why did you then?” Mara asks as she begins untying the knot at her waist.
After pulling into the driveway, I put my car in park and give her the honest truth. “I was really tired of being single, and Beau and Atti had just gotten into relationships. I felt left behind.”
Looking puzzled, she asks, “but Miller doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?”
I hope my cheeks don’t flush, but I feel warm at just the mention of his name.
My eyes fight to flutter closed to cherish the memory of his strong hand pressed to my lower back, making my insides feel all melty and delicious.
But I blink at my little sister and smile.
“Nope. He’s still single. But even so,” I say, ignoring the fluttering in my belly when I think about how he looked at me after the second kiss.
Whoever he ends up with after this, she’ll be the recipient of that doe-eyed, pussy destroying stare of adoration.
Lucky bitch, whoever she is.
“When you’re older, you’ll get it. Sometimes you just… want someone. Even if you’re good at being single, there are times when having a boyfriend sounds really, really nice.”
And the other truth that I don’t tell Mara is that I want more than a boyfriend. After I become a mechanic, I want to settle down and have a family. I want my mom and Art to be a part of my kids’ lives. I want them to be grandparents while they can, and I want to start my journey as a mom, too.
It’s what I’ve always wanted and probably plays a large part of why I don’t mind helping with Mara so much while mom and Art are working.
She smiles. “I think I get it.” That’s the thing about love; you may be too young to really understand it, but no matter the age, the desire to feel it is universal.
“Hey,” I say before we get out of the car and go inside. “Don’t ever date a pushy guy. Okay? Guys like Rock never truly listen to you, and that never makes a good boyfriend.”
She nods. “Okay.”
When we’re inside, I start dinner. While I do, I hit play on the femdom audiobook I’ve been listening to the last few days.
The woman in the story is a professional femme sought out by men who have recently been divorced.
They hire her to rebuild them, make them strong and sound again. And she does it through orgasm control.
It’s a crazy book, but crazy in a good way.
I get lost in the story and push Rock and his bullshit words from my mind as I make dinner for my family.
Miller would never say that shit to me. Ever.