Junkyard Dog(31)

“We have stuff in common.”

Hayes studies me. “Like what?”

“We both think you’re super. We both think I’m hot,” I say, and Hayes smirks.

“Anything else?”

“We both hate morons and think the Beatles are overrated.”

Hayes nods. “I f*cking hate the Beatles.”

“We like coffee in the morning and bacon for breakfast.”

“Everyone likes that shit.”

“My sister drinks Pepsi with breakfast and eats turkey bacon. You can’t be friends with her.”

Hayes doesn’t want to smile, but his eyes give away his amusement. “No, I can’t. I’ll f*cking survive without her playing buddy.”

“You and I are buddies.”

“We’re something. That’s for sure.”

I fix his collar and then ask, “What time do you want to meet for dinner?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Oh, that reminds me of something else we have in common,” I say, crossing my arms and mimicking him. “We’re both horrible drivers. Try not to kill my kids tonight.”

“Fuck you and your bad driving bullshit.”

“Wait, did you not know you were an awful driver?”

Hayes rolls his eyes and opens the door. I follow him out of the room.

“Where are we eating?”

“I know a place. You’ll find out where when I pick you up.”

Unsure how to feel, I only watch Hayes disappear out the backdoor to supervise the landscapers. I still taste him on my lips and crave another kiss.

The man makes me feel like a million bucks, but the feeling is a lie. Hayes is not family man material. Sure, he talks about an heir, and he shows compassion for Chipper and Cricket. He isn’t the monster people think, but his future isn’t my future.

As long as I can remember our different paths, I’ll avoid wanting more from Hayes than he can provide. Who knows? I might enjoy a fiery relationship with Hayes while retaining my job and sanity. I promise myself it’s possible.





TWENTY - HAYES


I expected Candy to pick a different rental house. The little yellow one always gets positive comments from broads. Instead, she chose the blocky, brick house. It’s the kind of house I’d have picked. Like the f*ckwit I’ve become, I take her choice as a sign that she and I are made for each other.

“Why are you in a bad mood?” she asks after opening the front door.

She’s wearing a pale gray sweater and blue jeans. Without trying, she’s got my dick rock hard.

“I’m not. Are you ready?”

“Don’t be mean to my kids. You can treat me like a turd, but they’re off limits.”

“Don’t be a bitch and just get ready.”

Candy walks outside and maneuvers me away from the door.

“What is your problem?”

“You make me a f*cking *.”

“No way are you dumping this on me.”

Sighing, I rub my neck and kick at the ground.

“Are you throwing a fit?” she asks.

“Fuck you, Candy.”

We glare at one another, both confused about why I’m in such a bad f*cking mood. Her expression shifts from bitchy impatience to something her kids likely know well.

“I’m sorry I got weird with you,” Candy tenderly says like I’m a whiny bitch. “I didn’t know how to say what needed to be said. I’m not great at that stuff, but neither are you. It’s one of those things we have in common.”

“I wish you were a bitch,” I mutter. “I wish you were a horrible f*cking cunt so that I could hate you.”

“I sometimes wish you were ugly, so I wouldn’t want to touch you.”

Her words don’t tease me nearly as much as her tone. I know she’s messing with me, but it still f*cking works. Even shaking my head, I smile.

“If I piss you off, or you get stupid again, just tell me what’s happening,” I say, caressing a lock of her hair. “I’m not a moody chick, and I won’t fire you. I can handle knowing what you’re thinking, and you should never assume I’m a mind reader. When it comes to chicks wanting anything more complicated than a desire to f*ck, I need shit spelled out.”

“Are you sure you want to have dinner with the kids?” she asks, touching my fingers playing with her hair.

“Yeah.”

“It can be just you and me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“They’re your kids. I want to see what they’re like.”

“Are you curious how your heir might turn out?” she asks, poking me in the gut.

“Sure. Besides, I might decide to do more than f*ck you. If that happens, I need to see what your baggage is like.”

“Don’t call them that,” she growls.

“If I get sappy, my balls might fall off. I can’t chance it.”

“Ick. I can’t even imagine what kind of bullshit you’d put up with if you lost your cajones.”

I lean down and kiss her quickly. Candy doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t deepen the kiss either. The little faces at the window are likely why she doesn’t climb me.