Mister Moneybags(35)

I abruptly stood. “I should go.”

Dex stood with me. “I’m sorry. Don’t go. I tried everything. Even thinking about the time I walked in on my grandmother having sex with my grandfather, but not even that calamity could stop my body from reacting to having you near me. I didn’t ask you to stay to get physical with you. I wasn’t going to try to seduce you.”

Oddly, I believed him. “Why did you ask me to stay then, Dex?”

“I wanted to make sure you were feeling alright from the accident this morning. But I also wanted to see if I could convince you to go on a date with me. Can we start over? I know I f*cked up royally—just give me the chance to show you I’m a man you can trust.”

That was half of the problem. Trust was an issue to begin with for me. I knew I had some daddy issues that were at the root of many of my doubts. But I also knew that it was nearly impossible to be around Dex without something physical happening between us. And being physical with him before I was able to forgive him and truly trust him again, would be a big mistake.

“I need some time, Dex.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know.”

He looked panicked. “Can we at least continue to chat in the evenings?”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Bianca…what can I do?”

I actually felt bad for him. Reaching out, I touched his cheek. “Give me time. At least a few weeks.”

He searched my eyes. Finding I was serious, his shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

I pushed up on my tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Dex.”





“Damn you, Clement.”

Sometimes when I got frustrated about the Bianca situation, I spent my time watching YouTube videos of my whittling nemesis. The kid could whittle anything with precision without getting a single cut on his hands. It pissed me off, yet invigorated me at the same time.

Do better, Dex.

I needed to step up my game.

“Nice haircut, by the way,” I spoke to the computer screen, referring to his straight blond hair that was exactly the same length all the way around like a bowl.

I shouldn’t have been torturing myself like this, but lately, it seemed harder and harder to sanely occupy my time outside of work. Bianca didn’t want to resume our evening chats or see me at all for a few weeks. That basically meant several days of Dexter going slowly insane and nearly blind from jerking himself off.

I vowed to use these days wisely. Just because she didn’t want to see me, didn’t mean I couldn’t let her know I was thinking about her. I liked to refer to this period of time as Operation Get Bianca Back.

Step one: learn to actually whittle so you can make her romantic wooden things. All the wooden things! I bet if I put my mind to it, I could whittle a goat that might be half as good as the one I bought at the Brooklyn flea market.

I turned to Bandit who was sitting beside me watching Clement whittle away. “That’s genius, right? Show her I’m putting in the effort. It’s heartfelt and original at the same time.”

“Ruff!”

I typed in: how to whittle a goat.

Unfortunately, there weren’t any videos fitting my exact specifications. I randomly clicked on the first clip that came up in my search.

It was some guy with an Australian accent holding a chubby baby girl. There was an actual goat sitting next to them.

“Come on, Bree, say Dada.”

Every time the man would say the word, “Dada,” the goat would let out a long “Baa.”

The baby would just let out a belly laugh each time the goat made a sound.

“Say Dada.”

The goat responded, “Baa.”

Giggle.

“Say Dada…Dada,” the man repeated.

“Baa.”

Giggle. Giggle.

What in the ever-living f*ck was I watching?

The man turned to the goat. “Mate, can you stop for a bit? She won’t say it if you keep making her laugh.”

“Baa!”

Giggle. Giggle. Giggle.

The video ended. I immediately hit replay. It was addictive, and dare I say, my mouth hurt from smiling.

Turning to Bandit, I said, “Imagine that? Talking to a pet like a human being and expecting it to understand?”

“Ruff!”

The title of the video was “Pixy and Bree Say Dada.”

“This is so ridiculous,” I said, discreetly bookmarking the video. This guy, Chance Bateman, had an entire YouTube channel featuring various videos of his two children and the goat. These would come in handy someday when I wanted reassurance that I wasn’t the only person in this world off my f*cking rocker. Fuck it. I subscribed to the channel.

Even though I’d vowed not to call Bianca, that didn’t mean I couldn’t pull some tricks that would make it impossible for her to resist contacting me. When the phone rang, I suspected it might be her.

I picked up. “Bianca…I—”

“You are out of your mind.” She sniffled. She was either laughing or crying. She was laughing.

“You’re laughing, though.”

“Dex Truitt…I may have to edit the article to include a disclaimer at the end noting that you have totally lost your marbles.”