“You think so?”
“I know so. Now, when do you go back on his show to finish up this bet business?”
I let out another long sigh. But then a tiny spark of hope ignites in my heart.
She chuckles. “God’s in charge, Baby Girl, and He’s good every day.”
I wish I shared her faith. I dab my tears with a tissue as we say goodbye.
I slump at my desk. The one Jack put together—three times. Three times to get it right. But he took the time. He was frustrated. He could’ve thrown up his hands and said forget it, but he didn’t. He stayed and finished it—for me.
That was the day he called us friends. Maybe we can be friends—at the very least. And if so, then I’ll gauge his reaction to my pregnancy before I tell him he’s the father.
I suck in a deep breath and hold it. No. I need to not get ahead of myself. One thing at a time.
Friends.
Try to make that work. And don’t let it crash and burn.
Decode the Man in Your Life
Chapter [3]: Men Are Smarter Than You Think
Correction: Men Are Fucking Idiots
FIFTEEN
I pace the living room.
Bax’s head turns every time I change direction, like he’s watching a basketball game.
I stop and hold my phone up. The words Ronnie Fitz top her photo.
“Should I call? It’s been a week. She should’ve had some free time by now, right?”
He holds both hands up. “Fuck, man. Don’t ask me. My love life’s in the shitter. I’m the last person who should hand out advice on affairs of the heart.”
“Don’t you have some kind of medicine man on speed dial who can give you a love potion or something?”
“What the fuck? I’m Native American, not Druid, or whatever the hell religion uses magic. Voodoo I have no idea, but no—wrong race, man.”
I nod. “Sorry. I’m not a racist fuck; I promise.”
Bax grins, shaking his head. “I know that, Brother. Trust me, if I had a potion, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I’d be getting ready for a beautiful weekend of fucking.”
I huff. “Fucking is what got us into this mess to start with.”
“You know it.” He pushes his fingers through his hair.
“I didn’t do enough to make Ronnie see me as anything but a fuck. I should’ve—hell if I know—what do people do to get other people to actually like them? I’m not sure she ever really liked me.”
“Fuck. I was never interested in getting women to like me. As a matter of fact, women who like me too much are generally a problem. I usually only want them to want me for a couple of hours.”
“I should go have a visit with our man, Dave. Fuck him up. Maybe he’ll quit seeing her.”
“Whoa, Cowboy. Didn’t you hire him to date her?”
“So? I’ll fire his ass with my fucking fist.”
“Look, I’m all in for a good ass kicking. But you should consider what you’re saying. The guy’s gay. You’re looking at a hate crime charge. That comes with a price tag way more expensive than a few months in juvie.”
“But he’s not gay if he’s fucking Ronnie. Besides, it would be a hate crime. I hate that he’s fucking my girl.”
He shakes his head. “Man, she’s got you wound up like a Jackson-in-the-box, ready to spring into oblivion.”
“Hilarious, Fucker.”
He laughs like a freaking lunatic. “You’re so fucked up, you’re Fitz to be tied.”
“Wow, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Asshole.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t help it. I saw the shot, had to take it.” He wipes the tear he squeezed out of his eye and straightens in his seat. “Seriously, there’s got to be something we can do.”
I plop into the chair across from him, gripping my head in both hands.
Think. Think. What does she need from me?
I drop my hands. “Maybe we should take a look at Ronnie’s book. I mean, if it works to get men to fall for women, why wouldn’t it work the other way around?”
“Didn’t you read it already?”
“Only the chapter headings.”
Bax eyes me like I’m an idiot.
“What? I’m a busy man.” Well, I am.
He asks, “Do you have a copy?”
“Let me check.”
I have to do something. I don’t even care to fuck anyone else. I thought I should. Thought I could. I even took Bax out to find us each a piece of ass, but not one of the ladies I already know or met that night remotely pricked my interest or stirred my senses. No woody—no sex. This shit sucks.
Three hours later, I sit, forehead in one hand, Ronnie’s book in the other.