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.
Bax mirrors my position on the opposite end of the couch. “What chapter are you on? I’m on chapter six. Men want honesty. I’m not so sure I care about honesty. Do you?”
“Honesty? Shit, I don’t know. I’m on chapter ten. I don’t get ninety-five percent of this. I must be a fucking idiot. Or maybe that’s the problem, I’m not a man—like the kind of man a woman should want.”
I could have wined her, dined her, wooed her—I should have let her see that there’s more to me than my cock.
Bax points to the page. “She says women should tell men what they need. Fuck that. I just need her to want me. Men can figure out what their women need. Can’t we?”
My mind races. I’ve never felt so out of my depth. “I’m going to ask her.”
Bax snatches the book out of my hands. “The hell you are.”
“Why not? She wrote it; she can explain it.” I try to take the book.
Bax yanks it out of my reach. “Don’t tip your hand like that, you fucking idiot.”
The phone vibrates. I check the screen.
Jackson.