But there had to be. It just sucked that the only man who’d ever made her feel alive was Brian, and he’d never laid one fucking finger on her, except to give her tattoos or platonic hugs. Never would.
Despite Janelle’s words, she wouldn’t feel that way with someone like Jared, though he’d felt damn good against her earlier. The light scratch of his beard against her cheek, the hardness and the heat beneath the soft old T-shirt he’d been wearing—damn. She was too fucked-up for a man like him. She wouldn’t ever want to inflict herself on someone else’s kids anyway. Probably have them chain-smoking and saying “fuck” all the time. The whole church-going, God-fearing set wasn’t her thing. At all. She’d been there, and she’d fled like a bat out of hell when she’d had a chance.
“Oh great,” Janelle said, snapping Starla out of her miserable musings. She followed her friend’s gaze to the couple of guys ambling over with beers in hand. “God forbid we sit and have a conversation by ourselves.”
Wouldn’t you know it, one of the guys was Starla’s booty call, Drew, wearing the aforementioned shit-eating grin. The bastard just knew he would get lucky tonight, didn’t he? Must be slim pickings tonight.
Starla suspended her arm and made a circular motion with one finger. “Run along, gents. Carry your asses back to your game and play with your own sticks and balls.”
The shit-eating grin crashed and burned. “Heyyy—”
“No need to be a bitch,” his friend spat out as he swayed drunkenly on his feet.
Starla batted her lashes at him. “You’ll know when I’m being a bitch. It’s not now. But might be in a few seconds.”
“Well,” Janelle said happily as the guys ambled grudgingly back to the pool tables, “that’s that.”
“I hate men,” Starla grumbled. “Wanna run away and get married?”
Janelle laughed and lifted her glass. Starla clinked hers with it. “Thought you’d never ask, babe.”
***
It didn’t occur to Starla until Sunday afternoon as she shopped for groceries that she hadn’t asked Jared for food preferences, but he looked like a meat-and-potatoes man. That physique she’d felt pressed so tantalizingly against her hadn’t been sculpted at any gym. The little she knew about him from hearing Ghost and Macy talk, he rode horses and bulls and owned a ranch and probably baled hay and herded cattle and did all kinds of manly, cowboy-type things she didn’t know shit about as a definite lover of the indoors. If he needed help with his computer or wanted a real challenge on the Xbox or a savory meal, she was his girl. But dealing with an animal bigger than she was? No, thanks.
The thought of watching him do all those outdoor things, though—preferably shirtless and sweating with muscles bulging—held definite appeal.
So her mission in meal planning was to seek the middle ground. Something impressive but something he and two little girls would actually, well, eat. Hopefully none of them had any allergies. She hadn’t thought to get his number so she could ask him these pertinent questions. Since she’d called Janelle from his phone the night he drove her home, she could’ve gotten it from her friend, but oh well. Surely if there was an issue, he would’ve said something.
In the end, she actually settled for meat and potatoes. Pork tenderloin stuffed with lemon and herbs. She would roast the potatoes. Do some fresh, crisp green beans with red pepper. By the time she was done shopping, she was starving with hours left until dinner. By the time she was home putting away the groceries until time to head to Jared’s, she was second-guessing her choices. Too late now. So she whipped up some cookie dough from scratch and put a batch on to bake—surely two little girls would appreciate chocolate chip cookies if nothing else she brought. Maybe the grown man would too. Unless someone was diabetic or something. Shit. She had to stop doing this. Why was she so worried about it, anyway? It was just a nice gesture, not a date or anything. She wasn’t seeking a proposal. What the fuck did she care if they ate her food? More for her.
“Holy shit, it smells good in here.”
Not for him, though.
Her roommate’s brother ambled bleary-eyed into the kitchen, shirtless as usual—nowhere near the appealing sight Jared would surely be. It was almost four, and Doug was just now waking up. Jobless, homeless if not for his sister and Starla, his permanent residence was their couch. He didn’t lift one damn finger around the place, didn’t help with rent even when he had a few dollars. It was a source of constant friction between Starla and Julie, whose only whiny reply whenever Starla brought it up was, “He’s my brotherrrr, what am I supposed to dooo?” Starla could suggest a thing or two to do, but this was one place where she tried to keep the peace. She couldn’t have misery at work and home. So she dealt with it and tried as best she could to ignore the slug whose butt was permanently attached to the couch. When confronted with him, though, sometimes she couldn’t hold her tongue.
“Thanks,” she replied vaguely, opening the fridge to grab a Coke—and freezing upon realizing they were all gone. Her Coke that she’d bought last weekend with her money. The empty twelve-pack box sat next to a brand-new, uncracked box of Bud Light. He never had rent money, but he usually had beer money. Or his sister bought it for him. Fuming, Starla yanked the empty Coke box out, closed the door, and turned to see Doug peeking in the oven.
“Oh hell yeah. Those look awesome.”
“And not for you.”
“Why not?” he whined. It was a tone he and his sister had in common.
“They’re for a friend.”
“I can’t have one?”
She waved the box at him before crushing it between her hands. “Did you drink my Coke?”
He straightened and sneered at her. “Your name wasn’t on them.” It was a favorite phrase of his.
“Then your name isn’t on those fucking cookies.”
“Damn. Forget your antibitch pills this morning?”
“Must have. Forget your antifreeloader pills?”
Reference to his mooch status usually shut him up, and this was no exception. He left the kitchen while she fought nausea at the sight of his pale, pimply back and ratty boxers sticking out of his dirty low-slung jeans. Old, faded ink, shaggy unwashed hair, everything about him yuck. And she had to look at him every day. Jesus. Her life.
One day she’d be out of here, but she had no idea when that day would be. Not anytime soon, unfortunately. Her parents often told her there was room at home if she ever wanted to move back and save up for something better, but frankly, she’d rather live in her car. Not that they’d been bad parents, necessarily—she loved them and she guessed they loved her despite her life choices. Strictly religious, they didn’t even own a TV and probably held regular prayer sessions for her soul. Bringing her under their roof would be another opportunity to indoctrinate her. There weren’t enough nopes in the world for her thoughts on that matter.
Doug disappeared into Julie’s bedroom, and Julie emerged frowning a few minutes later. “What’s going on?” she asked. Great. Little Dougie had tattled on her.
“Not a thing.”
“You sure pissed him off.”
“I wouldn’t give him a cookie.”
“Why not?” Now Julie was peering into the oven. Starla had liked her, had been friends with her for a while before they moved in together, but now that she’d met Doug, she couldn’t help but see him every time she looked at Julie. Whiny, weak, and lazy, though at least Julie could be counted on to pick up after herself every now and then and hold on to a steady job.
“Because I’m making them for someone else.”
“Oh. Who?”
“The guy who brought me home the other night. He has two kids.”
“Ohhhh.” Julie grinned. “Thinking of taking on stepmommy duties?”
“Hell no. This is a friendly gesture.” She kept having to explain that, both to herself and others. But if it was true, then how come she had butterflies in her stomach? How come all she could imagine was the girls hating her and her food? And Jared… What if the only non-assholeish guy she’d met lately—Ghost’s opinion be damned—blinked those baby blues at her and lured her to her demise as Janelle predicted? All hope would be lost if he proved to be another disappointment. She might as well face it at that point: she was an asshole magnet, forever doomed, repelling the good guys and drawing in the bad.
Ugh.
“Maybe it’ll turn into more than that,” Julie said thoughtfully.
“Why is it whenever a single girl has any encounter whatsoever with a single guy, everyone starts acting like they should go pick out china patterns?”
“Is he hot?”
“Um…he’s like, a cowboy. The man listens to country music.”
Julie laughed. “So? Is. He. Hot? Does he achieve DILF status?”
Oh yeah. Smoking. “I guess!”
Starla hadn’t realized Doug was back in the living room. “I don’t see why it matters,” he interjected from the couch, remote control in hand. “He won’t be around for long. Hit it and quit it like everyone else she goes out with.”