Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“What good times were those, Dave? When I paid for everything and you sat around playing video games all day?”
“Hey, I helped!” He takes immediate offense, of course.
“Helped yourself to my apartment,” I say.
There’s a pause. Usually he hangs up around about now, at the point when I remind him how he used me for months before cheating on me and moving out. Dave was never worth any of the tears I shed over him. He definitely wasn’t worth trying to fix the whole time I knew him. I’m half of the mind to tell him that I have a new boyfriend who just bought me a car, but that’s not entirely true, and I don’t think I can call a man who wakes me up to fuck me wearing a mask my boyfriend.
I have got to stop letting men do man things. The audacity.
“I was wondering if I could crash there,” Dave says, sheepish. “My lease ran out on my place, and I don’t have any money at the moment…”
“No, Dave,” I tell him. “You cannot stay at my place.”
I end the call.
He calls back.
I block him.
That feels satisfying as hell. It’s like everything is starting to align for me. I’ve told my ex to go to hell. I’ve got money. My shift starts in an hour…
Oh, fuck. My shift starts in an hour.
I am on entirely the wrong bus, though I think I can make it work. I just have to get off at the next stop and grab the 64, and then…
I make it to work just in time. I stuff my bag into my locker, pull my apron out, realize I’m wearing sweatpants and thank the absolute heavens I keep a spare blouse, skirt, and set of underwear in my locker for emergencies. By the time my shift starts, I’ve put on some lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara, and my hair is tied up in a shiny ponytail that gets me a whole lot of tips.
The shift goes quick, and ends after the dinner rush, so I can get home a little earlier and stash the cash somewhere. I’m thinking about putting it in cereal boxes in the kitchen. I saw that on a TV show once. It looks like a decent idea.
My front door is open when I get home. Not just the door to the building, which is pretty much always ajar, but my actual apartment door. I walk in the front door already annoyed. This has Dave written all over it.
I told Dave no. Why doesn’t he ever listen? I know he’s going to act like I wasn’t clear when I told him.
To my surprise, Dave’s not on my couch, or scrounging in my cupboards for food. He’s not here at all. Which is strange, because I can feel Dave vibes.
“Hello?”
I jump as the door shuts behind me. I turn around to see the tall, broad-shouldered, balaclava-clad man who has been haunting me for days now. His eyes glint at me through the open slots.
“Hello, Laura,” he says, his voice deep and commanding. “Did you do a little commerce today?”
At first I can’t think what the hell he’s talking about, then it hits me. Of course, the money. The car. All that. My annoyance at Dave temporarily made me forget my own transgressions.
“I did,” I say, taking a step back and bumping into the kitchen table. “It was my car. I could do what I liked with it.”
I push my handbag onto the counter and look at him defiantly. I knew he wouldn’t like me selling the car, but there were so many very good reasons to do it, and money was only one of them.
“That thing would have been way too expensive to run,” I say.
“You could have asked me for money,” he replies. “It’s rude to return a gift, to the wrong place, for significantly less than it is worth.”
“I would never ask you for anything. I don’t even know who you are. I didn’t want the car.”
“Ungrateful little girl,” he murmurs, reaching for me. “I know one way to teach you a lesson.”
He draws out a chair at my kitchen table and pulls me close. I let him do what he’s going to do. My mind has gone sort of soft and floppy and helpless as he turns me over his knee like I’m some bad kid he needs to spank.
“Next time I give you a present, you’re going to say thank you,” he says, smoothing his hand over my skirt.
Smack!
“What do you say, Laura?”
“Huh?” I am confused. Another hard smack lands on my ass, pain prompting thought. “Sorry?”
“No,” he says, his tone patient. “What did I say I was going to teach you to do when someone gives you something?”
“Thank them?”
“That’s right,” he says, rubbing his hand over my ass smoothly one more time. Then he spanks me again, quite sharply and hard enough to make me yelp.