name inked on my man? I figured if I ever met you, I’d understand.” She looks me up and down, her expression cool and disgusted. “I don’t.”
“Okay, well, we’re going to go,” Daisy says, pulling her purse off of the back of her chair and tossing down a twenty. “Keep the change.”
“Hang on.” Rochelle leans against the table and dares me to break eye contact with her. I’ve never been in a physical fight, and I don’t want to be, but something tells me Rochelle is no stranger to a little violence when she doesn’t get her way. “Gunner left early the other night from work. Then last night, I couldn’t get ahold of him, even went by the house and he wouldn’t answer the door. His bike was out front, though.”
I swallow hard. Could she really have been there, banging on the door and neither Gunner nor I heard? If so, did she hear my pleasure-filled screams as he nipped at my breasts? Did she hear Gunner beg me not to move and to let him fall asleep with his dick buried deep inside me?
More than that, did he say and do those same things to her?
No.
I don’t believe it. I don’t believe this girl is anything to Gunner.
“I don’t—”
“Come on, Harlow, you don’t owe this skank any explanation,” Daisy says.
I reach under the table and grab my purse.
“Your friend is right, Harlow Mills. You don’t owe me anything. But I bet your daddy would love to know how you’re spending your time. I bet he’d love to hear that while he’s wasting money buying you things like that, you’re off fucking the town loser.”
My temper flares. “Gunner’s not a loser. You should know that if you want him so bad.”
Rochelle grins and the way her eyes gleam lets me know she’s well aware she’s sticking a knife in my heart and twisting for good measure.
“Gunner and I have an understanding. We’re alike. We make sense. We fit. In every way that you’ll never be able to with him. That’s why he ditched your ass years ago, and that’s why he’ll do it again.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Daisy tugs on my arm.
“And just to make sure he tires of you sooner rather than later, maybe I need to go pay a visit to Mr. Mills. Fill him in on what his little angel considers extracurricular.”
“Stay away from my dad,” I say. I’m shaking. I want to punch her in the mouth. I want to pull out my earrings and fight dirty like those girls on those stupid MTV reality shows. Gunner is worth it.
“Seriously, Harlow. She’s a rabid beast. Let’s go,” Daisy says.
“Hope to not see you around, Harlow,” Rochelle calls after us. “And thanks for the tip!”
We hurry out to the car and I listen to Daisy mutter about ‘cunt punting’ Rochelle as we slide into our seats. Daisy is preoccupied with her anger, and I can’t help but wonder if the Gunner of last night is the man I can trust, or if I’m letting my three-year-old memory of him take over. Because the memories are still so strong, they rip at me.
“Gunner!” I ran to the window and helped pull him in. “What are you doing here?” It was after our fourth date. The first night, he’d driven back after I handed him that napkin with my number on it and we spent the evening lying on a spread out blanket, passing a bottle of cheap white wine back and forth, as he pointed out the constellations and we searched for a shooting star.
Our second date he took me to get ribs at some tiny hole in the wall I’d zoomed by a million times, but never stopped twice to go in. The food was delicious, and we talked about everything and anything that popped into our minds.
Our third date was an accident. He called on the anniversary of my mama’s death. I was holed up in my room, shades drawn, lying on my side with my knees tucked to my chest the way I had every single year since she’d gone. I knew my daddy was drunk off a whole bottle of scotch in his office, staring at their wedding picture. When Gunner called, I almost didn’t answer,
“Okay, well, we’re going to go,” Daisy says, pulling her purse off of the back of her chair and tossing down a twenty. “Keep the change.”
“Hang on.” Rochelle leans against the table and dares me to break eye contact with her. I’ve never been in a physical fight, and I don’t want to be, but something tells me Rochelle is no stranger to a little violence when she doesn’t get her way. “Gunner left early the other night from work. Then last night, I couldn’t get ahold of him, even went by the house and he wouldn’t answer the door. His bike was out front, though.”
I swallow hard. Could she really have been there, banging on the door and neither Gunner nor I heard? If so, did she hear my pleasure-filled screams as he nipped at my breasts? Did she hear Gunner beg me not to move and to let him fall asleep with his dick buried deep inside me?
More than that, did he say and do those same things to her?
No.
I don’t believe it. I don’t believe this girl is anything to Gunner.
“I don’t—”
“Come on, Harlow, you don’t owe this skank any explanation,” Daisy says.
I reach under the table and grab my purse.
“Your friend is right, Harlow Mills. You don’t owe me anything. But I bet your daddy would love to know how you’re spending your time. I bet he’d love to hear that while he’s wasting money buying you things like that, you’re off fucking the town loser.”
My temper flares. “Gunner’s not a loser. You should know that if you want him so bad.”
Rochelle grins and the way her eyes gleam lets me know she’s well aware she’s sticking a knife in my heart and twisting for good measure.
“Gunner and I have an understanding. We’re alike. We make sense. We fit. In every way that you’ll never be able to with him. That’s why he ditched your ass years ago, and that’s why he’ll do it again.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Daisy tugs on my arm.
“And just to make sure he tires of you sooner rather than later, maybe I need to go pay a visit to Mr. Mills. Fill him in on what his little angel considers extracurricular.”
“Stay away from my dad,” I say. I’m shaking. I want to punch her in the mouth. I want to pull out my earrings and fight dirty like those girls on those stupid MTV reality shows. Gunner is worth it.
“Seriously, Harlow. She’s a rabid beast. Let’s go,” Daisy says.
“Hope to not see you around, Harlow,” Rochelle calls after us. “And thanks for the tip!”
We hurry out to the car and I listen to Daisy mutter about ‘cunt punting’ Rochelle as we slide into our seats. Daisy is preoccupied with her anger, and I can’t help but wonder if the Gunner of last night is the man I can trust, or if I’m letting my three-year-old memory of him take over. Because the memories are still so strong, they rip at me.
“Gunner!” I ran to the window and helped pull him in. “What are you doing here?” It was after our fourth date. The first night, he’d driven back after I handed him that napkin with my number on it and we spent the evening lying on a spread out blanket, passing a bottle of cheap white wine back and forth, as he pointed out the constellations and we searched for a shooting star.
Our second date he took me to get ribs at some tiny hole in the wall I’d zoomed by a million times, but never stopped twice to go in. The food was delicious, and we talked about everything and anything that popped into our minds.
Our third date was an accident. He called on the anniversary of my mama’s death. I was holed up in my room, shades drawn, lying on my side with my knees tucked to my chest the way I had every single year since she’d gone. I knew my daddy was drunk off a whole bottle of scotch in his office, staring at their wedding picture. When Gunner called, I almost didn’t answer,
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