Page 114 of Bourbon Deceit
“Topless?” I paused and thought about it. “They’re fake, aren’t they?”
“Wh-what?” Jett sputtered.
“Her tits, they’re fake, right?”
“Um, well I don’t know. I didn’t touch them if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking if they’re fake, Jett. I don’t think it’s a very hard question to answer.”
“Goldie, please . . .”
“Are they fake?”
“God . . . yes, they’re fake. Jesus, why does it matter?”
“I knew it. You know, I looked up Keylee in Urban Dictionary and it said ‘bitchy girl with fake breasts.’”
Jett paused for a second before saying, “Does it really?”
“After I get off the phone, it will.”
“Goldie . . .” Jett breathed out. “Can you please listen to me?”
“I get it, Jett,” I interrupted him. “You have to do what you have to do. It’s a tough situation you’re in and I know that you’re doing your best to take care of things. I trust you,” I said while trying not to grit my teeth as realization hit me.
Jett would do anything to protect me, even if that meant being caught with another woman. Well, fuck that! I was over this Jett trying to protect me thing. It was time that I took matters into my own hands because right now, the only thing Jett was able to accomplish was pushing us further and further away from each other. I was done, if we were going to be apart, we were going to at least accomplish something.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Jett. One more night, right?”
“Hopefully,” he responded with not much confidence. And that right there, that was my cue, this was no longer Jett’s problem, this was ours.
“Are you coming over tonight?”
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Good, I will see you then. We can talk about this later.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, Jett. I’m not. I respect the fact that you’re doing the best you can for the both of us.”
We talked for a little bit longer but I hung up the phone once my stomach started rumbling. I left my phone to charge and headed down to the kitchen. I was on a mission.
Diego was making a sandwich when he turned around and saw me.
“Hey, sleepy—”
He didn’t finish his sentence because in one swift movement, his nipple was my prisoner as I held it in a death grip and looked him dead in the eyes.
“What the fu . . .” He tried to pull away but I just gripped tighter and spoke sternly.
“You listen closely, you motherfucker. We’re going to sit down at this table, I’m going to eat that sandwich you just made, and you’re going to tell me every last fucking thing you know about Lot 17 or else I will pinch your nipple off so hard that it will look like a goddamn cherry tomato when I’m done with it.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said as he pulled away.
I grabbed his sandwich, took a big bite, and pointed to the table. His hands found his nipples and put up a protective shield when I made a pinching motion at him. I followed him with my lobster claws until he sat down.
