Page 8 of King
“Shit, Camille, I feel like an absolute idiot. I don’t know how I’m going to face him or Pop, or anyone in their family ever again.”
“Why, because you know King wants to do unspeakable things to you?”
“Well, that was before he got a good look at me and realized I’m a forty-year-old woman, not one of his young biker babes,” I scoffed.
“Bullshit,” Camille said succinctly. “You’re a hot mama, no matter how old you are. That man would be damned lucky to have you give him a second look.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, but I have a mirror. I know what I look like, and time is definitely catching up with me.”
“That’s just more bullshit. What you have is a fucking idiot of an ex-husband who did a number on your self-esteem. Dr. Douchebag should be horse-whipped for that, among other things.”
I snickered at the nickname she and Kim had bestowed on Clayton during the divorce. I
wasn’t sure which one of them came up with it first, but it had stuck. They were my ride-or-die best friends, and I could always count on them to make me feel better.
When I’d called Camille after walking in on Clayton and his side chick three years ago, she’d immediately offered to come over with duct tape and a shovel, promising to help me come up with a fool-proof plan for offing his cheating ass and getting rid of the body.
My cousin Kim had offered to send me a bottle of Luminol and a black light so Camille and I could check for blood spatter, just in case the police searched the house after his disappearance. Apparently, you can buy Luminol on Amazon. I didn’t ask how Kim knew that. Plausible deniability, and all that.
I had declined their very kind offers to commit murder and mayhem, although I did still daydream about it from time to time. My favorite fantasy involved a rusty knife, Clayton’s balls, and some hungry vultures waiting impatiently to pick his mangy carcass clean after he bled out from my amateur attempt at castration.
“Well, regardless of whatever self-esteem issues I may or may not have, I owe the man an apology at the very least. Maybe I’ll bake him some cookies or something,” I said, more to myself than to Camille.
“Go for it, El. After all, they do say that the fastest way to a man’s dick is through his stomach.”
I laughed out loud at that. “Um, I think the saying involves a man’s heart, not his dick,” I pointed out. Camille brushed aside my correction.
“Eh, close enough. Come on, you’ve got to admit, his dick would be a lot more fun.”
I nodded and grinned because Camille was right. I was absolutely certain King’s dick would be a lot more fun. Probably more fun than I could handle, if I were being honest.
“I think you need to take a walk on the wild side, hon. It’s been a while since you had a good dicking-down.”
“Camille,” I groaned, my humiliation now complete.
“I’m just saying,” she protested innocently. “It’s been way too long since you dated what’s-his-face, the insurance guy.”
“Scott,” I reminded her, thinking of the man I’d dated for a few months last fall. I’d broken it off when it became clear that Scott was developing feelings for me which I knew I would not be able to return. He was a nice man, I cared about him, and the sex had been good, but I hadn’t even been close to falling in love with him and didn’t see it ever happening.
“Yeah, that guy. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up with a vag full of cobwebs. So, get your ass in the shower, shave all the important bits, put on something naughty, and offer the man your cookies already.”
I chuckled as I pictures her waggling her brows comically on the other end of the phone.
“You are ridiculous,” I told her in exasperation.
“I think the word you’re looking for isbrilliant,” she corrected me smugly.
I was still laughing at her antics when I got off the phone a few minutes later. I heaved myself off the bed and headed back downstairs. The next couple of hours were spent helping Hunter and his friends make pizzas, then cleaning up the disaster zone left behind in my kitchen after we finished eating. I waved off their half-hearted offers of help, needing something to keep my mind off King – and his dick.
By the time Mia got home – literally one minute before her ten o’clock curfew – the boys were hunkered down in the basement watching a movie whose entire plot seemed to revolvearound car chases and explosions. I was curled up on the couch in the living room watching one of the true crime shows I loved, still trying to forget the humiliating incident from earlier. The ice cream I’d bought at the store was helping, as was the generous serving of chocolate syrup I’d poured over it.
Mia fixed herself a bowl and watched the end of the show with me, and headed upstairs to her bedroom as soon as it was over. I checked to make sure the boys had enough pillows and blankets for the night, promised to make them French toast in the morning, and went up to bed as well.
I laid awake for longer than I cared to admit, replaying every second of my confrontation with King. I pictured his piercing brown eyes narrowed on me as he tried to get me to put the knife down, and I shivered as I remembered his deep, growly voice calling me sweetheart, after telling me not to apologize for protecting my kid.
I fell asleep with the sound of his voice running through my mind, imagining all of those things he’d said he wanted to do to me that were probably illegal in some states. When my cell phone rang early the next morning, I bolted upright in bed, my heart pounding at the sudden clamor. I grabbed the phone, cussing a blue streak under my breath when I saw my ex-husband’s name on the screen coupled with the fact that it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.
“Clayton,” I took a deep breath and greeted him, making a concerted effort to keep my tone civil.
