Page 45 of The Maid

“Charlotte, you’re drunk. You’re eighteen. You’re with a bunch of idiots. Don’t change the subject.”

Charlotte turns toward Randy, tears in her eyes. “Take me home.”

Randy pushes out of the booth, but Mr. Edwards blocks his movement with his big bulky body.

Randy puts his hands up. “I didn’t drink. I promise, Mr. Edwards. Not one drop.”

Mr. Edwards assesses the situation, and because of the fact that Charlie, sweet but overly -dramatic Charlie, is moments away from throwing a full-blown tantrum targeted directly at the very attractive woman standing close to her dad, he decides to let her go. “We’ll talk about this when you get home.”

“You got this, Lars?” Randy asks his friend, clearly talking about me, and Lars gives him a thumbsup.

Charlotte huffs and walks away with Randy on her heels. I shrug, and turn to go back to the dart board when I hear a bark.

“Let’s go.”

I look around and then point to myself. “Me?”

“Lily. I don’t have the time or the patience.”

I march toward him. What the hell’s wrong with this man, and why does he hate me so much? And who the hell does he think he is, ordering me around? “Time and patience? For what? For me?”

“You’re drunk. I’m taking you home, little girl.” The “little girl” is whispered so softly that we’re the only ones who hear. It makes my breath catch, but that doesn’t keep me from firing back.

“I already told you, don’t call me that. And, yes, I’ve had a drink, or two, but I’m not drunk.”

We are staring at each other, until he loses patience once and for all and takes my arm and pulls me towards the exit. “Let go of me.”

“Come on, Gina,” he says over his shoulder, and I hear the clack of his date’s heels as she tries to catch up to us.

“I’m not drunk, dammit. You’re not my dad. Let me go.”

His eyes narrow and he says in a low rumble, “I’d bend you over my knee and tan your ass, if I was.” And I don’t know why, but that sends wetness flowing down to my pussy, and I just stare at him in shock as he just pulls me into his truck. “Get in,” he demands. It’s a bench seat, and if I slide in before his date, I’ll be pressed against him—something I do not want. I hesitate for a moment when he picks me up and practically throws me in.

“Oh my God!” I yelp. I was taught to respect adults. My elders. I’ve never—not once—talked back to my parents or any adult that I can remember and cursed at them. But without hesitation I hiss, “Asshole.”

“Be careful, little girl,” he whispers and then backs away and gestures for his date to slide in. Unlike with me, he doesn’t manhandle her. Instead, he gives her his hand and helps her up, gently. Rage surges through my body.

I cross my arms over my chest and try to ignore his massive body pressed against me from thigh to shoulder as he buckles in. “Raincheck?” he says to his date.

“Uh? You’re not going to just drop her off?” she asks as if I’m not sitting in between them.

“Gotta have a talk with my daughter when I get home,” he explains.

“Woman. She’s a grown-ass woman,” I add.

He glares down at me and then returns his eyes to the road. “Neither one of you are acting like grown-ass women.” He then changes his tone when he speaks with his date. “And when I finish with Charlie, I have to go have a talk with her parents.” He gestures toward me with his chin.

“What?” I know my tone is high, but I’m so mad. “My parents? You’re going to tattle-tale on me like I’ve been a naughty kid.”

He ignores my comment and continues to drive.

“So, tomorrow work for you?” the date asks. She is too eager, and I can’t stand her already. I even roll my eyes and make a squinty petulant face.

I don’t know if she sees me doing it since I’m facing forward, but Mr. Edwards certainly does because he nudges me with his thigh, the one against mine, and says, “Very adult, Lily.”

I huff and shut up and continue to stew. Lars had been nice. Cute. Available. It had been a long—long—time since I’d had sex, and I was really looking forward to hooking up with Lars. Now that I’m in college, I don’t want to be the awkward girl with very limited experience. I need to have done it at least two times. At least! My one single encounter was just sad. But now, those plans are blown to shit. My hymen is probably still in the process of growing back right now this very moment.

We arrive at what I assume is the date’s house when he parks his truck “Stay,” he growls at me as he opens the door and slams it shut.

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