Page 7 of Exclusive

“That’s mighty nice of ya, but I can’t drink while I’m working.” I decline the beer, and everything else, being offered by the blonde standing in front of me. And no, I’m not being a presumptuous ass — it’s her third attempt/visit in the last hour.

Why I keep refusing even polite conversation with the sexy, smiling, nice blonde, who doesn’t appear to hate me, or want to drive me insane just for shits and giggles, I’m not sure. Except then I’m more than sure, and more than aware, I’m a glutton for a certain woman’s torture.

“What about after work?” Blondie purrs, sidling in closer.

I should ask her name, number, and suggest lots of things we can do together after I get off work… but I’m not going to. As cute, and non-combative as she is, she also might as well have two fucking heads and a wedding ring on; I couldn’t care less either way.

“After work I’m-” my phone vibrates in my back pocket and I snag it out with one hand, holding up a finger with the other. “Sorry, I’ve gotta take this. Thanks again, though.” I head for the back door, hollering to Roman that I’m taking my break before stepping outside and answering.

“Hey, what’s up?” My silent prayer as to why he’s calling — anything to do with Presley — just further reminds me of why the blonde’s advances meant nothing.

“What’s up? Well, lemme just tell ya. A lot, my friend, a whole helluva lot!” JT yells in my ear. “What extra-special kind of dumbass gets a girl who can barely take care of herself, a fucking puppy?”

My knee-jerk reaction’s a loud, full laugh, but the bulk of his words quickly set in and anger becomes my only emotion. “What the hell do you mean ‘can barely take care of herself?’ You referring to things like what happened at the party, ‘cause that shit would’ve bothered most, isn’t on her anyway, and is fucked up of you to say. Oh, and dead fucking wrong, man.”

“Easy there, killer, not even close to what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” I’m still seething, and will be ‘til he convinces me otherwise.

“I meant,lately. Ever since y’all had your falling out, wellll, let’s just say P hasn’t quite been herself. Hey, hang on a second, Sutton. Ma’am, excuse me,” he speaks to someone else, who he better hope’s much older than him, or she’s not gonna like the ‘ma’am’ part, “which of these are best for puppy pads?”

I hear Ma’am then a giant peal of laughter… and somehow — kinda ashamed that I do, since it’s dumb-as-fuck at its finest — know exactly what’s happening right now. What a jackass. “J,” I yell to get his attention.

“What? Did you not hear me tell ya to hold on?”

“Oh, I heard ya, but you’re gonna want to listen up so I can to save you from further humiliation. Where are you?”

“At the store, thanks to you. Why?”

“No, I mean, where in the store?”

“Dude, I don’t know… an aisle. I got a list a mile long of shit to buy, after I find it, and I’ve yet to cross off one thing. So ya wanna get to the point?”

“First of all, you called me, so kiss my ass. And second, I’m just wondering if you’re actually looking for puppy pads in the lady pads section. You are, aren’t you?” He doesn’t respond, a resounding yes, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, reining in a laugh. “Oh, that’s good stuff, Kendrick. Good, good stuff. Hey, are puppy tampons on the list too? If so, you still wouldn’t be in the right place; dog’s male.”

“I’ve never had a dog before, so how ‘bout you either tell me where to go, or shut the hell up.”

“Okay, I’ll help ya out, but it’s kinda complicated, so listen up. You’re gonna want to head for… the pet section, dumbass.”

“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense,” he grumbles. “The pharmacy’s right here beside me though, shouldn’t I stop there first? I need…” paper, I assume is “his list,” crunches in the background, “stuff for heartworms, butt worms, scurvy, mange, ear mites and parvo. Those sound medicinal, so, pharmacy, right?”

This is why people should stay the fuck off Web M.D.

“Wrong. So very, very wrong. None found in the human pharmacy section, none needed anyway, and did she really write butt worms?”

“No, Sutton, I made it up, adding things to the list for fun. Yes, that’s what she wrote!”

“Jesus Christ, what store are you at?”

“The B and K on Boulevard. Why?”

“Just keep your ass put; I’m on my way. Don’t move, buy anything, or call and talk to Presley. I’ll take care of it. Can’t have y’all killing my dog.”

Malakai and Roman were none too happy that I left work early, yet again, and I’m probably gonna lose my damn job, but shit always goes pretty smoothly at work whether I’m there or not, yet fucking haywire everywhere else in my absence. I mean, seriously, having the puppy OD on parvo vaccines just isn’t okay — couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Besides, I’ve got a nice lil’ nest egg saved up and don’t plan on staying a bouncer once I get my degree, so let the chips fall where they may. I’m taking care of what’s important to me, now, always, and no matter what — the owner of the dog in danger, and the poor mutt too of course.

I scour the entire store in search of JT, coming up empty. No way in Hell I’m walking the whole place again, so, more than done looking for his ass, I yell out, “Marco!”

“Marco? Really? How about some damn decorum?” he hollers back, just as loud, and lacking decorum, coming from… the fucking pharmacy section. What’d I tell him about that?

---