Page 90 of Dizzy

Eventually, he eases up an inch and cradles my cheek.

“I’ll talk to her. She ain’t gonna say shit to you again. Okay?”

It’s not about Sharon. She’s a piece of work, but she’s not anywhere near the meanest bitch I’ve ever dealt with. She should meet Stephanie, my old manager at the Gas-and-Go.

But I don’t know how to explain the feelings crashing into each other inside me like possessed bumper cars of emotion.

The grief I’d been holding off while I worried about food and the cold, it’s broken through and hit me in a wave. My family’s messed up, but I always thought that push-come-to-shove, they loved me. They just don’t know how to show it.

That wasn’t the case.

My family might care, but the feeling is shallow as shit. And it hurts, knowing you’re not worth looking for.

And here’s this man, offering me everything, and how do I trust him? I can’t.

But I want to—so, sobad.

I have sympathy for my sisters that I never had before. It’s not weakness to believe in a man. It’s surrender. You can only stay out in the cold so long before warmth is irresistible.

I don’t know if Dizzy’s serious, or if I’m one more in a line of half-naked chicks buying into his bullshit ‘cause she’s too damn tired. I’m rollin’ the dice, and it doesn’t feel like a safe bet, not at all. Not because Dizzy seems to me like a liar, but because I know how the world works.

But he’s right here. Patient and quiet. Waiting for me to make the next move. And I’m not made of stone.

I nestle closer to him and nuzzle my nose in the crook of his neck. I inhale, soap and gasoline and his off-brand shampoo.

I can feel the tension leave his body.

“You want to go out to dinner, baby? We can go to Broyce’s. Get steaks.”

“Okay.”

First, he carries me into the bedroom and makes love to me, tender and sweet, his eyes dark and unreadable. He whispers in my ear.

Beautiful.

That’s it, baby.

Open for me.

I’ve got you.

It’s okay.

He knows this thing we have is fragile and balanced precariously, and it won’t take much to knock it over and send it crashing to the ground.

But not tonight.

And if I’m lucky, not tomorrow, either.

* * *

The next fewdays are peaceful. Nice, even though the house is dead quiet without the boys. Dizzy spends most of the days in the forbidden garage, working on his secret project, bopping over to the house every few hours to check on me.

The only thing he asks me to do is put together a grocery order for pick up. I can’t believe that’s a thing. You go on the internet, pick what you want, someone packs it up for you, and you go get it. Bernice at the Compare-n-Shop won’t even hit her light if a price tag is missing. You can go back and get another one your with a sticker on it your damn self.

Even though Dizzy doesn’t ask, I scrub down the kitchen. Then I get bored, and I clean the bathroom. AfterIn the Arms of Love, I’m at loose ends, so I start organizing the lower level. When the boys come back over, I’m gonna take Carson up on that five bucks he said I could hold. I’ve earned it.

At night—and at lunch and on his breaks from work—Dizzy and I fuck. Dirty, sweet, kinky, fast, slow. And then he hauls my exhausted body onto his chest, and he turns on wrestling or racing. He strokes my hair or rubs my back, and if I’m inclined to talk, he listens.

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