Page 84 of Felonies are Forever

I cinch my brow, Lois? She’s no Lois.

Then, Tiny adds, “Not Lois, dipshit, Lula. How do I know this shit and you two assholes don’t?”

Because we don’t talk to our father. Life is better that way.

Tiny raises a brow, looking at the stage and adds. “She’s cute too.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I shove a finger into Tiny’s chest, not even shifting him an inch but it’s the only time I’ve touched him. I don’t do touching. No hugs, no handshakes. Not even James. Everyone fucking knows.

Don’t. Touch. Scotch.

I can’t fucking stop staring at her. I’ve never felt this fire-in-my-veins sort of lust. I mean, yes, I have lust. I’ve had lust, I should say. It’s been a while. It’s the only bit of touching I’ve done with anyone since mom died and as far as that sort of fuckery is concerned, it’s been a year, maybe more. And even then, it was a non-event and rare. Fast and dirty. No kissing, no fucking talking. It was some sort of ballast relief but over time, that’s lost its appeal as well.

It’s no secret I could probably have my pick of ninety-percent of the girls that work in the clubs but there’s no pull for me there.

But, this. Jesus, this copper-haired Cupie Doll with the spooky blue eyes is flooring me from across the room. She holds the mic to her lips. There’s an innocence and discomfort in her expression that makes me want to leap up there and sweep her away.

She’s too good for this shithole, too pure, too perfect. And every fucking man in this place, and woman for that matter, is looking at her.

My fingers curl into fists, that ball of anger I carry in my chest pounds and pulses as I try to understand what the fuck is happening to me.

“Hi. I’m Lula.” Her cotton candy sweet voice comes over the speakers. Leroy, tonight’s DJ, leans in for her to whisper in his ear and I want to fucking tear it off. Imagining her sweet breath colliding with any other man’s flesh is almost more than I can take. “This song is called Shallow by one of my idols, Lady Gaga.”

Lula. Her name is a Mike Tyson punch to the side of my head.

There’s a smattering of applause with one excited bride in a skintight white leopard skin unitard fist pumping the air.

My new stepmother.

I’m already moving through the crowd as the first notes of the song start to play.

She’s a good girl. I sense it. Sweet. Probably untouched from the blush on her cheeks and the way she’s holding her legs together. The filthy thoughts that tumble through my head are beyond any porn I’ve ever seen.

She’s different. Fuck, I’m different. She’s changed me in the thirty seconds I’ve been staring at her. I want to make love to her slow and easy then spit on her asshole and tell her to beg me to bury my meat in her ass down to the balls while she’s wearing my belt around her throat.

I can’t stop looking at her lips as she starts to hum to the melody. Her eyelids flutter as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

So fucking sexy. Her plump pink lips match her plump tits and her crazy lush hips. One pout from her and I’d give her the world. Crush any fucker that makes her frown. I’ll take her to heaven then fuck her back into hell.

I’d settle between those thick thighs until she was a sopping wet mess with burn marks on her alabaster skin from my stubble.

She’s your stepsister, douche. Stop.

And young.

Fucking young.

Doesn’t matter. She’s a fucking wrecking ball destroying all the anger and resentment I’ve held on to like a life preserver forever.

At least, for her. I still hate everyone else. Everything else. But, Lula…

Fuck, even her fucking name wrecks me. Guts me. I want to say it over and over like a fucking chant.

I’m already fucking gone when the first words of the song drip from her glossy lips and every wall I’ve built around myself crumbles.

Tell me something, girl

Are you happy in the modern world?

---