Page 32 of Hello, Listener
A week of driving past her house like a fucking stalker, just to make sure she is home and safe.
A fucking week since the murder of that creep with the neck tattoos.
I knew who he was as soon as they showed his face on the news. I remember seeing him in the bar, always doing his best to win over Thalia.My Thalia.Oh, fuck. What am I saying?
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I brought her back to my house, and it fucking scares me. The memory of that night plays over and over again in my head. The way her mini skirt hugged her ass, sitting between her perfect thighs, was enough to send me over the edge. Her smooth skin under my fingertips and the way she sounded when she came on my dick are all I think about. I miss her.Fuck, I miss her.
I told myself I wouldn’t do this shit after my divorce. I’m not going to let some broad consume my thoughts again. I told myselfmy ex was the last person I would ever let put me through that shit again. I can’t fucking do this. My knee bounces in agitation as I sit in this tiny cafe just outside the city. My hands clutch the black case on my phone as I wait here in these fucking uncomfortable wooden seats for Alan to arrive.
He isn’t late. He is always on time; I’m just early. I needed to do something other than sit in my house and spiral into the thoughts consuming my mind. What am I thinking about, you ask? Long fucking red hair barely covering the best pair of tits I have ever seen. I will distract myself anyway I can to keep from calling Thalia or jacking off in my shower for the hundredth time.Oh, good, the bastard shows up. He’s just in time for me to try to come up with another topic in my head.
Alan climbs out of his silver Lexus. His long black coat, pristine as ever, moves just out of the way of the door when he shuts it. I think he would go fucking nuts if it weren’t smoothed out perfectly. He gets out of his car like he thinks he’s a male model or some shit. His face is smug as it always is when he looks towards the front of the building and casually nods at the sight of me sitting in the window. Like a fucking gentleman, I nod back.
“What’s up, asshole?” Alan asks, pulling out the wooden chair in front of me.
“What do you mean, ‘What’s up?’ You asked to meet me out here, you fuck.” I look up from behind my phone.
“Yeah, dick. We’re here to talk about the newest episode.” He laughs.
“I know. You sure you want to talk about what happened last week?” At this point, I am still not exactly sold on the idea.
“Absolutely. It’s still fresh in people’s minds. It’s the case people want answers to.” He stares at me with his eyes behind his glasses. His frames sit in the middle of the bridge of his nose.
“You don’t think we’ll have any kind of backlash from this? I meant what I said the other night. If I lose any business because of this shit…”
“Lee, we won’t get backlash from doing an episode on what everyone is already talking about,” he confidently informs me, using air quotes around the word backlash. “I doubt you’ll lose any business,” he adds.
Looking down at the menu, he continues, “Now, let’s not worry about the people who’ll bitch about the idea, and think about the listeners who willloveit.” His eyes scan the options and pick an Americano, his usual choice.
“You know what you want?” He asks, setting down the one-page menu on the small wooden table between us.
“Yeah, black coffee,” I answer, not even looking down at the menu.
“Black coffee? That’s it?” He raises his eyebrows at the question.
“Yeah.”
“You can just make black coffee at home.”
“Fucker, I don’t know what the hell all of this other shit is. Black coffee is what I’m comfortable with.”
“Alright, order the fucking black coffee.”
“Okay, just let me have my fucking black coffee in peace.”
“Hey, I’m not stopping you.” He smiles and crosses his arms around his chest.
“Areyou guys ready to order?” A pretty little brunette comes up to our table and takes our order. Her bright red lips turn up in a fake smile while she waits. She looks at Alan first.
“An Americano, please.” He hands her his menu and flashes her his winning smile. I swear she fucking melts right there.Arrogant prick.
“And for you, sir?” She looks at me.
“Coffee. Black.” I hand her my menu. “Thanks, Sweetheart.” I notice her cheeks flush. Her lips turn into a soft grin as she turns towards the bar.
“Sweetheart?” Alan asks. His eyebrow raises again at the question.
“Yeah. It’s a term of endearment. Broads like that kind of thing.”
