Page 4 of Average Joe

“No.” My body tensed. “Alice’s only nephew broke her heart and went to prison for a crime so awful she couldn’t speak about it. That’s what she told me.”

“She exaggerated. He got out. I mean,Igot out,” he said to the floor. “And it was… I was…” His voice broke. After a painful silence, he whispered, “Too fucking late.”

“You’re trying to tell me that you’re Little Joe?” I locked my emotions down tight and rifled through the drawer until my fingers met the sharp metal corner of the frame that I knew resided in the back. I pulled out the photo. “You’re this scrawny, buck-toothed kid?”

“In the flesh,” he grumbled. “Got my teeth fixed. How about that?”

“Where’s your scar?”

He dangled his arms over his knees, tilting his head up to shoot me a glare. “What scar?”

“She told me the story about the cat in the tree. Where’s the scar?”

“Fuck. Seriously?” He slammed his palms on the floor, shoulders bunching tight.

“I’m not leaving this house until I know who you are. Show me, or I’m calling the cops.”

My mention of the police had the opposite effect I’d expected. The beast smiled. “You’re crazy. You know that?”

“You’re stalling.” I backed into the counter and slid my hand into the drawer, feeling for the box cutter I’d used three weeks ago to help Alice open her latest Amazon order. Stupid move, entering the house alone with a stranger.

I stared into the face of danger and watched, trembling, while he curled his legs underneath himself and slowly rose to stand. The man had murder on his mind, judging by the way his muscles flexed and twitched, and the way those blue eyes, once anguished but now dark with fury, held my gaze and rendered me immobile.

I hadn’t noticed the size of his hands, the long fingers, the map of veins under the skin, until he raised those beasts to his belt. Slow and steady, he undid the heavy metal clasp.

Jeans next. Pop, pop, pop went the buttons.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Crazy fuckin’ woman,” he murmured, turning, giving me his back.

The violent knocking in my chest grew painful as he lowered his jeans and boxers to his knees, revealing the ninth wonder of the world. Aside from the scar stretching from hipbone to butt crack on his right cheek, his butt was perfection. Purrr-fection. The longer I stared, the more I realized that the disfigurement only added to his appeal. And Lord have mercy, those thighs were thick and athletic, the perfect size for pinning a willing participant against a wall.

Shit.

He was Little Joe.

Joe the ex-con.

I couldn’t have been more mortified. That was until he turned, arms held wide, pants to his knees, enormous cock swinging in the breeze. “Satisfied?”

My breath hitched. Holy freaking monster dongs, the man was hung.

Not appropriate, considering the news of the day. Had he no shame?

The rays of a thousand suns hit my cheeks. The blade slipped from my trembling, sweaty palm, hitting the floor with a terrible clang, jerking my attention from the Holy Grail of cocks.

“I, um. I gotta go.” I turned, tears flowing, and made a mad dash for the door.

Marley

The last guest, an elderly man who had introduced himself to me earlier as Larry, seconds before commenting on my “plump, fresh titties,” commanded Joe’s attention for over an hour. Adorned in a gray suit, slick loafers, gold rings on his fingers, and a heavy gold cross around his neck, the man reeked of old-school debauchery—a mob boss from a bygone era.

I’d met a handful of Alice’s friends over the years. I’d dined with them, sipped tea in the rose garden, listened to endless stories about long-lost loves, grandchildren, and hip surgeries.

The gentleman—and I use that term loosely—was someone I’d never before met, never heard of, and did not want in Alice’s home. For that reason alone, I had stayed well past my welcome.

I ignored Joe’s sideways glances, the subtle hints that my time was up, and made myself useful by collecting dishes and garbage left behind on the hardwood furniture Alice had kept in pristine condition.

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