Making sure I’m not late, I zip down the coast and rumble over the train tracks. I feel an odd sensation as Little Mormon begins to rise in my jeans. Hm, the slightest thought of my Lovergirl does this to me?
As I park and approach the E Street Cafe, I “adjust” myself and hope the lump in my pants isn’t noticeable. A text beeps in.
Bea Plastique: How’s your head?
Mormon Silver: Still throbbing.
Bea Plastique: LOL! Oh, I bet.
Mormon Silver: And that’s funny why?
Bea Plastique: No particular reason. Would you like Nurse Lovergirl to take a look?
Mormon Silver: Huh?
Bea Plastique: … at the swelling? Tee, hee.
Holy shit, she can see me.
Mormon Silver: Where are you? Thought you said you had to go to the Ranch office today.
Bea Plastique: That’s where I am.
Mormon Silver: Then, how can you see my swelling?
I adjust my package again. A woman sitting inside the window has noticed. She wrinkles her nose. The door opens as I send the last text; it’s Grandma.
“Well, it’s about time. Let’s go. I only have an hour.”
“Kazuko is keeping an eye on the shop,” Grandma explains as she leads me to her table. “Why are you limping? Did you hurt yourself, you clumsy oaf?”
Oh, shit. How can I spin this?
“Um, yes, I stubbed my toe on the bedpost this morning. How nice of you to care.”
“I didn’t say I cared, did I?”
When we arrive at her table, a tall, handsome man stands to greet me. He’s wearing a gray suit and a smirk.
“Mormon, this is Chris.”
Seriously? Not THE Chris!
I shake his hand and size him up. He has a good six inches, twenty years, and forty pounds of muscle on me.
“Let me guess: You’re the woman-beating douche who sent me flowers.”
“I sent flowers to my fiance, Bea, actually.”
“What’s he doing here?” I ask Grandma.
“Look, Mormon,” she toys, “we all know you’re a temporary distraction for my granddaughter. She’s having a tough time dealing with her fiance being out of town so much, …”
“… and, now that I’m back in town,” Chris adds, “I need you to go away so we can resume our wedding plans.”
“Right. Why would I do that?”
“Well, I suppose I could give you a few thousand reasons,” he offers as he pulls a checkbook and pen from his vest pocket.
He presses his slimy lips into a thin line, “Mr. Silver, you should be thankful I’m offering anything as you’re frankly not even worth hundreds to me.”
“I see. Just so we’re clear, Bea isn’t worth hundreds, thousands, or millions to me–she’s priceless. She’s also a free woman who prefers to be treated like a lady, not a racehorse.”
I try to stay calm, but I can feel my face flush. He definitely can beat my ass, so I’m not going there. Oddly, through all this, I now have a raging hard-on, which Grandma discovers. She shows disdain toward me as usual.
“Dear Lord, Mr. Silver. Can’t you control yourself?” Grandma quips.
Great fucking timing!
I ignore her and continue. “So, Chris, put away your checkbook, stop sending flowers, and crawl back into whatever leather-walled dungeon you crawled from. You had your shot and you blew it. Bea is marrying me.”
I turn to leave.
“This isn’t over, Silver. She’ll be mine again soon. You don’t know what Bea needs; I do. She’s out of your league, Silver!”
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