How long do youhave?
“I justdon’t.”
I look away, suddenly engrossed with the cracks in the floor. After what seems like an eternity, Frankie clears his throat and taps the screen of my phone, still in myhand.
“Call this driver ofyours.”
* * *
“Okay, what gives? Are you gay?”
An hour later, I’m standing in the middle of my princess vomit bedroom looking like I’m ready for the catwalk. Frankie has me dressed in a lacy, wine-colored strapless dress with a neckline that plunges so low, I have to triple the normal amount of body tape to avoid a wardrobemalfunction.
Frankie lets out a whooping laugh and holds his stomach, almost doubled over with laughter. “Hell no, I’m not gay,” he manages to get out. “Woman, I’ve ruined so many of your centerfolds…” Holding out his fist, he mimics jerking off, and I hold up bothhands.
“Okay, fine, I get it.” I turn away to slide on my other stiletto when I hear him curse under hisbreath.
“I grew up around a lot of foster sisters and learned some shit. But if you tell anybody that, I’ll kill you. You feelme?”
“Dulynoted.”
There’s a comfortable silence between us until he motions to the two coveredmirrors.
“What’s with the trashbags?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m honestly shocked he’s waited this long to ask. Most people would’ve blurted that shit out the minute they stepped foot in my room and saw them mummified like some museum exhibit. For that alone, I suppose he deserves a straightanswer.
Unfortunately, he’s not going to getit.
“I told you. I don’t likemirrors.”
“That’s a little weird for a model, isn’tit?”
I motion to my outfit and impromptu makeover. “We all have our quirks. You feelme?”
His response is a simple nod. “I feelyou.”
Pushing his fingers into the small of my back, he urges me forward. “Now move your ass so we can get to The Light House and show that bitch what’s what. Now are you with me, or are you withme?”
I have no idea if it’s the way he talks to me, or the overwhelming urge to make him proud, but I find myself nodding like a bobble head as he maneuvers me through my bedroomdoor.
“I’m with you,” I assure him, ready to conquer theworld.
Right up until those three little words from my earlier conversation with Taryn detonate in my brain, causing me to come to a complete stop. “Wait, did you say The LightHouse?”
Frankie just grins and closes my bedroom door behindhim.
Eleven
Cary
In that movie,Groundhog Day, Bill Murray just repeats the same damn day over and over. I feel his pain. Same bullshit, same day. Kind of like every moment spent withTaryn.
Sitting across from her at The Light House, I roll my eyes and run my palm across my unshaven chin. Even though the DJ has occasionally played some songs that don’t suck a complete dick, a little Rob Zombie doesn’t make up for the constant bullshit I have to hear from her aboutShiloh.
What the hell is it about me that makes me gravitate toward crazy women? Do I have a mutation in my DNA? My parents are fairly normal. I don’t have any distant relatives with obsessive death wishes. So why do I continually jump from destructive to vindictive, back totoxic?
Maybe I’m the one who needsrehab.
