Page 107 of Other Woman Drama


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Jesus Christ.

How did I always attract these crazy women?

Reign—Copper’s once friend—truly psychotic to the point where she nearly killed Copper and his ol’ lady, Baker. Not that we’d been dating or anything, but I’d felt awful about her situation and had fallen for her poor, pitiful me act hook, line, and sinker.

Then there was Lauralee, the woman that I’d gone on a date with a whole two times before she’d picked out a wedding venue, how many kids we’d have, and the backyard dog breed that she would get from her favorite puppy mill. Though, just sayin’, that was one of the things that turned me off of her on the second date was her lack of knowledge and understanding of why the dogs sold at Walmart in the parking lot were such a bad thing.

It wasn’t that I was a crazy animal lover. I wasn’t. I liked dogs and all, but dogs had never been my favorite thing in the world—or cats for that matter. But I fuckin’ hated the fact that some of the people in this world didn’t know that backyard dog breeders, even ones that were purebred, were slowly adding to the already out-of-control pet population.

When I’d pointed out to her that not only was I not interested in marrying her ever, and I thought she should do a little research on where her Pomshit mixed breed dog came from, she’d lost her ever-loving mind.

That was how our hate-hate relationship had been born, and it hadn’t gotten better in years.

My first and worst crazy person had been Elizabeth, and let’s just say, no one could top my ex-wife. No one.

“We weren’t engaged to be anything,” I muttered as I popped the last bolt back into place and tightened it with the socket wrench. “We went out on two dates. I realized rather quickly that she was seeing more than I was and broke it off.”

I didn’t give him the full story.

There was no reason to.

Breaking open that can of worms always seemed to bite me in the ass because she always found out.

“Well, good riddance,” the customer said. “I’m gonna go inside…”

“Actually, I’m done. Would you mind taking this sheet into the receptionist, and then she can get you all checked out?” I offered it to him.

“Thanks for getting this done, man. I was really in a bind.”

I jerked my chin up, and he left, leaving me with the guys.

“I’m thinking I might need to make him a cake when he gets back,” Cakes said. “That way Copper can stop bitching that he hasn’t had a cake yet.”

Copper leveled a look at Cakes.

Copper had been on the inside for fifteen years after he’d beat the shit out of his dad for hurting his sister in a way that was unthinkable. He spent fifteen years being patched in while he was behind bars, away from everything that he knew and loved.

One of those things that he’d never gotten to experience was one of the reasons Cakes got his name in the first place—his absolute-perfection baked goods.

Cakes hadn’t yet gotten around to baking another cake for Copper. Not because he didn’t want to, but because Cakes was being spread thin with his work and volunteering.

Poor Copper had yet to taste one of those cakes, even though his own wedding cake had been made by Cakes himself.

Unfortunately for Copper, the piece that had been saved for the couple had been taken by one of the club kids, and they hadn’t had the heart to take it back. By the time that they’d gone for a second piece, everything but the piece that they were supposed to save for their one-year wedding anniversary was left.

Copper had begged Cakes to make another one, but it hadn’t happened yet.

Cakes worked with veterans of all shapes and sizes, handicaps and abilities, to find them a better way of life. Some he helped get off the streets. Others he helped find a job. Some he even helped find a better path in life, such as his quest to get vets the schooling that they wanted to further their careers.

Cakes barely had time for his head to hit the pillow, let alone put a cake together.

Copper was still salty about it, and you could tell by the look on his face.

The customer from earlier came out of the office, and my mom followed him, smiling and laughing with him.

When he got up to where we were all standing, we finally got let in on the joke.

“…these boys could out-eat the entire world if you let them. They may all seem fit and trim, but they’ll eat and drink you under the table. You’d have no chance keeping up with them,” my mom said. “Just last week I went and picked up eighteen pizzas for ten men. Want to know how many slices were left after my having two? One. One single slice.”