Seriously, why can’t I catch a break?
“Here, knock yourself out,” PJ tells her, interrupting my thoughts and handing her two twenty-dollar bills.
She tells him thank you and then shocks the hell out of me by kissing my cheek and saying she loves me in front of other human beings, before stepping back and pointing at PJ with a serious look on her face.
“Don’t hurt her, or I will murder you in your sleep,” she tells him menacingly, before her face breaks out into a wide smile. “Have fun, kids!”
With that, she races out of the store in a blur of black, her long blond hair flying out behind her. When she’s out of sight, I turn to look at PJ, not even bothering to hide the annoyance on my face.
“Listen, you can’t just buy me a whole new wardrobe and then hand my daughter money. That’s not how this works. I might not be able to afford it right now, but I am not going to—”
He cuts me off by placing one of his fingers over my lips, and I suddenly have the urge to lick it, even though I’m pissed at him.
“I already told you, I’m making a list of all the ways you can pay me back. As for Anastasia, I gave her that money for purely selfish reasons. She’s a teenager, and frankly, she scares me. Jesus Christ . . . how do you even sleep at night?” he asks with a shudder. “Don’t judge me because I’m trying to buy her off in the hopes that she won’t kill me.”
With a sigh, I shake my head at him, knowing he won this round. If I had the money, I would have given it to her as well, just so she’d continue liking me. Raising a teenager is rough.
PJ grabs the bags from the counter and then grabs my hand, pulling me out of the store. I like the feel of his big, warm hand wrapped around mine. It feels normal walking through the mall like this with him, and that scares the hell out of me.
I barely know him. I’m just starting to get my life back on track after one man screwed it all up, and I don’t need all the confusion and distractions that is PJ Charming, aka Puck Jazzy.
“Cynthia? What on earth are you wearing?”
My good mood is immediately forgotten when a voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard has me coming to a stop and my head whipping away from staring at PJ’s handsome profile.
There, wearing a horrified expression on her face that probably matches my own, is Claudia, Brian’s mother. She’s just emerged from Ann Taylor and her arms are loaded with shopping bags as she looks me over from head to toe before shifting her judgy gaze to PJ.
“Who are you, and why are you holding my son’s wife’s hand in public?”
Old habits die hard, and as soon as she says these words, I try to yank my hand out of PJ’s hold, but he’s not having any of that. He squeezes my hand tighter and pulls me closer to his side. I let the warmth from his body chill my frozen heart as I stand staring at the woman whom I looked up to for almost half my life. The woman who never treated me like I didn’t belong in her family, even from the first day Brian brought me home to meet her, when I still looked like I was fresh from the trailer park. The way she’s looking at me right now with a mixture of disgust and embarrassment makes me realize she never really accepted me. She spent every waking moment from the day we met trying to turn me into something I wasn’t. Trying to turn me into her. A snobby trophy wife who turns a blind eye to her husband’s philandering ways, catering to his every whim while losing pieces of herself along the way, until there was nothing left but a pretty, perfect shell of a person.
The anger and loathing I feel toward her is raging inside of me. I want to lash out at her, scream in her face, and cause a huge scene in the middle of the mall in front of her favorite store. But I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she’s hurt me in the months since Brian left.
“This is my friend PJ, not that it’s any of your business. And I believe you meant to say your son’s ex-wife, you know, since he served me with divorce papers before he fled the country with our babysitter and every penny we had,” I tell her quietly and calmly.
PJ gives my hand another squeeze, and as much as I want to be embarrassed that he has to witness this confrontation right now, his strength is the only thing stopping me from collapsing on the floor in a mess of tears and obscenities.
Claudia makes a tsking sound and dismisses my reply with a wave of her hand.
“It’s a simple midlife crisis. All men go through things like this, and as the supportive and loving wives we are, we just have to give them time to get it out of their system. I’m sure my son wouldn’t leave you with nothing, Cynthia. There’s no need to be so dramatic.”
My face heats with embarrassment, but not for myself. For her. That she could be so clueless and blind and . . . pathetic. This would have been my future. If I hadn’t met Ariel and Isabelle and even PJ, this would have been me in twenty years. For the first time since he left, I want to thank Brian for what he did. Not for the way he did it, because that was just plain bullshit, but his leaving was obviously the best thing that ever happened to me.
“Clearly Brian didn’t leave you with nothing,” Claudia sneers, glancing down at my own shopping bags, which are overflowing with clothes and hanging off of my arm—I refused to let PJ carry them even though he put up a good fight. “Or is that our money you’ve been spending all day today without giving it a second thought?”
I open my mouth to let loose a whole shit ton of cursing, not wanting to stoop to her level be damned, but PJ saves me from possibly getting kicked out of the mall, considering we’re standing right by the children’s play area. I don’t think the mothers sitting around watching their little ones frolic would appreciate me teaching their kids fun new words like dick hole, twat face, and Bitchy McBitcherson.
“Actually, it’s my money she’s been spending, because a woman as smart, beautiful, and amazing as Cynthia deserves to be spoiled every single day of her life,” PJ tells her with a smile on his face that doesn’t match the anger I can literally feel coursing through his body as he squeezes my hand tighter. A slight tremor shakes the arm that is brushing up against the side of me. “And if you’d like to further discuss this horseshit claim of Cynthia having any knowledge of where your money went, please feel free to contact the law offices of Clarkson, Bradford, and Schumer, personal friends of mine who represent her now.”
Claudia’s face visibly pales at PJ’s mention of those lawyers, and I don’t blame her. They are widely known in this town as sharks who will chew you up and spit you out, drag you and everyone you know and love through the mud, and do it all with smiles on their faces. In thirty years, they have never lost a case. Not one. They play dirty, and if you have the money to spend, you absolutely want them on your side.
I do not have the money to spend, and I’m sure PJ is bluffing, but I don’t care even a little bit. Seeing Claudia at a loss for words is so satisfying, I want to point and laugh at her discomfort.
PJ gives my hand a gentle tug and moves to walk around Claudia, leaving her standing in front of Ann Taylor with her mouth dropped open. I really wish I could leave it at that and just walk away with my head held high, but that’s not possible.
I pause when we’re a few feet away and look back over my shoulder.
“By the way, your granddaughter, who you haven’t seen or spoken to in over six months, is doing wonderfully. Thank you so much for asking about her well-being,” I speak in a soft, sickeningly sweet voice. “You might want to close your mouth, dear. It’s very unladylike.”
PJ chuckles under his breath as I give Claudia one last smile before I turn away from her and we continue walking through the mall.
“Forget about what I said about Anastasia. You’re the one who scares me. Now I know where she gets it from.”
“Thank you. For what you said back there. You have no idea how much—”
“Stop,” he interrupts. “You don’t have to thank me. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. You are amazing, and you do deserve to have someone spoil yo
u for a change. So, no more arguing if I decide to spoil you, got it?”
“Only if you tell me what PJ stands for,” I reply.
“I told you, PJ stands for PJ,” he tells me with a heart-stopping smile as we walk into the food court and look for an available table.
Raising a teenager is rough, but getting through this boot camp with my heart still intact is going to be rougher.
“Whatever you say, Pablo Jessabelle.”
Chapter 19: The Naughty Princess Club
“Don’t even think of touching those margaritas.” Ariel smacks Belle’s hand as she reaches for the pitcher sitting on a tray on the floor of my sitting room. “You are a horrible drunk. No tequila for you ever again.”
I called a meeting tonight so we could finally narrow down a name for our business. We’d been arguing about it via phone calls and texts for the last few days so I figured sitting down face-to-face where we could talk things out would be better. I should have known as soon as I opened the door to find Ariel standing there with two bottles of tequila and margarita mix that things would go downhill quickly and we’d never get any work done.
“I wasn’t that bad. And it was my first time imbibing an alcoholic beverage. I think I did quite well,” Belle replies with a shrug as we all remember the ride home from Charming’s the night I gave PJ a lap dance.
“Our poor Uber driver had to pull over six times so you could throw up on the side of the road. I’ve never seen so much vomit come out of such a small person before,” Ariel complains, refilling my glass even though I shake my head and try to cover my glass with my hand.
“Studies show that having a mere three ounces of alcohol reduces fat-burning by a third. You’re probably right. I shouldn’t drink,” Belle says with a sigh as she eyes the pitcher with longing.
“Oh, shut the hell up. You weigh like, thirty pounds. My tits weigh more than you,” Ariel complains. “Speaking of tits, Cindy, you are a kinky, kinky motherfucker.”
She laughs as I snatch the red-and-black bustier out of her hand and shove it back into the box she’s been pawing through since she noticed it in the corner of the room with a few other boxes of clothes and shoes we didn’t get around to burning. I was planning to sell it all on eBay.
“Will you stop touching my lingerie? It’s weird,” I complain as she grabs a bright purple lace thong and starts twirling it around her finger.
“It’s only weird if you’ve worn this stuff before and your lady juice is on it. This shit all still has the tags on them. How in the hell do you have a giant box of lingerie, really expensive lingerie, just sitting in the back of your closet collecting dust?” Ariel asks as I yank the thong off her finger, toss it into the box, and push it out of her reach.
“Did you forget about the part where I haven’t had sex in three years and all the shit I did to get my husband to have sex with me during that time? That shit included a lot of late-night online lingerie shopping. It seems like a waste to have this stuff just sitting around when I can probably get good money for it. Can we please get back to the reason why we’re here tonight and try to pick a name for this business?”
Ariel looks at me like I’ve gone insane, and I ignore her, chugging the entire margarita she poured me before grabbing the notebook and pen sitting on the carpet next to me.
“Um, hello? Gorgeous, sexy man who is hot for you, won’t stop flirting with you, bought you a whole closet full of new clothes, makes you practically have an orgasm in the middle of Forever 21, and knows how to suck up to a teenage girl. I’m pretty sure none of that shit will go to waste, and I refuse to let you sell it.”
Ariel looks at me pointedly, and I busy myself by doodling on the notebook in my lap.
“He’s not hot for me. He’s just . . . being nice,” I reply lamely, knowing damn well there’s nothing nice about the things PJ says and does to me.
I might not have a lot of experience with the opposite sex, but I’m pretty sure no man would be this persistent or work so hard unless he wanted something out of it. And herein lies the problem—I don’t know what the hell he wants. Does he want to see what it’s like to fool around with a reformed, prudish housewife and then toss me to the side once his curiosity is sated? Does he want to run off into the sunset with me and make babies? Do I just want to have sex with him and then kick him to the curb? Why am I even worrying about all of this when I need to be concerned with paying my bills and starting this business?
I blame the tequila. There’s too much tequila in this tequila and it’s making me crazy.
“Why haven’t you sent me any pictures of you wearing your new clothes? Particularly the peach wrap dress that looks incredibly easy to untie.”
Blinking rapidly to clear my thoughts, I see Ariel holding my phone and quickly crawl over to her and try to grab it out of her hand before she reads any more of the texts PJ has sent me since our trip to the mall. But she evades my reaching and holds the phone above her head with the screen facing down as she continues to scroll through his messages.
“The dude even put a winky face after that text. Winky face equals I want to bang the shit out of you.”
Ariel starts thrusting her hips off the carpet to send her point home.
“It does not. Stop reading my texts and give me my phone,” I complain, smacking at her arm when she presses the heel of her hand against my forehead to keep me away.
“The classic winky emoji is used to imply humor in written form, or may alternatively be used suggestively, as a form of flirtation,” Belle pipes up.
“See? He wants to sex you up. Let him sex you up, Cindy. Let me live vicariously through you. I am one solicited dick pic away from becoming a lesbian.”
I give up trying to get my phone from Ariel and flop back on my butt across from her.
“Don’t you mean unsolicited dick pic?”
“Uh, no. I solicit all of them. I need to see the merchandise before I take it out for a test drive. And let me just say, pickings are slim in these parts. It’s depressing. And you’re making my sexual depression worse when you have a ready and willing man right in front of you, and you don’t know what to do with him.”
Ariel lets out an exasperated huff as I pour myself another margarita, drink half of it and then top it off again.
“I know what to do with him, maybe I just don’t want to do it with him—ever think about that, huh? Did you? Noooooo, of course not. Sure, he’s got dimples I want to lick and facial hair I want to feel scratching all over my body and his voice makes my spine tingle and his hands are all big and soft and warm and he smells so good I just want to sniff him, and every time he talks all I can do is stare at his lips and remember what it felt like to have his tongue in my mouth but . . .”
I trail off, trying to come up with a but and draw a blank.
Stupid tequila.
“Jesus Christ . . . please tell me you didn’t tell him you want to sniff him. You suck at flirting. You’re never getting laid at this rate.”
“I do not suck at flirting. I’ll have you know I did an amazing job flirting with him at the mall all by myself, thank you very much,” I tell her, thinking about the way my voice got all breathy when he pulled me close in Forever 21 and told me I could pay him back in other ways.
I get lost in my memories of that moment until I feel cold liquid dribble down my chin and realize I was holding my glass by my mouth and started pouring it, thoughts of PJ’s smell and the heat from his body distracting me.
“If he didn’t drag you into the closest dressing room and make you see God, you sucked at flirting.” Ariel points her finger at me as I swipe at my chin with the back of my hand. “Men are dumb. You need to speak in slow, short sentences and be direct. Don’t beat around the bush or he’ll never beat inside your bush.”
She snorts at her own joke, and I roll my eyes at her, quickly realizing I shouldn’t do that when the room starts to spin and my body begins to sway.
“I don’t even know what PJ stands for. I
can’t have sex with a guy when I don’t know what his name is.”
It’s the dumbest excuse in the world, but it’s all I’ve got right now.
“Who gives a shit if PJ stands for Pussy Jiggler? You’re not marrying the guy; you’re just using him to clear the cobwebs out of your vagina. Think of it as part of this boot camp he’s putting you through. First step is getting new clothes; second step is riding his dick all night long. After that, you’ll have the confidence to conquer the world,” she says with a smile.
“I think you skipped a few steps. I can’t just jump into bed with the guy. Do you realize I have only had sex with one man my entire life? One man. Forever. One man with a mediocre penis who gave me mediocre sex.”
I sniffle sadly as the alcohol starts to make me feel sorry for myself.
“Exactly. Which means there’s nowhere to go but up,” Ariel states, crawling over to my box of lingerie and pulling out a few pieces.
She lays out the red-and-black bustier and matching black garter belt, the purple lace thong with matching bra, and a completely see-through, pale-pink baby doll nightie on the carpet, holding my phone high above the items and snapping a picture.
I continue drinking more of my margarita as she taps a few buttons before handing the phone over to me. Looking down, I see she’s attached the photo to a message to PJ.
“Alright, now it’s your turn. I’m pulling you out of your comfort zone. Channel that inner bad girl, Cindy. Say something flirty and hit send,” she orders.
Looking over at Belle, I see her giving me an encouraging smile and a nod and realize I’m being ridiculous. I need to stop overanalyzing things and just live a little. That’s the whole point of opening up our business and figuring out who I am anyway. I need to have a little fun, and I really need to know what it’s like to have great sex before I can even think about taking my clothes off and attempting to be sexy for money. Going by the things PJ does to my body when he’s fully clothed, I can only imagine what he could do to me naked.