“I know you don’t want to piss Max off.”
“Max?”
“Yeah. If you upset Becca, she’s bound to run to her brother to whine about it. She can be petty like that, you know?”
I cross my arms to block her from trying to rub herself against my chest. It doesn’t need to be violated like that.
“So I’m going to be understanding here.” She says it like she’s doing me a huge favor. “We can meet privately to do our thing.”
“Privately.”
“Yeah. Like we’re meeting privately right now.” She tries to gaze at me through her lashes, but it makes her look like she has some kind of eye condition.
“You mean on a driveway where houses over there”—I point to my right—“and over there”—I gesture to my left—“can see what we’re doing?”
She shrugs. “They won’t say anything.”
This girl’s an idiot. I find it hard to believe she’s a waitress because that’s a difficult job. This one can’t possibly be capable of keeping track of more than one order at a time.
“Of course they’ll say something! They’ll sell me out to the tabloids. Worse yet, post all sorts of shit on social media.”
“Well, yeah. I can see that. So why don’t we go someplace more private, then? I live alone.”
She just doesn’t get it, does she? I give her a hard stare. “You really aren’t my type.”
“What do you mean? I know your type. You like ’em with the high-beam headlights and the long hair.”
“I also like ’em with some common sense. And your legs are too stubby.”
Her eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“Just what I said. I like women with long legs. And Becca has long, long legs.”
Sylvie makes a sound of frustration. “My legs are toned and just as long as hers! I’m two inches taller than her, you know!”
“I disagree. And so does this cow from your grandmother!” I shove the cow of judgment in Sylvie’s face.
She jumps back, hands up in the air, like she’s scared shitless. But then, who wouldn’t be? It’s a grotesque bovine.
She recovers fast. “You don’t know anything! She’s just an insecure, jealous little girl inside. Not to mention snotty, mean, rude and tries to flirt with other guys while she’s with you! Men don’t cheat on her—she cheats on them!”
“Wow. Projecting much?”
“You’ll get tired of her and wonder why you wasted so much of your life!”
“Doubt that, since I’m in love with my wife.” Definitely in love with her body. “So back the fuck off before I make a scene in front of everyone in town.”
“You wouldn’t dare! You’re a celebrity and you don’t want to look bad.”
I have to laugh. “Honey, I’m a rock star, not an actor in a Disney show. My whole image is bad. And you’re the one who seems like she’s never going to get out of this place.”
Then I march straight into the house and slam the door. And to make my displeasure known, I lock it hard, so it clicks loudly.
No wonder Max texted and then called to check up on me. And now I’m extra annoyed that Max didn’t credit me with better sense—and taste. That woman is horrible! I’ve never slept with somebody that awful in my life!
I start to rake my hair, then stop when I realize I’m still clutching the damned cow in my hand. Shit. I didn’t want it inside the house, but I don’t want to toss it out the window either.
There’s only one thing left to do. Bury it in the yard. After all, that’s what creepy things deserve.