Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One
Page 20
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Unable to help myself, I snuck another peek toward the back deck to check on my new shoes for the hundredth time, and for a second my heart stopped beating. One was missing. I was about to bolt to the neighbors house to call 911, or the fire department, or poison control, or the president himself, when a shadow fell over me. I shrieked and tried to jump away, but he grabbed me by the arm and held me down. I fell sideways across the intruders lap, all the while Mirna remained in her meditative pose.
The intruder laughed. And I glanced up to find Preppy holding the missing heel over my head.
“Nice shoes, wanna fuck?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PREPPY
What in the fuck was she wearing? Her dress was hugging her tiny waist and pushing out her tits, and suddenly it was as if I’d gone deaf because all I could hear was the blood rushing to my cock. Everything in me was shouting at me to bend this girl over and fuck her until we both fucking DIED. I didn’t care that Mirna was sitting right there. I didn’t care if the Pope and the Dalai Lama were watching on the sidelines with Jesus himself. All I wanted was to see that glossy red lipstick smeared all over my motherfucking cock.
Rein it in shit-head. I scolded myself, you have more important things to be focusing on, other than her tits.
But those tits…
It looked like Mirna had roped in another one. I was glad too because as much as I liked her, when she’d insisted on teaching me to meditate I mostly played a recap of American Ninja Warrior in my head until she told me we were done. Her current pupil had been shocked and amazed by how good I fucking looked and had fainted across my lap, unable to get a grip on her swoon.
OR, I’d scared the shit out of her and she fell onto me.
It was definitely one of those two things.
Regardless of how it happened, what stood out most to me was where her hand had landed when she tried bracing her fall. I’m not gonna lie, it was actually kind of cute when she blushed after realizing it was right over my cock.
I admit that when I first saw her sitting there in that dress, with her hair all done up in shiny waves, and her lips painted bright red like the star in my favorite fifties porn, Rosie the Rectal Riveter, I didn’t even recognize her. My first thought was very caveman. Must put cock in pussy. But when I realized it was Dre behind that get up, it added a whole new layer of intrigue to the girl who already had me intrigued.
I had tasted that pussy, and I liked it.
No, I fucking loved it.
A fucking lot.
I wasn’t going to tell her that, but omitting information isn’t the same as lying. I wasn’t a liar. I would even go as far as to say that my strength had always been in my amazing ability to be completely and brutally honest. Of course, the gift of honesty was in addition to my sense of humor, wit, charm, character, striking good looks, phenomenal—yet classic—sense of style, and last but not least, the tribungus slab of man meat dangling between my legs.
But I motherfucking digress.
So when my phone vibrated, and I found myself listening wordlessly to some guy, who I quickly realized was Dre’s dad, launch right into an apology for turning his back on his only daughter, followed by a plea for me to tell him where she was so he could bring her home, my first instinct was to tell him the truth and take all the glory and credit for being the individual who successfully reunited the estranged father and daughter duo. After all, that’s what Dre had said she really wanted more than anything, to go home to her dad. And there I was—holding the capability to do just that in the palm of my hand.
Dre plucked the fuck-me heel I’d taken off the porch from my hands. I was about to tell her that it was her dad on the line when I remembered the reason I came over in the first place. I froze with my mouth open and the phone to my ear, like Zack Morris had paused time, Saved by the Bell style.
If Dre went home, then I’d lose my one last chance at getting Max back for King. I mean, it’s not like I hadn’t done anything for this chick, I reminded myself. I’d let her live and all.
Motherfucking generous is what I really was.
King had saved my life, several times over. Shit, he’s the one who gave me a life to begin with. And as far as heterosexual life-mate’s go, I’d won the fucking lottery when he showed up on the playground that day and knocked the fuck out of a bully, who I may or may not still have egged his mother’s house on a regular basis.
I walked off and waited until I was at the back gate, far enough away, where I was positive there was no chance of Mirna or Dre hearing me before I uttered a single word. “Who the fuck is this?” I asked, inserting as much annoyance as I could into the question, interrupting Dre’s dad, who hadn’t stopped talking, his fast speaking made it almost impossible to make out his frantic plea.
“This is Adnet Capulet. Who…who is this?” he echoed my question, anger and confusion replacing the desperation in his voice.
“Adnet, I’m the guy who picked up the ringing phone,” I sang, “And you’re the guy who called and made the phone ring. Go ahead, ask me another one. This is fun.” I bent over to pick a sand spur from the side of my boot. One of its unholy devil points stuck into the side of my finger. I shook my hand several times before it finally detached from my flesh, flicking it into the brush where it would undoubtedly find another unsuspecting victim to torment, with their ability to cause just enough of an injury to throb mildly in the middle of the night and wake you out of a deep sleep. Those little cunt-seeds were so annoying, they were like the plant version of Dancing with the Stars.
Again, I motherfucking digress.
I sucked the drop of blood that pooled on my fingertip. “My daughter,” Adnet started, “her name is Andrea. She called me a while ago from this number. I want to talk to her. Please, if you know where she is. I made a mistake. I just want her to come ho…”
“Let me stop you right there, man. You sound like a nice guy, maybe a little high strung, but nice. Unfortunately, I have no fucking clue who you’re talking about. The payphone I was about to use started ringing, so I answered it. Sorry, man. Might want to look into getting her on the side of a milk carton, STAT.”
I hit END and was about to shove my phone back into my pocket, when it vibrated again. “Listen,” I snapped, the irritation in my voice no longer fake. “I told you that this is a public phone and I don’t know where the fuck your daughter is but, I’m trying to make a call here…” Bears booming laughter interrupted me.
The intruder laughed. And I glanced up to find Preppy holding the missing heel over my head.
“Nice shoes, wanna fuck?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PREPPY
What in the fuck was she wearing? Her dress was hugging her tiny waist and pushing out her tits, and suddenly it was as if I’d gone deaf because all I could hear was the blood rushing to my cock. Everything in me was shouting at me to bend this girl over and fuck her until we both fucking DIED. I didn’t care that Mirna was sitting right there. I didn’t care if the Pope and the Dalai Lama were watching on the sidelines with Jesus himself. All I wanted was to see that glossy red lipstick smeared all over my motherfucking cock.
Rein it in shit-head. I scolded myself, you have more important things to be focusing on, other than her tits.
But those tits…
It looked like Mirna had roped in another one. I was glad too because as much as I liked her, when she’d insisted on teaching me to meditate I mostly played a recap of American Ninja Warrior in my head until she told me we were done. Her current pupil had been shocked and amazed by how good I fucking looked and had fainted across my lap, unable to get a grip on her swoon.
OR, I’d scared the shit out of her and she fell onto me.
It was definitely one of those two things.
Regardless of how it happened, what stood out most to me was where her hand had landed when she tried bracing her fall. I’m not gonna lie, it was actually kind of cute when she blushed after realizing it was right over my cock.
I admit that when I first saw her sitting there in that dress, with her hair all done up in shiny waves, and her lips painted bright red like the star in my favorite fifties porn, Rosie the Rectal Riveter, I didn’t even recognize her. My first thought was very caveman. Must put cock in pussy. But when I realized it was Dre behind that get up, it added a whole new layer of intrigue to the girl who already had me intrigued.
I had tasted that pussy, and I liked it.
No, I fucking loved it.
A fucking lot.
I wasn’t going to tell her that, but omitting information isn’t the same as lying. I wasn’t a liar. I would even go as far as to say that my strength had always been in my amazing ability to be completely and brutally honest. Of course, the gift of honesty was in addition to my sense of humor, wit, charm, character, striking good looks, phenomenal—yet classic—sense of style, and last but not least, the tribungus slab of man meat dangling between my legs.
But I motherfucking digress.
So when my phone vibrated, and I found myself listening wordlessly to some guy, who I quickly realized was Dre’s dad, launch right into an apology for turning his back on his only daughter, followed by a plea for me to tell him where she was so he could bring her home, my first instinct was to tell him the truth and take all the glory and credit for being the individual who successfully reunited the estranged father and daughter duo. After all, that’s what Dre had said she really wanted more than anything, to go home to her dad. And there I was—holding the capability to do just that in the palm of my hand.
Dre plucked the fuck-me heel I’d taken off the porch from my hands. I was about to tell her that it was her dad on the line when I remembered the reason I came over in the first place. I froze with my mouth open and the phone to my ear, like Zack Morris had paused time, Saved by the Bell style.
If Dre went home, then I’d lose my one last chance at getting Max back for King. I mean, it’s not like I hadn’t done anything for this chick, I reminded myself. I’d let her live and all.
Motherfucking generous is what I really was.
King had saved my life, several times over. Shit, he’s the one who gave me a life to begin with. And as far as heterosexual life-mate’s go, I’d won the fucking lottery when he showed up on the playground that day and knocked the fuck out of a bully, who I may or may not still have egged his mother’s house on a regular basis.
I walked off and waited until I was at the back gate, far enough away, where I was positive there was no chance of Mirna or Dre hearing me before I uttered a single word. “Who the fuck is this?” I asked, inserting as much annoyance as I could into the question, interrupting Dre’s dad, who hadn’t stopped talking, his fast speaking made it almost impossible to make out his frantic plea.
“This is Adnet Capulet. Who…who is this?” he echoed my question, anger and confusion replacing the desperation in his voice.
“Adnet, I’m the guy who picked up the ringing phone,” I sang, “And you’re the guy who called and made the phone ring. Go ahead, ask me another one. This is fun.” I bent over to pick a sand spur from the side of my boot. One of its unholy devil points stuck into the side of my finger. I shook my hand several times before it finally detached from my flesh, flicking it into the brush where it would undoubtedly find another unsuspecting victim to torment, with their ability to cause just enough of an injury to throb mildly in the middle of the night and wake you out of a deep sleep. Those little cunt-seeds were so annoying, they were like the plant version of Dancing with the Stars.
Again, I motherfucking digress.
I sucked the drop of blood that pooled on my fingertip. “My daughter,” Adnet started, “her name is Andrea. She called me a while ago from this number. I want to talk to her. Please, if you know where she is. I made a mistake. I just want her to come ho…”
“Let me stop you right there, man. You sound like a nice guy, maybe a little high strung, but nice. Unfortunately, I have no fucking clue who you’re talking about. The payphone I was about to use started ringing, so I answered it. Sorry, man. Might want to look into getting her on the side of a milk carton, STAT.”
I hit END and was about to shove my phone back into my pocket, when it vibrated again. “Listen,” I snapped, the irritation in my voice no longer fake. “I told you that this is a public phone and I don’t know where the fuck your daughter is but, I’m trying to make a call here…” Bears booming laughter interrupted me.
