Page 12 of Her Filthy Grump
“Yep. Blatantly. I married a firefighter, didn’t I? That gives me the complete right to use the words flame, burn, inferno, and smoke in everyday conversations.”
“Tell Gavin there’s nothing to worry about. Kameron’s good looking. I’d be an idiot not to notice.” A slow smile curves up to my cheeks. “You should see how his jeans hang low on his hips.”
“Cover model good?” Delaney takes a sip of her drink.
“Definitely.” I fan myself. “But looks aren’t everything. We’re total opposites. He’s….” I rack my brain, trying to find the right word. “He’s wound tight.” Yep, he’s two words. “And I’m laid back. We’re like oil and vinegar. Every time he talks to me, he tells me what to do, and I have an uncontrollable desire to tell him where to shove it.”
Delaney chuckles and sets down the ceramic mug with a clank. “Okay. If he’s not the guy for you, let me set you up on a blind date.”
I shudder and raise my hands in defense. “No. I have not recovered from the last one.”
“How was I supposed to know Blake had mommy issues?”
The date with Blake Hardy will go down in infamy as the worst date ever. He picked me up in his mother’s station wagon. How did I know it was hers? She was in the back seat, and he asked her opinion on everything before we did it.
By the time she’d selected our seat by the restaurant window, I’d had enough. I snuck off to the bathroom and called him to tell him my cat died.
Maybe I don’t have a savior complex. If I did, I would have stuck around and tried to fix all his problems.
He’d sobbed and told me all about the cats his mom had in their house and offered to give me one. He was thirty years old, still living with his mom, and had an unhealthy obsession with cats. That’s a lot of shit to fix. Thankfully, I walked away from that train wreck.
Chapter Eight
Kameron
“Kam, how’s the move suiting you?” My dad’s voice booms out of the stereo, and I twist the volume down.
“Good, I’m all settled in.”
“Roman’s place nice? You need any furniture? Or groceries?”
“Dad, I’m twenty-six.”
“So what? A dad can’t take care of his kids after they turn eighteen?”
“I appreciate the offer, but everything’s taken care of.” My dad would give the shirt off his back to any of his kids, but I’d never take advantage of him.
Not once since I turned eighteen, have I asked for a dime. I worked three jobs to keep from needing his assistance. When I left home, he still had four kids to feed and get through school.
“That’s good, son. I’m so proud of you.”
“Don’t get carried away.” My voice drips with sarcasm. I shove the pickup into park and stare at the picnic table. Gertrude and her crew waddle around the white structure as a couple of women jog past them. “You know why I left.”
My dad’s pride is a little misplaced. The last several months have sucked. First, I found out my girlfriend, Tabitha Young, used me to humiliate another woman, Chloe Sparks. And when I say humiliate, I mean humiliate. The bitch was pretending to be me and setting up wagers to use Chloe sexually.
When Tabitha’s plot was discovered by one of my co-workers, Rich, he was livid with me for initiating the bet. A bet I knew nothing about. I dumped Tabitha, but it was too late. My reputation was ruined.
“Son, don’t beat yourself up over her shenanigans.”
“Too late,” I mutter. “It was my decision to date her. I should have realized how conniving she was. How manipulative women are.”
“Son, not all women are–”
“Dad, let it go.” The women I’ve met are not worth the trouble. My mom was the first in a long line of disappointments. She skipped out when I was twelve, leaving behind five kids.
I was the oldest and took on the household responsibilities of getting my four younger siblings ready for school, fed, and homework completed, while my dad worked twelve hours a day at the Ford plant.
Then, between my mom and Tabitha’s betrayal, there was Sadie Milton. I dated her in high school. I caught her on her first day of college sucking my best friend’s dick. They were both tossed from my life.