Page 89 of Cocky Jerk

“Sure, if you want them to spit all over your pineapples.”

Unlike Soraya, Tig won’t dye his hair when he goes home, but have no fear, he hates me too. Oh, well, it’s not every day a man proposes. They’ll all get over it.

Pocketing my phone, I look at the velvet display board in front of me and go back to studying the three engagement rings. For the last two hours, I’ve been trying to decide which one will look perfect on Antonia’s finger.

“This is fucking ridiculous, man,” Tig says. “Pick a damn ring, odds are you’re gonna be back here on your fifth wedding anniversary resetting the damn thing anyway.”

Ignoring him, I reach for the solitaire again. Originally, I came here determined to get her a princess cut ring. Then the jeweler mentioned a halo setting, and we added that style to the mix. But I keep going back to this one. It’s simple and not as flashy as the other two. I think it will look perfect on her dainty finger.

“This is the one,” I exclaim.

“Thank you, Jesus,” Tig mutters, glaring at the jeweler. “Well, don’t just stand there! Ring him up before he changes his mind. And while you’re at it, take these other ones and put them away,” he says, shoving the velvet board toward him.

“For someone who won a bet, you’re awfully cranky.”

“I didn’t win shit,” he argues.

“You said we’d be ring shopping in three months and here we are.”

“Must be my lucky day. Do me a favor? When you two decide to have kids, lose my number. I don’t want to be anywhere near you when you’re trying to decide what the hell to name them.”

Three months ago, I would’ve been struggling with how to respond because I wouldn’t want to say the wrong thing and be insensitive to his and Delia’s infertility situation. But God works in mysterious ways and usually when you lose hope is when you get your miracle. Tig and Delia found out last month their little miracle is on the way and in seven months, I’ll be sitting in the hospital, waiting for Tig to come out of the delivery room with a big grin on his face.

“I’ve picked out the kids names already. Marco if it’s a boy and Marca if it’s a girl.”

Tig quirks a brow.

“Marca?”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of Marsha.”

“You’re fucking hopeless, you know that?”

“You love me,” I say.

“Yeah, about as much as I love paying taxes. Come on, pay the man or you’ll be late for traffic court.”

* * *

Antonia

I’m goingto kill Marco when I get home for sending me another edible fruit arrangement. Don’t get me wrong, it was very thoughtful and if I didn’t have to haul it on the subway on my way to traffic court to fight the tickets he issued me the day we met, I might’ve rewarded him with a blow job.

Now, I’m sitting here, holding this ridiculous thing on my lap, waiting for the judge to call my name. At least I won’t be here long. Back in the day, you used to be able to call a cop and have him pull the tickets, but because everything is electronic, Marco’s hands were tied. The only way for me to get out of the tickets is for him not to show.

“Antonia DeLuca?”

“Here!”

Maneuvering the arrangement in my arms, I jump to my feet. The guard gives me a weird look, but I flash him a smile and offer him a strawberry.

Hey, it worked with Judy.

I step inside the courtroom and the smile falls from my face—the fruit falls too.

All over the damn courtroom.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Marco.

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