Page 15 of Filthy Savage
Angel
I sleeplike a baby all night, and as it’s the weekend, I tear through my Saturday chores but return to bed, curling up and reliving last night every chance I get. By the early afternoon, I’m curious. A question pings at the edges of my mind, but I try to distract myself so I don’t have to face it. Not yet.
“Okay, really?” I shout at the TV from my spot on the floral stuffed sofa in my living room. “This is all you have for me on a goddamned Saturday afternoon? A bunch of reality shows, a couple of movies made before nineteen eighty-four, and the public access channel? Serves me right for not getting the deluxe cable package.”
I drop the remote on the seat beside me. The sudden move excites Spencer, my black and white speckled greyhound. He flops onto his back, wiggling around for belly rubs like a cat would do. What a confused canine. The situation becomes even weirder when my tan-colored dachshund, Marley, hops up on my lap and starts licking my face.
“Don’t beg, Spence. And the same goes to you, Marley. I walked you for almost two hours this morning. At least you’re somewhat normal, Jet,” I say to my German Shepherd, who’s snuggled on the floor chewing on a bone contentedly. As if to contradict me, Jet promptly starts choking, and then he makes a horking sound and hurls half of his lunch all over the floor.
“I take back my previous statement,” I deadpan, groaning as I contemplate the extra work. “Third time in a week, huh, buddy? Are you okay? Or are you just re-learning how to swallow?”
Kicking off my blanket, I force myself out of the comfy sofa and go to the kitchen, followed by all three dogs.
The top I wore last night is still hanging on the hook at my front door. Just seeing it sends another ripple of need through me. The image of Axe’s thick, expert fingers inside of me returns, causing me to swallow hard. God, what a tease he turned out to be. He surprised me, getting me off then walking away as if he didn’t need to get off too. I know he did. His cock was thick and swollen, hard as slate.
And he said this wasn’t a game to him.
Hearing my dogs bark in concert pulls me back to reality, and I grab a handful of paper towels to take care of the dog puke.
“If it helps, just know that you’re not the worst mood killer I’ve had around me in the past twenty-four hours, Jet,” I whine.
After cleaning up and depositing all the waste into a trash bag, I seal the trashcan lid and find Jet something a little easier to eat. He doesn’t eat much, but that’s normal. He’s always played with his food. As he sips from his water bowl, I turn off the TV and take a seat in front of my laptop. What I need is a more direct distraction. Which I find by logging on to an account that I shut down weeks ago.
My online dating profile on Curvy Meets Cute.
“Screw it,” I grumble. “Just because I said I would never meet anyone there again doesn’t mean I can’t break my own damn promise. It was only to myself.”
Whoa. The main screen of the site is kind of promising this time. My inbox is in the double digits. I guess the app keeps track of messages even after an account is shut down. Hell if I know how it all works, but trolling a crappy dating site is more entertaining than TV right now. With a quick pit stop in the kitchen for a bottle of wine, a wine glass, and a bottle opener, I get down to it. Whatever it takes to keep my mind occupied. A while later, I’ve cleared all my emails and have a nice buzz going. I even answered three of them, but after laughing uncontrollably at the rest of the shit in my inbox, I log out again. I blame it on the bottle of wine that I inhaled all by myself. Or two. But whatever. That’s what Saturdays are about lately, with my best friend all the way in Eastern Europe and no solid dating prospects on the horizon.
When my eyesight becomes blurry from all the drinking and no food in my stomach, I take a break, shutting off the laptop and sprawling out on the couch. My pack of furry friends jump up on the sofa and surround me like they usually do. They love snuggling, and enjoy licking every inch of my face they can get their tongues on, but eventually they’re bored and return to their beds to nap.
I’m wiped after having all that delicious wine and nothing to eat. Soon, I drift off, armed with a new set of images to dream about, including the hot biker with an attitude. I just wish thinking about him didn’t make me feel so damned weak.
* * *
I wakeup to the sound of a strange noise. A very, very irritating noise that grates on my nerves. It sounds something like a shrill ringing. And a banjo, or bongo drums. I groan and roll over, forgetting that I’m not in bed but on the couch. Promptly, I land hard on the carpeted floor in front of the sofa, and with zero grace. And God, my head is pounding something awful.
“Shit. That’s my frigging phone,” I whisper, rasping the words from my painfully dry throat as I grope the coffee table counter to find my cell. “Hello?”
“Angel, honey? I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you okay?” My mother’s panicked voice echoes in my brain. Wincing, I switch the phone to speaker and set it on the table.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I groan, and lean my head back on the couch. “What’s going on?”
I blink the sleep out of my eyes as Mom babbles on about what’s on for dinner and how her week has been. Marley is curled up in a tiny section of the couch. The other two are nowhere to be seen, which probably means they’ve taken over my bed. Crap. My alarm has probably gone off in there. Then she asks if I’ve been working long hours. I see the blinding morning son piercing through my living room window blinds, and that’s when I remember. Shit, it’s Sunday. I’m supposed to be at the library today. It’s one of its busiest weekend events. Shit, shit, shit.
“The annual book sale’s today!” I shout.
“It is,” Mom agrees. “But I thought you weren’t working on weekends anymore, love?”
“I have to. Let me know if you want to bring over leftovers. I’m totally game, okay?”
“You need to slow down, baby,” Mom lectures me with her usual concerned tone for the umpteenth time. “All this work you’re doing is too much for one person. Live a little, will you?”
“I’ll do that when all my student loans are paid off. I promise.”
“All right, honey,” Mom says, and I’m grateful she parks the rest of the lecture so easily. It isn’t the first time she’s gone on about me being way too overworked for a librarian, and I know it won’t be the last.
“Listen, I need to get ready. I’ll call you tonight, okay? Love you, Mom.”
