Match This! (The UnSocial Dater#1) (14 page)

“She’s crazy,” Steph says with a smile, but her smile is not mirrored in her eyes.

“Aren’t we all,” I reply as I lift my glass wishing that it wasn’t empty, needing a few drops, trying to completely ignore the fact that her eyes are boring into me.

I tap the bottom of the glass beckoning every last drop into my mouth.

My lips are nearly numb from the ice melting against them before I put the glass down.

Luckily my phone starts dinging again, so I reach for it.

Her hand covers mine. “Talk to me Kat.”

“Nothing to talk about,” I say looking past her for Macey. “I need a damn drink.”

“Kat—”

“My father died in a car accident. He was drunk,” I said and then hear glasses clink on the table.

“It happens,” Macey shrugs.

“She never told me,” I snap.

“You were young Kat, no one wanted you to know. He was your hero,” Stephanie says. “None of us—”

“You knew?” I gasped. She looked down and shook her head. “Is that a no or a yes?”

“I overheard my parents,” she stops when I take my drink and slam it. I stand up. “Kat there was no reason for you to know. It was an accident. Kat!”

I keep walking towards the door. I open the door and run into Zack and Ricco. I stumble to the side and Zack grabs my elbow.

I yank it away. “Aren’t you supposed to be going home?”

“Nope that was—” he begins.

“Tweedledum,” I say pushing past the wall that is them.

“Stop her,” Stephanie yells behind me and I reach for my phone, it’s not there.

Fuck it.

I walk out and down the sidewalk. “Need a lift Kat?”

I look back and shake my head no, but I do need a ride. I can’t call Uber, a cab, shit. Fuck it. I keep walking.

I hear the engine of a motorcycle behind me. No, not a motorcycle a fucking Harley. The rumble and pop of the Harley engine, so not a motorcycle.

“It’s a long fucking walk Kat,” Ricco’s gruff voice rumbles over the pop of the engine. “Get on.”

“I’ll take my chances with a twisted ankle or getting mugged before I will get on that thing,” I huff.

“Not asking Kat, I’m telling. Get on or I’ll get off and get you on myself. Choose.”

“I don’t have a helmet,” I say turning and looking at him.

He holds out his. “Put it on.”

“It’ll fuck up my hair,” I snarl at him.

“Hair’s already fucked up. Get on.”

“You are such an asshole,” I say snatching it out of his hand.

I climb on the back of his fucking hog and he revs the engine. “Hang on.”

“No shit,” I growl as I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on.

Damn he’s hard. I wonder what he looks like shirtless. No I didn’t, not even a little bit. I was just shocked. Ricco looked beefy not…hard.

At the stoplight he looks back at me. “Keep that shit up and I’m gonna charge you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

His hand covers mine and that’s when I realize I
maaaaayyy
have been rubbing his abs.

“You done?” His eyebrow arches.

“Fuck you, the light’s green, go.” I scowl at him and he scowls back before turning and revving the engine loudly one,
dear lawd
, two,
oh gawd,
three,
fuck me,
and four, he lets off the brake and the bike roars and pops through the traffic light.

My lower half slides back a little and right now I am in love with the thin material of my black stretch pants.

I groan at the friction of my pooter against the leather seat and the vibration of the engine between my legs.

Why the fuck does it have to be Ricco I am hanging on to? Damn it!

We stop at the next light and he runs his paw through his hair and looks back.

“Cold?”

I shake my head no and hope to hell the glint in his eye isn’t because I look like I’ve just had more action in the two minutes I’ve been riding the hog than I have in the past six months.

I scowl and raise the finger. He shakes his head, turns around, and burns rubber.

The night air is cool and as much as I’m loving the sheerness of the pant material I am not loving this flimsy button up shirt I wore over my, ‘Fuck You’, tank.

Ricco takes the damn scenic route too. The ocean breeze is normally embraced by me, not tonight. He pulls over and looks back.

“You done being a pain in the ass woman.” He looks down at my, ‘
high beam’
pokies and smirks. I slap him and he lets out a deep baritone laugh as he dismounts the bike and pulls his sweatshirt over his head.

I close my eyes tight when his shirt lifts exposing the fact that my Helen Keller exploration of the abs was correct. He’s not beefy, he’s broad, and the fucker has a killer body. No wonder he gets all the bitches knocked up.

He tosses me the shirt and I put it on. “Who you running from back there?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

He nods once. “Home?”

I return the nod.

My room is dark and I am eternally grateful, because the light would kill my buzz, or heighten my hangover, I’m not sure which I am going to be faced with yet.

I hear people downstairs and it’s not just my Mom-ster. I force myself to roll over and look at my phone. It’s ten in the morning, fucking ten screams in my head and I hold it in my hands.

Fucking hangover.

I push myself up and swing my legs over the side of this damn twin bed and push myself up.

I’m immediately dizzy.

Fucking buzz.

I groan when I realize that I got the double fucking whammy. I’m facing a Sunday
buzzover
. It’s been a long time since that’s happened.

Fucking Jack’s fault.

I pull the towel off my head as I look in the mirror. I grab my brush and start to run it through my black mop. It hurts. It hurts like it did when Mom-ster used to brush my hair.

I never complained, but Darby used to have a fit. After our baths we used to sit in front of Mom’s favorite chair while she brushed out our hair. As far back as I can remember I had waist length hair. I’m not sure why but it was always a snarled mess and I find myself wondering if we ever used conditioner. Not that it matters now. Mom would always do mine first while cooing, “Oh Katherine you are such a good girl letting Mommy brush your hair. You look so beautiful. Such a very good girl. Oh Katherine, my beautiful big girl.”

One would think that kind of praise would have made me a less angry teenager. It didn’t. I knew she was doing it to try to prepare Darby for the same treatment.

Darby was a fucking trip. She would sit down in front of her and before the brush even touched her hair she would be all, ‘Ouch, you’re hurting me.”

Less than a minute in she was whining and trying to escape. Not ten seconds later it was a full on WWC, world wrestling comb out. Mom would try to keep her voice even but her body was in full out battle against the squirmy little redhead. Mom’s legs would be wrapped around her trying to keep her in place, one arm draped across her chest and the other working that comb like it was her job. Of course I didn’t laugh out loud but I will tell you that shit was more entertaining than TBN or GOD TV.

Sam would be sitting there praising Jesus while Mom wrestled the devil. That’s probably another reason marriage never appealed to me.

I will never be like her. Husband one dead, husband two oblivious, and the prospective husband three… is someone else’s.

Fuck that. Fuck marriage. Fuck love. Fuck it all.

I flip myself off in the mirror and decide, fuck brushing my hair until I have had some ibuprofen, or maybe a fucking drink.

When I walk down the stairs I recognize the voices, Macey and Steph are here.

I’m not sure how I feel about that, so I decide not to feel anything.

The three of them are sitting around the island drinking coffee. Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.

“Good afternoon,” the Mom-ster smiles.

I nod and look around.

“It’s in the microwave,” Steph smiles.

I look at Macey and even she smiles.

I shake my head and walk to the microwave.

I look to the left and see a new appliance on the counter. A Keurig. I almost panic. Does this mean she’s staying longer?

I look at Mom.

“A housewarming gift,” she nods and looks proud as a peacock.

“I -” I stop myself from telling her, I don’t own a coffee pot because Dunkin’ Donuts is a morning ritual, and I like structure. But then I think that would make her feathers fluff even more. She’s probably the reason I am a stickler for a schedule.

“Drink up and,” she pauses as she looks at my hair, “do something with your hair. We are going on a little trip today.”

“No can do,” I say and take a sip. “Sundays are not for trips. I didn’t get a chance to grab groceries yesterday so I am already off track.”

“We grabbed your groceries this morning while you slept,” Mom smiles.

“What?” I ask while setting my cup back in the microwave to blast some heat into it.

I open the fridge and sure as shit it’s stocked.

“The girls told me what you like when they stopped by last night after that,” she pauses, “motorcycle man-”

“Ricco, my co-worker,” I interrupt.

“Right. Well after he dropped you off you went to bed.”

I shrug. “What does that have to do with groceries?”

“Katherine, I’m getting to it,” she sounds annoyed.

I turn around and look at her. “I have a schedule.”

“They’re made to be broken,” she challenges.

“No, just no.”

“I understand you’re upset about your father’s death,” she starts.

“I would fucking hope so.” I look at her and then Steph. “You lied to me.”

“It wasn’t a lie Katherine Anne Teresa-”

“Kat. I’m Kat,” I interrupt.

“Kat,” Stephanie says. “It was hard enough for you both back then. She was trying to protect you.”

“And what the fuck were you doing?” I ask her letting my temper and
buzzover
work in unison to gang up on Steph.

“I was a kid too. I never really understood it until a few years later,” she defends.

“Kather-” I scowl at my mother and she stops. “Kat. Fine Kat. You have a beautiful name and-”

“You regress,” I say as I take the cup of coffee out of the microwave and take a sip. “Fucking gross.”

“Language Kather-, Kat.” It’s almost hysterical the way her face distorts when she says my chosen name. “I never wanted you to feel the way I felt! Okay? I was protecting you believe it or not. At the same time I was trying to figure out what I, at twenty-five years old was going to do as a single mother whose own mother turned her back on her for getting knocked up by a non-Jew! I wanted better for you and believe it or not, I have done better by you!” I expect her to stop when I see a tear trickle down her face but she doesn’t. “Now go get dressed we’re going to Wildwood.”

“No,” I say as I shake my head.

“It wasn’t a request.” She storms away and I stand there…feeling.

No, fuck no.

“We’re going too,” Stephanie interrupts. “There’s a wine festival on the boardwalk and wine slushies sound like the perfect solution to our problem.”

“It’s all worked out and you have a date at seven, so-” Macey begins.

“I have a what?” I gasp.

“Dude’s hot, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Macey shrugs.

“I don’t want a fucking date,” I hiss quietly so she won’t hear me.

“She’ll stay forever,” Macey cups her hands around her mouth and echoes, “Forever, forever, forever.”

I point at Macey. “You’re the only one I didn’t want to shank, until now.”

“Suck it up buttercup,” Macey smirks as I walk past her, then she smacks my ass. “You’ve got a hottie to meet.”

“I’d rather have my fucking vibrators. If I knew where the fuck they were.”

My mother walks out at that exact moment. “They’re in timeout. Get going.”

I look at her and her makeup has been fixed, her hair pulled away from her face and she is dressed like a mom.

“Find some different clothes or we aren’t going anywhere in public together,” I snarl as I walk away.

Mom-ster is dressed in a sundress showing cleave, it’s disturbing. I’m sure Stephanie helped her dress. She would have looked like a hooker as opposed to a desperate housewife of the Jersey Shore, if Macey helped her.

Steph and Mom are in bright colored sundresses, Macey is in a little black tube top dress with strappy heels on and I’m in a tank that says ‘Wine Wednesday’ with a slash across the ‘Wed’ and ‘Every’ written above it, black shorts and a pair of flip-flops. My hair is pulled up in a sloppy, ‘
I give a fuck’
bun.

****

Stuffed in the back seat of my mother’s car with Macey I leaned back and closed my eyes listening to Mom-ster and Stephanie talk about the wine festival on the boardwalk with childlike excitement.

“It’s close to the new house,” Mom says. I see her look in the rearview mirror at me. “Four bedrooms, plenty of room for guests.”

Stephanie looks back at me. “Sleepovers on the beach.”

“I’d rather have sex on the beach,” I grumble.

“Kat, you have to stop being mad at me, I just can’t take it.” She pouts.

“I’m not mad, I’m tired and I feel the hangover taking over the buzz.” I sigh.

Macey taps my elbow and I look over as she hands me a flask. “Cure.”

“Drink me,” I smirk and for some reason I look up. My mother is looking in the mirror; her smile is forced. “Why do you do that?” I push my glasses atop my head.

“Do what?” she asks.

“Fake a fucking smile when you’re obviously not happy.”

She shakes her head and looks away. “That’s what mothers do.”

I drink down whatever it is in the flask and have to cover my mouth in order not to spray the back of Stephanie’s head.

Macey laughs. “Shit, just a sip is all you need. My bad.”

When I can finally breath I snap at her. “I’m gonna shank you so hard.”

“With the drink you just took, you’ll forget about it in minutes,” she laughs.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Everclear,” she says smugly. “Home brewed.”

“You make Everclear?” my Mom-ster asks.