Page 15 of Operation Annulment (Silent Phoenix MC)

fourteen

Kate

“ R emind me never to get involved with someone I met at a gym again,” I snap into the phone while gnawing on a hangnail.

“Ooookay,” my sister, Dakota, says, drawing every letter of the word out. “Seeing as to how Nate is technically the only person you’ve ever picked up at a gym and, like, the only relationship you’ve been in, not counting Ben?—”

“Ben is completely irrelevant to this conversation,” I cut in, about as eager to discuss my ex-boyfriend as I was to discover him in bed with the head of the finance department hours before he’d planned to propose to me. One year later, it was still too soon.

“Right, so why are you and Nate calling it off this time?” Dakota asks, a note of boredom creeping into her tone. Given that I’ve supported her through a break-up, helped her move, and then bailed her out of jail—all within two months—she owes me one.

Or a thousand.

“For starters, we have nothing in common.”

Well, almost nothing. We seem to share an interest in having sex with each other.

On my desk at work.

At my apartment.

In the hot tub at his place.

But, obviously, I’m not about to admit any of that to my sister.

I clear my throat and thoughts before moving on to my next point.

“Not that it would matter if we did after last night. I felt like he’d been off lately, but I thought maybe he was just busy with work or something.

I should have listened to my gut, though, because do you know what I found in his bathroom cabinet? ”

“Um, towels?” Dakota guesses, not even bothering to mask the sound of her yawn.

“Yes,” I admit before taking a second to unclench my jaw and breathe. “But next to the towels was a bottle of perfume and a pretty pink toothbrush. How do you explain that?”

“Maybe the perfume belonged to his sister or mom, and they accidentally left it after coming for a visit? And there are a lot of men who like pink, so the toothbrush can hardly be considered evidence.”

A male voice pipes up in the background, and Dakota explains my predicament with the same enthusiasm one might have when going in for a root canal.

“Here, talk to Little Ricky. He’s a man and knows how they think.”

“But I don’t?—”

“Hail Mary, full of grace. How’s it hangin’?”

I don’t want to discuss my love life with my sister’s neighbor and new best friend.

A man who shared the history behind his name within seconds of meeting me but was suspiciously vague when I asked what he did for a living.

I want my sister to give me the same attention I’ve given her over the past twenty-two years.

“Rick,” I force out through gritted teeth. “It’s Kate. As I’ve told you at least a hundred times by now. May I speak with Dakota again, please? ”

He laughs easily. “Nah, Caparina’s gettin’ ready for the gym. I hear there’s trouble in paradise. Tell ya boy all about it.”

For reasons I cannot fathom, Little Ricky refuses to call us by our real names.

Dakota never bothers to correct him, though she obviously has no idea what Caparina means.

Meanwhile, I’ve wasted more time than I care to admit trying to determine if his nickname for me is a football or Catholicism reference.

Against my better judgment, I lay out the case against Nate, starting with the nagging feeling that something is missing to finding ‘female shit’ in the bathroom, as Little Ricky so eloquently put it.

“And you’re sure they weren’t there before?” He asks after a brief pause. “You said he was married before, maybe his ex moved out and left some of her shit behind.”

I consider it before remembering the most damning piece of evidence. “I also found a pair of panties wedged between the couch cushions.”

He lets out a low whistle. “ Caparina , get your culo back in here. Hail Mary’s got actual problems this time?—”

“What do you mean, actual problems ? I’m not calling for fake problems.”

He laughs like he thinks I’m joking. “Okay, Hail Mary. Whatever you say. Personally, I feel you need to take a chill pill most of the time.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Dakota tells him before taking the phone. “Kate, what do you have for me? Do I need to add him to the list? Come on, a girl needs a name.”

I massage my temple with my free hand. I should have called my co-worker and best friend Nicole instead of my sister. “No. He doesn’t need to be on your list. Will you stop with the Game of Thrones talk?”

“Let me know if you change your mind. Ooh, real quick, have you seen our grandmother lately?”

In the background, Little Ricky cackles maniacally.

“Um, no. Seeing her isn’t high on my priorities right now, kid. I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact she was stealing from us the entire damn time we lived with her. ”

“Thought so. Just one small favor? If you see her, ask her if she’s feeling royal lately—maybe work something about me into the conversation, if needed.

What do you think, Little Ricky? Implicate ourselves or work like the group Anonymous?

You know, ‘ we are legion .’ I think that might be more terrifying for her.

Scratch that, Kate. Just ask her how she likes the dye job. ”

I groan. “What did you do to her hair? I thought we were going to discuss things before you began punishing people. I seriously just called for some advice.”

“Uh, we discussed it,” Dakota says, clicking her tongue against her teeth.

“You didn’t make the meeting. As for the advice?

I’d say your chances of having an honest, long-term relationship with the man are about as good as my chances of getting back together with the undercover cop sent to ruin my life. What do you think, LR?”

“Oh, Hail Mary. You’re completely fucked on this one.”

I hang up with a growl and pace my apartment. Once, after one too many happy hour martinis, Nicole speculated that my father’s death and mother’s abandonment were the reasons behind my sky-high standards in relationships.

As much as I want to deny it, her assessment rings true. I leave people before they can leave me because I never want to feel pain like I did when they told us my father had died. I don’t want to relive watching my mother drive away after dropping us off on our grandparents’ front porch.

These were the same grandparents who would go on to steal the money our mother sent every month. The money would have been enough to cover clothes, cars, and college.

I stumble to a stop beside the couch, struck by the possibility that the twenty-five thousand dollars that appeared in my bank account overnight isn’t an error after all.

My mother had been gutted to discover we never received a dime of the money, but to wire thousands of dollars to try to make up for years of neglect?

Never gonna happen .

If I call and report it, the bank should be able to reverse the payment. I gnaw on my bottom lip when it occurs to me that I could also do something completely irresponsible, like spend it.

After the crap with Nate, I need to get out of town and clear my head and heart. And what better way to get over someone than by taking a vacation—somewhere fun—like Vegas?

At least what happens there stays there, which would be a delightful change of pace from the neverending problems that seem to keep piling up on my doorstep.

Deep down, I know it’s one more example of me running from my problems, but I’ll save the psychoanalyzing for after the trip. To hell with responsibility and gorgeous men with perfect, orgasm-inducing dicks.

I deserve a break.