Chapter 4
CHAPTER4
Not even an hour after Jon left my phone was ringing off the hook. “What’s the matter now, Justin?” Damn, he calls me more now than when we were married. I guess Daisy Dukes is comfortable in her relationship because she doesn’t seem to see the signs. Justin always was a snake all salesman wanna be.
He spent hours each night on the phone with me and every weekday afternoon in a hotel room fucking my brains out, and some of those nights, I was sure she was in the house with him. I wasn’t too worried about her missing the signs because I plan to out us when the time is right anyway. Her clueless ass.
“It’s Jason; he’s being fussy. I think he might be coming down with something.”
“Oh!” I wonder what he did to my kid to get him to pretend to be sick. What five-year-old isn’t a fussy mess?
“Are you sure? He seemed fine when you left.”
“I’m sure I’m bringing them back to the house.”
He was smart enough to hang up before I could answer and showed up in my face ten minutes later. I doubt he even made it home before coming back here to annoy me. For someone who was worried about his kid, he sure spent an inordinate amount of time looking around my house as if expecting a man to jump out at him.
I didn’t miss the smug look on his face when he realized the coast was clear. I guess he missed the fact that there were no strange cars in the driveway. He seems to have lost his senses since the divorce, or his close proximity to the brainless twit he left me for was rubbing off on him.
“Come on, kids, let’s change into our play clothes.” He walked by me like he still lived here and took the kids upstairs to their rooms with the youngest in his arms, looking like the cat that ate the canary. Ain’t this a bitch? I had to divorce him to get him to be a father.
The time he spends grilling my poor kids about what goes on in my house is about the most time he’s spent with them since he started losing his mind three years ago. My poor kids don’t know what the hell is going on, but they know not to talk about Mommy’s friend, which only makes him rabid.
Unbeknownst to him, Mommy’s friend is the Instacart guy who doubles as a Doordasher and is here at least once a week. We shoot the breeze when he comes by because I make sure to tip him well because he has a young girlfriend with a kid at home. It’s got so I find little things for him to take care of on the property so I could give him some extra money.
My ex is convinced that this friend is Tim, so every time my kids mention him, I get interrogated like he works for M5. Once, they told him that Mommy’s friend brought pizza, and he tried to fuck me to death the next afternoon.
I heard him calling me from downstairs but pretended I didn’t because I wanted no part in what he was up to. I stayed my ass downstairs, waiting for him to make his way back down my stairs and out my damn house, but instead, I heard squeals from upstairs and the running of feet to the movie room.
I went up there to see what was going on and found the four of them on the wraparound couch with every pillow in the house around them and a whole cache of Disney movies ready to make me lose my damn mind.
Now, I’ve been careful not to let the kids see us together because I don’t want them to be more confused than they already are. But here he is, living out a moment from the past. This is what we used to do when one of the kids was feeling poorly.
“What are you doing?” I made my voice sound as friendly as I could so as not to alarm the kiddos.
“What does it look like?”
“You’re staying here?”
“Yes, I am. My kid is sick. What do you expect?”
Fucker, they’ve been sick before, and your ass was too busy getting some strange to notice or care. I didn’t say any of what I was thinking out loud. “Great, I’ll go get changed.” I left and went to my bedroom to get changed alright, but not the way he thought, I was sure.
I slipped out of the palazzo pants and silk blouse and slid into a short yellow sundress. You know the type: spaghetti straps, cleavage on point, a cinched waist, and falls to just above the knees with a flare that could go either way. If I bend too low, you’d see all my particulars, and if a high wind blew, I’d do a Marilyn Monroe in this bitch.
I found another pair of fuck me sandals and headed back to the movie room to mess with his head. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“You’re forgetting; this is your weekend; I have plans.”
“But Jason is sick.”
“Yeah, and you’ve got it.” I left before he could bitch anymore. I had no damn plans and drove around like I was lost for the first ten minutes before deciding that some retail therapy was just what I needed. Something that will kill a few hours while he sits at home stewing about who I’m with.
I turned my phone off because I knew damn good, and well, my kid wasn’t sick and knew even more that it would piss him off. Too bad for him I’m no longer his wife and don’t have to answer to him for shit.
After filling my trunk with packages filled with more crap my kids weren’t going to use or wear, I decided to treat myself to a nice meal out, taking my sweet time. By the time I pulled into the driveway, the sun was going down.
The house was pretty quiet when I walked inside, not a peep coming from above stairs, and from the looks of things, he’d fed the kids dinner already and put them to bed. There was no sight of him, though, but I knew he was still there because his car was still in my driveway.
I checked on the kids, but still no sign of him until I walked into my bedroom and was attacked from behind. “Where the hell have you been all day, huh?” He wrapped his arm around my middle, the other went up under my skirt, and he tore my panties off.
I knew from the way he was feeling around he was checking to see if my pussy was dirty from ‘Tim.’ “What in the world are you doing?” I stifled my laughter as best I could. “You can smell me? I showered.”
“What the fuck?” I got myself bent over the end of the bed this time.
I’ve had more sex with my ex in the last three months than I did in the last two years when he was my husband. I had to muffle my screams in the bed because he was doing his best to outdo ‘Tim,’ and my poor cooter was paying the price.
I guess he had a lot of pent-up energy because when he was done, he dragged me off to bed and started in on me all over again. I hope that lonely bitch was home losing her damn mind.
“I’m staying the night.”
“The hell you are. Don’t you have a woman to get home to?”
“She doesn’t live with me. And can you stop throwing her in my face every second?”
Well, what do you know? He’s tired of hearing her mentioned. I had to live with that shit for the past three years. Buckle up, fruitcake; I’ve only just gotten started. “Take your dirty dick and get the hell on. I like sleeping by myself.”
“What about your precious Tim?”
“He doesn’t sleep here. I’m waiting to get the kids used to him first. Don’t want to rush things, you know.” Well, that did it. Now, my legs are bent all the way back to my ears, and the coot is getting the pounding of her life.