Unsocial
Authors: Nicole Dykes
Unsocial
By
Nicole Dykes
Dylan
Joy
rolls her perfect, naked body off mine after riding me for the last thirty
minutes. She has a satisfied grin plastered across her face and says in an
equally satisfied voice, “Wow, Dylan, that was so worth the wait.”
Now’s
when I should be feeling pretty smug. In hindsight, the decision to fuck her
was probably a colossal mistake, but what’s done is done. Now I need to figure
out how to get the hell out of here with as little drama as possible.
You
see, Joy works as a receptionist at my restoration and repair shop, and I’ve
just broken one of many of my hookup rules, this being my number one rule: do
not fuck anyone from work. I don’t need a lawsuit, and I know I have to handle
this delicately. I’m not interested in being with her other than this one
time. Just another of my rules: never fuck them twice.
Now
I have to defend my stupidity here before you start handing down judgment.
I’ve just had the day from hell, which started with a new employee fucking up
the color of paint on a ‘68 Camaro. Shit just progressed to being bitched out
by a snobby asshole who had sent his car up from Dallas for restoration.
Apparently it wasn’t what he had imagined.
Instead
of arguing with him, knowing that I had taken every note he had told me and
that car was perfect, I told him the guys would redo it at no cost to him. Fortunately,
this type of thing rarely happens in our shop. We have an impeccable
reputation.
To
top off my day, one of my best detailers quit because he got into it for the
hundredth time with one of the mechanics. Why they were even around each other
I have no idea; we have a fucking huge garage.
So,
as I was heading out after work badly in need of a drink and a hot, warm body
to end this day on a high note, Joy decided to make things easier. She knew I
had had a bad day and gave me her sexiest smile. She hadn’t been shy with her
flirting from day one. When she asked me if I wanted to get a drink, it became
a done deal. I knew I shouldn’t have, but she was sexy, and I wanted an escape
from the clusterfuck my day had been. So, like a fucking idiot I said yes, and
now here we are in her tiny apartment and me trying to figure out an escape
route.
I
get up to get rid of the condom. Yes, another rule, and I’ll never be too
liquored up and stupid enough to break this one. Now I need to pick up my shit
and get the hell out of here. Next to her bed, I see my phone flashing letting
me know I have a text message.
I can work with this
;
I’ve used this
exit strategy countless times.
I notice I have several missed calls from
Jackson. He’s my roommate and business partner, and always my best wingman
whether he knows it or not, and right now he’s going to be flying me out of
here.
Joy
climbs behind me and starts kissing my neck. “Wanna go for round two?”
I
stare at my phone wondering why there are so many phone calls from Jax. He
rarely calls me since we live and work together. I’m distracted and totally
uninterested when I say, “Uh, sorry I really can’t. I need to leave.”
“Why?
You could stay the night, and we could go into work together tomorrow. Easy since
we’re going to the same place.”
Oh, hell no. And what the fuck up is with
her voice? I swear it wasn’t that whiny before.
“Jackson’s
been calling, and I need to see what’s up.”
She’s
nodding like she understands, but disappointment is in her eyes. It’s a look
I’ve seen on all the chicks I’ve banged as I’m walking out. I don’t consider
myself so much of an asshole since I make sure they’re satisfied. That’s the
nice guy in me. According to another rule, I don’t hang out for the sun to rise.
“Just call him and see what’s up.”
I
continue dressing. “Nope, I’ve got to get going. He may need me at the shop.”
She’s
sitting on the bed, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head,
“Dylan is this something you and Jax have worked out for you to get out of a
one-night stand? I’m not stupid; I know your reputation.”
Then why the fuck
are you wondering what I’m doing?
Of course, I can’t say this.
Goddamn,
tequila.
Now
I have to try to make her feel better without leading her on, “I swear, Jax has
called me several times, and he never does that. I need to go, but I’ll see
you tomorrow.”
She
stands up completely naked and wraps her arms around my neck, pressing her
overly large, fake tits against my chest. Right before her lips touch mine I
turn my head, and they land on my jaw. I don’t kiss, and I guess she hasn’t
picked up on that fact. It’s too personal and gives off the wrong impression.
“Yes, you will.” I think she tried to purr.
Was that supposed to be sexy?
Shit!
I’ve got my out for tonight but have no clue what the hell I’ll be dealing with
tomorrow. If this goes south, Jax will kick my ass. I decide to wait until I
get home to talk to Jax, just to get the hell out.
When
I walk into our living room, Jax is propped in the corner of our sectional with
his laptop. “Bout time you got home. Did you get my messages?”
“Yeah,
I was busy. What’s up?” He shoots me a questioning look I choose to ignore.
I’m not bringing up tonight’s stupidity unless it’s necessary.
“You
have a message on the landline phone from the Overland Park Police Department.”
“What
the fuck? Did they say what they wanted?”
He
shakes his head, “No just left a number. It’s still on the machine. You have a
warrant or something?”
Funny guy.
“Fuck
you, I haven’t been in Kansas for three years.”
He
shrugs and goes back to whatever the hell he’s doing on his laptop. Jackson is
the numbers guy in our business. I’m the people guy. We work like the
well-oiled machines we trick out for our extremely rich clients that in turn make
sure we’re rich. Win, win. Jax is a mountain with tattoos and is intimidating
as hell. I’m big with tattoos, but my awesome looks bring in customers not to
mention plenty of pussy. Conceited, I know.
I
deal with the customer relations side of the business because Jackson has zero
tolerance for bullshit, and crazy as it seems; I feed off the bullshit.
Luckily we’ve got some seriously wicked mechanics and body restoration
specialists making our garage the most successful in Oklahoma. We’ve become
quite fucking wealthy in the last few years.
I
go to the kitchen and grab up our landline to get the number; then I head to my
room. I dial in the 913 phone number and wonder what the actual fuck Overland
Park Police Department wants from me. “Overland Park Police Department. How
may I direct your call?”
“My
name is Dylan Monroe. I have a message to call Detective Morrison.”
“Hold
please.”
A
gruff voice answers, “This is Detective Morrison.”
“Yeah,
this is Dylan Monroe. I got a message that you called.”
“Yes.
I’m very sorry to tell you this, especially over the phone, but your father,
Daniel and his wife, Sylvia, were involved in an accident this afternoon.”
What
the hell!
“Are they okay?”
“I’m
sorry, but they were both pronounced dead at the scene.”
I
have to sit down on my bed to stop the room from spinning and shake it off long
enough to ask about my next question. “Um, what about my brothers and
sisters? Are they okay?”
“The
youngest, Gabrielle, was in the crash, but there were no physical injuries. The
other three were not in the vehicle.”
I
let out a small breath of relief that my siblings are okay. “Where are they?”
“Right
now they are in the care of social services, but that’s temporary, and we were
hoping you can come and get them right away.”
My
dad and his wife Sylvia were both only children and their parents were both
long gone. I’m the only family the kids have left. “Of course, I live in
Oklahoma City, but I’ll find a flight or drive there, whichever is quicker.”
He gives me the contact information for social services to call when I get into
town. I need to talk to Jax and get on the road.
When
Jax sees me coming into the living room, he notices right away that something
is off. “What happened?”
“My
dad and Sylvia are dead.”
“Shit,
man. I’m sorry. What happened?”
“Car
wreck.”
“Are
the kids okay?”
“Yeah,
I have to get to them.” I take a seat on a bar stool at the kitchen island
that separates our living room to discuss my leaving for a few days. I know we
have some new clients coming in.
Jackson
moves back to the couch and picks up his laptop. After a minute he looks over
at me, “No flights until tomorrow. We driving?”
I
stand up. “Yeah, but someone has to take care of the garage.”
He
grabs his keys and heads for the door. “I’ll call Joe on the way. He’s capable
of watching over things for a few days. Let’s go.”
I
don’t bother to argue and just follow him to his truck. With Jackson behind
the wheel, I don’t have to worry about driving. I know life as I’ve been
living it, is about to get blown wide open. It’s going to be a long five-hour
drive to Kansas. We’re clipping north up I-35 when Jackson finally begins
talking.
Damn, this is going to fuck with his life too. He’s my roommate,
and there’s a high probability that I’m getting stuck with four kids.
“Do
you want to talk about it?” Okay, not what I was expecting.
I
continue looking straight ahead, “About what?”
He’s
watching the road as he continues, “Well, how about the fact that you haven’t
talked to your family for three years. You have to be wigging out about this a
little.”
I
shake my head, “Nope, don’t want to talk about it.”
He
nods his head. “Okay, so do you think you will be raising your brothers and
sisters? I mean, you are their only family, right?”
“Yeah,
I don’t know. I
really don’t see my old man wanting me
raising his other kids. I’m sure they have a family friend or something.”
“I
don’t know, man. Sylvia was big on family. So let’s say you do get custody of
them, what’s going to happen?”
At
the moment, I’m having trouble trying to process what’s happened to give a
clear answer,
“I don’t know. I just want to get there, make
sure they’re okay, and then play it by ear.”
He
nods and we spend the rest of the trip making small talk about the shop which keeps
me from having to worry about seeing my brothers and sisters after three years
of radio silence. They have to hate me if they even remember me.
We
arrive in Overland Park, which is a large suburb of Kansas City. It’s five in
the morning, so I give the contact number a try. A recording informs me the
office doesn’t open until nine. We decide to find a hotel and get some rest.
Jackson
falls right to sleep after the long drive, and I’m staring at the fucking
ceiling with a million damn thoughts going on in my head. I don’t remember
much about my mom since she died of a drug overdose when I was five. My dad
had married Sylvia when I was ten.
They
immediately became a baby factory. First came Luke, followed by Cassie,
Michael, and Gabby. I remember giving Sylvia shit in the beginning, but she
stayed tough. Eventually, she won me over. She’s the only one I’ve talked to
in the last three years after shit went down with my dad.
My
phone alarm finally goes off at 8:45. At Social Services, we meet with a
frazzled woman. After I tell her my name, she tells me how sorry she is for my
loss.
I
nod. “Thank you. I need to see my siblings.”
“Of
course.” She flips through the huge pile of papers on her desk until she pulls
out a file that’s labeled, ‘Monroe’. “Ah, okay. There’s some paperwork you
need to fill out, and I need to get a copy of your ID. After that, we can pick
up your siblings.”
Finally,
after the paperwork is complete, Jackson and I are following her to a house
across town to get the kids. I’m a nervous fucking wreck. Shit is about to
get real.
