From Becca’s list, I have accomplished two things: I didn’t look for her and I haven’t dated Trish. At the moment I’m at Sotano—Buddy’s night club—with a blond draped on my left, a brunette on my right and another blond next to her.
One is slim, one curvy in the right places and the other in-between. All types, so no one gives me some shit that I have preferences or a type, because I don’t.
Before we began this encounter, I asked them if they were sluts—Becca was very specific that I shouldn’t date that type. Of course, while we made the introductions, I omitted the part where my ex asked me not to date skanks—or easy women—I’m not an idiot.
With a giggle the three of them shook their heads about the slutty part. Though the barely there material covering their bodies made me wonder if they were being honest. Of course, as a gentleman, I didn’t question them any further.
Three at the same time should shorten the amount of women I should date. Though Becca didn’t give me a specific number of females I should go out with.
As of right now, she hasn’t answered any of my fucking emails. There are several unanswered questions.
Like duration of the dates? Can I fuck them? I don’t know, because Rebecca refuses to give me any further instructions. Perhaps, next time I’ll send her a letter to that address she gave me in her six page correspondence—front and back.
Geneva, quite a trip and whoever helped her will pay. I just need a moment to regroup and plan my vengeance.
“Ladies, if you excuse me.” I run both hands through my hair when I hear that. Buddy is interrupting one of the girls, she was telling me something about her career in communications. That is rude.
He should be thankful that I’m not at my best. If not I would beat the hell out of him for sticking his nose where nobody wants him.
My fucking friends, brothers and security personal believe they are my sitters. Buddy—my foster brother—is looking all shades of pissed.
Next time I need to take my dating to a place he doesn’t own. “D, out!”