Sexy Jerk(5)

By: Kim Karr

Those words of wisdom, along with my slightly exaggerated, entirely put together plan to open the café, to prove my mental state was more than stable, was how I convinced my best friend’s husband to take his wife on her dream honeymoon.

And it is nothing but the truth.

How could the want-to-be senator argue with that bit of sanity?

They left this afternoon for Fiji to drink fruity cocktails and have lots of sex for the next two weeks.

Today is Wednesday. And on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Max spends his afternoons with eleven other preschoolers learning his colors, letters, and even how to speak French.

Crazy, right?

It’s no joke.

Very soon my godson might be able to speak better French than me, and I dated a Frenchman for six years. Of course, my Frenchman only liked to talk to me in French when he’d had too much to drink and was extremely horny. That’s when the dirty French talk emerged. I didn’t care, I found it sexy as hell.

Still, my knowledge of the language is limited to things like, “Je veux ta bouche sur ma bite,” or, “I want your mouth on my dick.”

Then there was, “Votre chatte a un goût étonnant,” or, “Your pussy tastes amazing.” And let’s not forget the infamous, “I need to be inside you right now,” which translated in French is, “J’ai besoin d’être à l’intérieur de toi maintenant.” In English it doesn’t sound nearly as romantic.

Drunk or not, his words always turned me on. Something about the dirty talk turned me inside out. Too bad it didn’t happen that often. Not that I encourage drinking, but . . .

Anyway, don’t get me wrong, Ansel liked to fuck. I did too. The problem was I only wanted to fuck him. He, on the other hand, felt compelled to fuck anything in a skirt. I just didn’t know it. Shame on me for thinking I should have been enough for him.

Enough time wasted on him.

After spending the afternoon at an industrial interior design center just outside the city limits, I arrive at Max’s school promptly at five forty-five.

The teacher is wearing a very nice black pants suit and she has her hair in a perfect chignon. Geez, I thought preschool teachers wore overalls and long dresses. Guess here they break that stereotype. Anyway, I try to recall her name. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but doesn’t come to me fast enough.

The teacher looks at me with contempt. “Ms. Winters?”

Curious as to what the look is for, I give her a nod and glance around the room. It is then that I realize Max is the only child left. “I thought pickup time was between five and six Mrs.—?” I let the phrase hang.

“It’s Miss Eastling. And yes that is correct,” she answers sternly.

“Great, then I’m not late,” I reply, and dutifully gather Max and his things.

“But you should know, all the moms pick up promptly at five,” she mentions just as I head for the door.

“Well, my name is Auntie Tess, not Mom, so between five and six will have to do over the next two weeks,” I reply.

“Auntie Tess. Auntie Tess. Auntie Tess. Auntie Tess.” Max repeats over and over as soon as we get in Fiona’s BMW SUV.

Hmmm . . . perhaps I had spoken out of turn at Preston, and this is karma’s way of calling me a bitch?

I hope not.


THE QUAINT TREE-LINED street of Hudson Avenue is where Fiona and Ethan’s very old East Lincoln Park home is located. Originally built in 1886, the narrow brick building with three floors has a charm that I just love.

Easing down the street, I take a left about ten homes from theirs to circle around to the alleyway where their driveway is positioned.

Spotting the black Range Rover parked there puts me on edge. The chrome wheels and tinted windows immediately give it away. It belongs to Nick Carrington, one of the biggest real estate developers in Chicago. Nick also happens to be Ethan’s former college roommate and best friend. Oh, and did I mention, he’s Max’s Godfather.

What the hell is he doing here?

Last I heard he was in Miami for an extended amount of time working on a really big real estate deal. Then again it isn’t like I keep tabs on him. He and I don’t exactly get along.

Yes, we’ve been forced together in the same social settings at least a couple dozen times since Fiona and Ethan met. But to be honest, I’ve never really given him a second thought—other than to say he’s kind of a jerk.

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