The Divorcee Murder Club

Diecisiete ~ 17

So, it's time to wake up the creature that lives deep within me officially. The one that chucks my moral compass into the ocean and uses the flicker of hell's firelight to guide me. It's a dark mental state to be in, and Richie has already tasted the venomous serpent that coils the honorable part of my brain. It's survival now, so I can't let psycho Angie blow this entire shit up with her hurricane way of creating disaster everywhere she goes.

She might give mind-blowing BJs, but it's not worth prison time. And it's as if she's reading my mind because my phone pings one after another.

Angie: I'm coming over later. I'm in the mood to have you cum in my mouth.

Angie: And then on my back.

Angie: Across my ass.

Angie: I want you to make a complete mess of me.

Angie: And then lick it off.

And just like that, I feel a chub growing in my track pants. All it took was picturing her mouth around my cock and me drenching her in my sin.

I'm such a mess.

Scratch that. She'll be a mess once I'm done with her, and she's seriously a mind reader because my phone pings.

Angie: I can't wait for all the dirty things we're about to do to each other.

And damn it, I shouldn't want this. Not from her. Not when Mindy, sweet and beautiful Mindy, is the deserving one. It's so hard to say no when Angie makes it so easy to say yes.

Me: All of that sounds amazing, but I can't tonight. I already have plans. Sorry. Maybe next time.

Before I change my mind, I hit send and then bang out a message to Jackson. Minutes pass as I wait for Angie to respond, but it never comes. However, Jackson replies, and by the time work is over, I have the wheels set in motion to take over the crazy train headed for Murderville.

∆∆∆

It's late in the evening, and the sky is clear, lending a perfect view to the starless canvas as hues of purple streak across fading sunbursts streaking the horizon. The window is open, with cacophonies from the neighborhood seeping into the living room where I'm chowing down on ramen, waiting for Jackson and Alma to arrive. I'm not sure why, but I'm nervous and have no idea what's happening on the Dateline episode I'm watching because I keep running through scenarios on how this meeting will pan out.

It's ten minutes later when Jackson finally knocks, announcing their arrival. When I open the door, he's holding Alma's hand, and they step into the apartment together. They haven't come right out and said it, but at this point, there's no denying they're a couple. And they make one hell of a gorgeous one, too, with Jackson being the strapping firefighter he is and Alma being a Latin-indigenous mix with straight black hair and soft yet sharp features emphasizing her heritage.

Maybe being a package deal will make things easier when I try to get them on my side.

Except, I sense opposition in the atmosphere as they silently cross the small expanse of hardwood floor to the living room. They didn't even greet me when they entered.

"So, we're here." Jackson slips his hands into his pockets, and Alma folds her arms.

"Thanks for coming."

"Well, it sounded urgent, and considering how we left things the other day..." Jackson replies.

"Which is what I want to talk about." I motion to the couch. "Please, take a seat."