Squeak

Your Name, My Name

Erik

My fingers gripped around the steering wheel as I drove to the diner I took Jezebel on our first date. I weaved through traffic, needing to get there before the Harrison twins could catch up with her.

I fucked up.

I didn't give a shit about Tucker being paralyzed and in a coma. In my opinion, he got what he deserved, but I fucked up.

Never shit where you eat.

My emotions got the better of me, and I was riding a high after nutting so hard that I saw stars. It was a wonder I even had it in me to stumble out of bed and push that motherfucker.

Clearly, this is Jezebel's fault. That bitch has a mean ass pussy on her.

Jezebel's top-tier pussy aside, I made the conscious decision to push Tucker and, in doing so, put a bigger target on Jezebel. This was my mess, and I had to fix it.

I pulled into a parking spot and was relieved to see Jezebel through the diner window. She sat towards the back of the restaurant, in the same booth we sat not too long ago. I entered the diner and smiled unintentionally—I couldn't help it. There she was, wearing her little church dress and those white stockings, with her hair in two giant puffs at the top of her head. She had that same bug-eyed expression on her face—looking around, waiting for someone to save her; however, the cause of her current distress wasn't me.

Well, it depends on who you ask.

I slid into the booth opposite her.

"Finally, what took you so long to get here?"

I grabbed her hands and rubbed the back of them with my thumbs, emulating comfort.

"Are you scared, Squeak?"

"What kind of question is that? I was just held at gunpoint."

"There was no reason to be afraid. They wouldn't have killed you in the hospital."

"How do you know that when their moneymaker was lying in a bed with a tube shoved down his throat?"

"Because if they killed you, they wouldn't have been able to fuck you."

"As if me being deceased would stop them," she hissed.

"True, but you need to relax. I have everything under control."

"How?" she challenged.

"Don't worry about it, Squeak."

"I'm worried."

"Why?"

"What if I'm home by myself and—"

"You don't have to worry about that because you won't be returning home."

"What?"

"Let's go," I said, standing to my feet. "I left Sophia in the car."

"Erik, you can't leave her in the car," she said harshly, launching out of the booth.

"Why not? I left the windows cracked."

She snatched the key fob out of my hand. "Don't ever procreate, Anderson," she said before running out of the diner.

Too late.

I wouldn't be surprised if she was already pregnant. It was cute how prepared Jezebel was for her first time—going to the pharmacy and purchasing condoms. She forgot about those condoms as soon as her knees hit the floor. I tried to do the right thing and offered to wear a condom the next time we fucked. A few strokes in and Jezebel was not satisfied. She whined that it didn't feel the same and gave me permission to take it off, but only if I agreed to pull out. I pulled out—late, but I still pulled out. I didn't have to trap Jezebel. She was trapping herself. She knew I couldn't be trusted, and if she didn't, then she was slower than Tucker was gonna be if he woke from his coma.