Wanted For Pleasure

Chapter Fourteen: like a jackass

"He wanted her. She'd never tell. Secretly she wanted him as well."

Morgan Ann Bennett

A week in Penshaw.

Everyday was already becoming routine.

Wake up. Shower. Clean up after Malcolm except he was never home so the only rooms he dirtied included his bedroom and the kitchen.
Then I'd do some Pilates with an instructor I just found online. She was in town and just starting but I figured I'd keep my figure tight and be her first client.

Quinn was in daycare now so while Callie worked I didn't have to worry about watching her. I'd be happy about that if it didn't give me one less thing to do.

I think I need responsibility, something to do. Otherwise, I felt useless.

Whenever Malcolm was gone, I'd take the BMW into town.

If business was slow at Black Elk Lodge, I'd help out in the gift shop and café. When things were picking up, I kept myself busy somewhere else since I wasn't properly trained.

Mister and Misses Porter extended their stay at Red Sage B&B so I had them to talk to.

Adriel was cool, but I guess his little buddy, Chris, must've gotten to his head. Probably told him I'm no good. He's good at making shit up about me.
Whenever I would see Adriel around he would just "hi" and "bye" me. Men.

Callie said she met someone, but she wouldn't tell me who. She said he's cute and that I'd probably seen him around. I tried to guess, naming everyone I knew, and then going through her following list on Instagram. It could've been anyone so I didn't drive myself crazy about it.
I didn't want her getting involved with someone right away as she still needed to settle into this new role, but it's nice that when she is into someone, how excited she gets. It's like a whole new person, a better person, but for the wrong reasons. Again, men.

"Go fish," I yawned during the card game with the elderly couple.

"What did she say?" Asked Mr.Porter in a yell.

"Go fish!" his wife repeated as she knit a scarf.

"That's really pretty, Wilma," I complimented, trying to get out of the game.

"Why, thank you, hun," she hummed. "It's for little Quinn."

"She'll love it," I assured her.

When Mary walked in, I took the chance to follow her around.

"Hey, Morgan," she bubbled, carrying in a laundry basket full of towels and sheets from the line outside.

"Need a hand?" I asked her, walking through the mud room.

"No, but Carter actually might," she set up.

"Alright," I said, grabbing a glass of lemonade in case he was thirsty.

Carter spent most of his time at the b&b doing handiwork or helping Dale with landscaping.

I appreciated his willingness to help. It seems as if his son got that trait — although I mostly call it intervening— but never used it for good.

In actuality I didn't want to see Carter, I didn't even want to see Mary, really, they reminded me too much of their dickhead of a son, Chris.

Chris hadn't been to Malcolm's, or at least he didn't let me see him there.
I'm sure Malcolm had him over but Chris knew to keep his distance after our last round.

I can't pinpoint what I ever did to make him so pissed at me but now he's in the hot seat. He called me a whore, a slut, and judged me. Right to my face, not even respecting me enough to do it behind my back.