The Beast is a Sex Addict

Chapter 34

Adam

I stared at the bag of potatoes. Oops, I mean my fucking SAA coach. Jesus H Christ, what the hell was I going to do now? I turned to look at Audrey, but she had disappeared. Of course, Jack was nowhere to be found either. What in heaven's name do I pay these people for? All they did was aggravate me on a daily basis. I have no idea what I did to deserve this shit.

I wondered if I could leave Coach Dickhead on the street in front of the building. Then I had a brilliantly evil idea to videotape him and then casually show him the video when he started to harass me. Although it was an awesome idea, I knew I wouldn't do it, no matter how tempted I was. I growl in frustration, at a complete loss on how to handle this. I knew what I wanted to do, but at the same time, I knew that if I did it, I would be even more screwed.

Against my better judgment, I picked him up. He was tossed over my shoulder in a fireman's pose. I really hoped I left a few painful bruises. The asshole was damn heavy, like really heavy. Even though I worked out, he easily weighed over 200 pounds. Fuck this shit. I dropped him back onto the floor. I had the satisfaction of hearing a nice whack when his head hit the back of a chair. Oh well, I tried to be gentle. Yes, I could lie to myself; I was gentle. I could have intentionally bumped into a thousand things. Ok, that was an exaggeration. I mentally argued with myself that I could have dropped him on purpose to cause as much pain as possible...Oh wait, I did... oops. Yes, I am bad at lying, even to myself, which is truly ironic since I was only in this mess because the Judge believed I lied.

I walked to the stock room and grabbed a utility cart. I was pretty sure Coach Dickhead would fit on the utility cart in some form. Wouldn't it be nice if I could bury him in a shallow grave? Or feed him to the fish? Biscayne Bay wasn't far from the bar. I wheeled the cart over to the asshole and heaved him onto it. Now, I have a new dilemma: what should I do? Did I really want to be a decent human being, or did I want to be the villain he thought I was? It was a tough decision. Honestly, Biscayne Bay was an excellent choice. I really wanted to be the villain that threw him in the bay. They had so much more fun and were way cooler. Audrey would kill me, though, so I really only had two choices: my office or the curb. How to decide? I couldn't do rock, paper, scissors with myself, so that left Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe. If my finger landed on the left side, I would take him to my office. If it landed on the right, he was being rolled out to the curve like the trash he was.

" EENY, MEENY," I started.

"STOP," someone screamed.

WTF? I was going to murder whoever was screaming in my bar.

"It's illegal to kill someone."

The comment came out with a high-pitched gasp as though he was struggling to breathe. It was a short, round-ton man running at me with the baseball bat I had left in my office. He looked like Martin Short, just a hundred pounds heavier, with a pair of wired-rim glasses that was sliding off his longish noose. Jack was chasing him. I wonder if the old man had read my most profound thoughts or if he was referring to Jack.

Yes, Jack could be scary. For instance, he looked like a craze rabbit zig zagging all over the floor of the bar and occasionally hopping up and down as if he was trying to relieve cramps. What the fuck was going on? Why was Jack acting like a damn rabbit, and who was going to kill whom?

The man wasn't looking at where he was going. The baseball bat hit my abdomen hard before it slid down my body. Fuck, but that hurt. I couldn't help wincing. The man jumped to the side only to trip over the cart. It must have been painful, the old man groaned, and Coach Dickhead moaned. The moaning was the most pleasant sound so far in this whole ordeal.

I rubbed my belly and glared at Jack. This whole fucking mess was his fault. He invited Coach Dickhead to the bar, and he was chasing Martin Short. I was going to dump this all on him and then eat a big bowl of Lucky Charms for breakfast because the night was gone already, and I needed some damn luck. Jack saw my look and skidded to a halt. I saw him start to back up.

My smile turned evil as I growled, "Where the hell do you think you are going."

"No wh-er-e, " he stammmered.

If only I had a dime for every time he lied, I would be rich. Wait, I already was rich. I just occasionally forgot that fact because of all the shit that just keeps happening to me.

"What do you think you are doing?" I growled.

Jack shuffled his feet and started looking everywhere but at me. His eyes finally land on the asshole who is half on the utility cart.

"Oh my God! You Killed Him," he screamed.

Why was everyone screaming today?

"Oh dear, it's not Chip, is it?" Ms. Potts came running out of the kitchen.

"Please tell me you didn't kill him. I told him not to touch your things. He's just a boy."

Jack grabbed Ms. Potts by the shoulders and turned her to face the prone figure of Coach Dickhead.

"Oh, dear," she exclaimed.

"Relax, he's not dead." The old man said.

"Oh, thank god."

"Jack," I said, "Who is he, and more importantly, why does he have my signed Miguel Cabrera bat?"

"It's signed," Martin Short said, "Jesus, I hope I didn't ruin it."

"Jack," I growled again, giving him the nastiest look I could muster. If my bat was messed up, Jack was dying a slow, painful death.