A Taste of Spring

Chapter 45

SUMMER

This shit has to end, Summer thought as she stood in the kitchen of her apartment. It's been two weeks and Spring still looked like leftover shit on a stick and it was all that twit's-Fallon's-fault. God, why did the lord breed such pricks? From her father, a loser drug-addicted liar, to her first real boyfriend, a voyeur douche who manipulated and used her, men were the scum of the earth.

Though Summer only had one good use for them-as her personal ATM machines, her sister felt differently. Spring believed in Happily Ever After, and that meant she let men affect her. To do that meant being miserable and hovering from here to there like a ghost while dealing with their machinations, and then looking like a zombie when they broke you.

(...and they always broke you.)

Thank god she didn't believe in love anymore.

"Want to catch a movie tonight?" Summer leaned on the wall as she watched Spring fidget with the zipper on her shoulder bag.

"Not really. Besides, I only have a few episodes left of the show I'm streaming." Spring finally zippered up the bag. She opened the front door to go to work. "See ya."

"See ya," Summer said as she watched her sister slink out of the front door. "Yeah, this shit has to end."

With that in mind, Summer grabbed her keys and clutch purse then slipped her feet into her sneakers. She left her apartment, locking the front door behind her.

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FALLON

Breathing a sigh, Fallon cursed then picked up his remote and pressed the pause button. He grinned at the frozen image on the screen as he walked through his living room to the foyer. His co-workers and management were the only people privy to him being home so he could only assume that he had a delivery. Maybe it was a certified letter of his termination.

No Regrets, he thought as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Fallon peered at the person on his porch stairs with equal amounts of intrigue and disgust. She wore yoga pants that hugged her curves perfectly, and a loose gray top that fell off her shoulders with a black tank under it. Her long hair was in a messy bun on the top of her head and she didn't seem to have on a stitch of makeup, which only accentuated her natural beauty.

Natural beauty that had no effect on him. Fallon had to force his eyes to stay in place and not roll up into his head. He noted her stance, the crossed arms, the scowl on her too perfect fucking face, and her right foot forward as if she was squaring off. As mad as she appeared, he couldn't find the fucks to give a shit.

"I assume you got my address from your Madame or Pimp, but I see it as a breach of information and will be pursuing legal consultation because-"

She pushed past him, bumping his shoulder and side as she marched into his house. For several seconds, Fallon stared at the spot where she was standing seconds ago. When the shock of her intrusion settled, he closed the door and went to retrieve his uninvited guest.

He found her standing in his living room. Her was body stiff and standoffish, and she was clearly angry. He scanned the room for his cell phone in case he had to have her psycho ass removed from his property. It was still on the coffee table but she stood in his path.

"Look, Brittney," he chuckled as he walked around the circumference of his seating area, giving her a wide berth, "wait, is your name Brittney Goings or Summer Lafayette? Both sound like porn star aliases if you ask me but hey, in your line of work, discretion is important."

"My name is Summer you twit," she spat. "What the hell did you tell Dezmond?"

Fallon lowered his eyes and slumped his shoulders but immediately stood straight then slanted his eyes at the intruder. (Idiot.) He berated himself. Just because he felt guilty didn't mean he wanted her to see it. "Get out. Scurry off to your next bedding because I haven't the time, tenacity, or temperament to be handling you right now." He turned around with the intent to escort her out.

The sound of jingling metal was his only warning as something colorful and shiny sailed by, inches from his face. Fallon followed the projectile as it fell to the floor and slid until it hit the base of the wall. Lord knew he never laid hands on a female but this one was special.

He spun around. Only, what he saw wasn't a woman ready to do battle. What he saw was a blubbering mess of a woman who was damn near on the verge of crumbling to his polished wood floor. She was soundless, and her heaving chest and flowing tears diminished his own anger. He lifted his foot to move forward but stopped and placed his foot back on solid ground. Helpless, he rubbed his head as he looked around his room for assistance from...hell, anyone, or anything. He decided to say something.

"If your plan is to get me arrested for assault-"

A gasp left her as she stared at him. Her brows creased as she seemed to look deeper. "You really need therapy, you know that," she said then sniffed. She glanced around then said, "My Uber left already. Can I use your bathroom?"Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Fallon considered telling her to go to the bathroom at one of the stores in town but ultimately pointed in the direction of his first-floor facilities. "Down that hall and to the left."

"Thanks," she mumbled.

Fallon watched her disappear down the hall. He rubbed his hands on his thighs. He moved to pick up his cell then started to dial Dez. His fingers moved on autopilot but before he pushed the send button, he paused. They weren't friends anymore. He could call the Police. But what would he say? A hot escort refused to leave my house so I made her cry...though I don't know how I did that...

Unsure of what to do, he eased down on his sofa and stared at the still frozen image on his TV.

(What the fuck just happened?)