I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He’d never been much a conversationalist, but once upon a time, he might’ve been better. Might’ve actually given a shit too. Now? Well, now he’s… this. Damn, she’d fucking slept with him too. Had she stooped well below her or what? Even without eyes, she is still a damn sight classier than him.
Not that he actually gave two shits. I mean, he’s a guy, after all. A pretty dickish one at that. And hell, she’s still sexy as fuck. Of course, he’s also still a guy, so what the hell does he actually know?
He barks out a laugh at her her joke, appreciating her self-deprecating humor. Not many knew how to take a fucking joke, and that she could joke at her own expense is quite refreshing. Shit, maybe they did still have more to talk about than he’d assumed. Other than their daughter, who is no doubt long dead. Not that she’d probably believe he actually gave a damn if he tried to ask. He’s always been a shit father. It’s sad, he supposes, but fuck, he’d outlived so many of his children. Would no doubt outlive many fucking more.
“Hell,” he says, a wry grin tugging at his lips as he steps closer. “If we’re still talking, we sure as fuck haven’t run into each.”
To be honest, if she’d even acknowledge him after this encounter, he’d call it good. There are plenty of ladies out there now who wouldn’t even give him the time of day if he came along. He should really get his shit together and do something about that.
Maybe tomorrow.
Grin turning a bit wicked (though fuck, what’d it matter anyway? She couldn’t see him), he roughly teases,“Probably a good thing those pretty peepers are gone.” He chuckles then, a low, surprisingly attractive timber. “I’ve only gotten sexier since you last saw me. Wouldn’t be able keep your mitts to yourself.”
