Bad Boy Blues

“Oh my. Nora is going to be very unhappy,” Maggie says and puts down my pie right opposite to Zach. “Come, sit. Master Zach is just having breakfast.”

I look at her and decide, why not. Why should I let go of my pie just because Master Zach is here?

Walking to the table, I reply to Maggie, “I bet. I’m unhappy too. In fact, I’m outraged.” I reach the table and slide the chair out. Staring at Zach, I say, “Freaking blood-sucking leeches.”

Then I dig into my pie and hear a soft chuckle.

***

Bedbugs.

It would’ve been a wonderful little prank.

Not to mention, I know a guy on the south side that could’ve gotten me some. For the right price, he could get anything. But his fee was a little high this time around: me. He wanted to hook up with me.

As if.

I’m not that desperate to make Zach’s life difficult yet, thank you very much.

So I have a new plan and I’m executing it right now.

I have the night shift at the main house tonight, meaning I’ll be sleeping in one of those on-call rooms, and it’s the perfect opportunity. Even though I’m exhausted after a full-day shift and then babysitting Art until Doris was home, I’m doing this.

I’m in the kitchen, which is illuminated by the usual night lights. And in my hand is a bottle of laxative. I bought it from the store when Tina and I went grocery shopping.

For the past three days, Maggie’s been making Zach’s favorite things – all of them sweet and all of them my favorite too – and so, he’s been eating his breakfast in the kitchen. Which means, he does a little eating and a lot of staring at me, ruining my mojo.

It’s time for a little payback.

God, I love payback.

I have it on good authority that Maggie has made English-style fruit custard for Zach. Well, she told me. And it’s in a white container that I fish out and set down on the counter.

I hate to waste good food so I dip a finger in it and taste the yummy goodness before it’s gone forever.

I moan. It’s the tastiest thing I’ve ever put inside my mouth. Too bad it has to be ruined.

Opening the bottle of laxative, I dump some in the custard and then stir it with a spoon. Perfect.

“This is for ruining my uniform that day, asshole. And for all the things that came before,” I whisper to the bowl before putting it back.

Just as I turn around though, I hear a squeal, which makes me squeal and I slap my hand at the wall by the fridge to turn on the light.

The room gets flooded with a glare and it takes a moment for me to take in the person who caused all the ruckus.

It’s a face I haven’t seen in a couple of years. It’s a face I never even liked to begin with. It makes sense that I’d see it now that Zach is back.

It’s Ashley Howard.

There were rumors that Zach and Ashley were an item and that their families wanted them to get married in the future. Maybe they will. They both deserve each other. Ashley Howard is to Zachariah Prince what Bellatrix Lestrange was to Lord Voldemort.

She was the one who hid my clothes and sent boys into the locker room that one time.

Right now, her eyes are wide and she has a wine bottle in her hands. “Cleopatra?”

I sigh. “One and only.”

She walks closer. I’m wearing a blue nightgown; well, I’m wearing the blue nightgown, with the lacy neckline and hem. It belonged to my mom. I have a robe on over it, but it’s not tied and I’m regretting that.

“I heard you were working here.” She smiles as she comes to stand before me. “I guess the rumors were right.”

“I guess so.”

Ashley has a tight black dress on and she looks a little unsteady on her feet. Probably courtesy of the wine bottle in her hands. Her blonde hair’s tied up in an intricate knot that I can never, not in a thousand years, copy and her high heels give her an edge over my bare feet.

Looking me up and down, she checks me out. Not in a sexual way but more in a way that my figure is something to look down upon.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

I stand up tall. “And neither do I intend to.”

See, it’s easy to say these things.

I’ve said these things to her plenty of times. But that doesn’t mean her digs at my body didn’t make a home inside of me. For a long time while I was going to St. Patrick’s, I’d feel ashamed of my figure, even though I knew I shouldn’t have been.

And since Zach came back, those insecurities have come rushing back.