The Mane Event

DNF at p.137

Ok, no.
It started well enough but somewhere 1/4 it started to go South.

“All right then, Dez. Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Ask away,” she happily offered as she ate a bite of cake.

“You've never had great sex, have you?”

Swallowing her cake and damn near choking on it, “That ain't no question, Smith.”

Well, hello Bronx accent. Welcome back!

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Uh-oh. Smitty being sarcastic—not good. “I can phrase that in the form of a question if ya like. Have you ever had great sex?”

Dez leaned back in her chair, her arms crossing in front of her. She leveled that gray-green gaze in Mace's direction. “You're not going to help me out here, are you?”

“I could help you out, but I don't think that's what you mean.”

“I'm still waitin',” Smitty pushed. Mace didn't know what his friend was up to, but he couldn't wait to find out, and to see if Dez punched him. The girl he used to know had a mean right hook; he could only imagine what this woman had in her arsenal.

“Well...I...uh...”

“Well-I-uh what?”

“Hey! I'm thinkin'!”

“If you have to think about it, darlin', you haven't had great sex.”

“What exactly is the point of this conversation?”

“Simply pointing out a fact.” With that, Smitty got up and disappeared again.

“Well, your sister didn't kill Petrov. I don't think Brutale killed him. Shaw, however, could have or...you know...” She shrugged and watched him with those gray eyes.

“You know what?” She raised one eyebrow, and he exploded. “Are you suggesting I may have killed the man?”

“Now, calm down. It's only a suggestion.”

“A very fucking insulting suggestion!”

“There's no reason to yell at me.”

“You accuse me of murder and there's no reason to yell at you?”

“Is it still considered murder amongst your people?”

“Amongst my people? Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?”

“I'm simply asking the question.”

“No, you're not. You're trying to find something wrong with me.”

**ng.”
“I can't eat with you staring at me. Talk or something.”
“Ok, so a Navy story.”
“No Navy stories!”
“What's wrong with Navy?”
“Nothing, I just don't want to hear any more army stories!”
“Ok, but that's all I have. After all, I was in for 14 years”.
“Come up with something.”
“Ok, my sister tried to rip my throat out once”.
What? Seriously?
So she starts talking. And ends up talking crap about army dogs. Baby would not have been a military dog. She would not have been a dog trainer. They would not have transferred Baby to another dog handler.
And his reaction?
“A dog handler, huh? Were you any good?”
Now, THAT is an insulting question.
And then he takes her sandwich from her hand and eats it.
And she gives him a blowjob.
I know, I know, it's kind of meant to be her little powerplay, but it just doesn't work. He's enjoying too much, and she's not good enough or patient enough to make him really pay. It's like he just gave her a good beating, and she slaps him on the top of the head, and now they are even.

“She didn't know blow jobs could be so enjoyable. Her ex always made her feel like they were obligatory. The job requirement for being his wife.” “a lawyer who told everyone in his office she was a cold fish with a dry pussy”

Why the heck did she even marry him? (They got divorced because she was a cop and didn't give him enough attention. Because she had to work odd hours. *more rolling eyes

Mace towered a good six inches over Bukowski, but both men refused to back off. Idiots. God save her from protective men.

She sighed. “Would you two just—”

“Shut up, Dez!” They both said it at the same time, never once taking their eyes off each other. It took all her strength not to grab the gun she kept hidden under her couch cushions and shoot both of them in the head.

Instead, Dez turned on her heel and headed back upstairs, her two dogs trailing faithfully behind. At least there were some males in her life that obeyed her. “When you two are done pissin' around me, feel free to let yourselves the fuck outta my house!”

Mace watched that cute ass walk away from him and he didn't like it one bit. Well, he liked the view. A lot. But he didn't mean to push her away. Not when all his future plans involved her.

“I swear to God, you hurt her—”

“Shut up. And get the fuck out.”

“She told both of us to leave.”

Mace ignored him, heading for the stairs. Bukowski stopped him with a hand on his arm. Mace looked at it, then at the man it belonged to. At least, the man it belonged to for the moment.

“Get your hand off me or lose that arm.”

He didn't know what the little man saw, but his startled expression would be funnier if Mace wasn't already so pissed.

“Jesus Christ.” What is this idiot's name again? Bukowski? “You do care about her. I can see it on your face.”

Sometimes full-humans are as dumb as dogs.

“That's brilliant deductive reasoning there, Sherlock. I'm surprised you don't run the whole fuckin' precinct. Now leave.” With that, Mace followed Dez up the stairs.