Hearts and Llamas

Copyright © 2013 Tara Sivec

Smashwords Edition 2013

***

Copyright © 2013 Tara Sivec

Smashwords Edition 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by
any information storage and retrieval system without written
permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief
quotations in a review. The characters and events portrayed in this
book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead
is coincidental and not intended by the author.

License Notice

This book is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other
people. If you wish to share this book with another person, please
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer

This is a work of adult fiction. The author
does not endorse or condone any of the behavior enclosed within.
The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this
novel contains profanity, explicit sexual situations, and
violence.

Formatting by Angela McLaurin, Fictional
Formats

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Fictional-formats

***

As I'm trying to plan the featured dessert
items this week at the shop, the ringing of the phone interrupts my
concentration. It's the week of Valentine's Day and that means
we're going to be slammed with walk-ins—people that have waited
until the last minute to get something delicious for their loved
ones.

"Hello?" Carter answers.

I listen to his one-sided conversation as I
try to remember if the caramel chocolate chunk cookies were
featured on last week's menu or the week before and if covering
them in red icing would make them "Valentiney" enough.

"No, Gavin isn't home right now. He's at his
grandpa's house. Sure, I can let him know you called, Brooklyn.
Does he have your number? Okay, got it. Bye."

I stare at Carter with my mouth open as he
hangs up the phone nonchalantly and goes about his business of
filling his travel coffee mug for work, humming to himself.

"Um, who the hell was that?" I ask, squeezing
the pen so hard in my hand I can feel the plastic starting to
crack.

"Brooklyn. Some girl in Gavin's class at
school," Carter replies, finally turning around and noticing the
look on my face. "What's wrong?"

My jaw drops and I stare at him angrily,
wondering if he even knows me.

"Brooklyn? Some girl? Who the hell is this
slut and why is she calling our son?" I demand.

"Claire, she's ten. I'm pretty sure she
hasn't reached slut status yet." With a laugh, he walks over to the
table and sits down next to me.

"She's calling our house. What ten-year-old
girl needs to call a boy's house? A slutty ten-year-old girl,
that's who. She's got her sights on our son, and before we know it,
she's going to be giving him blow jobs on the back of the bus and
forcing him to watch porn with her. This is our BABY, Carter!"

"Blow jobs and porn? When did fourth grade
turn into a brothel?" Carter asks, raising an eyebrow
questioningly.

"Oh, just you wait. It starts out innocently
enough. She calls the house acting all sweet and harmless and then
BAM! Gavin gets the shit kicked out of him by her pimp because he's
poaching on the guy's territory!"

I can't stop the word vomit no matter how
hard I try. This is Valentine's Day week— one of the most romantic
weeks of the year and our busiest at the shop. I should be
concentrating on how much I love Carter and the oodles of money I'm
going to make selling sweets, but instead I'm worried about my son
being led astray by a harlot. A harlot named Brooklyn. Her parents
probably named her that because skank was too obvious even though
they knew what her future career would be.

"Let's give a great big Bearded Clam welcome
to BROOKLYN as she takes the stage! Brooklyn's parents knew she'd
be working the pole some day and thank God for that! She's quite
bendy and she's dancing for us tonight because, well, she's a great
big ho!"

Carter gently reaches over and pries the pen
from my hand, pulling me out of my pole-dancing thoughts, and sets
the pen down next to my list. Glancing around the table, he thinks
better about leaving the butter knife from my bagel earlier within
my reach and slides it closer to himself.

"She's just a little girl who likes our
little boy. No big deal. I'm going to work now, and you are going
to get back to your list and NOT think up ways you can cut this
girl's hair off without getting arrested," Carter tells me as he
stands up from his chair and places a kiss on the top of my head
before walking out the back door.

"Please. Like I would really spend my time
thinking of ways to cut her hair off," I mutter to myself as I
reach for the pen, tear off the top sheet of paper from my pad and
start a new list: Ways of Putting the Fear of God in Ten-Year-Old
Girls.

"So, what are you getting the old ball and
chain for V-Day?" Drew asks me as we head to the lunchroom on
break.

"I don't know. I haven't decided. I could
always send flowers to the shop."

Drew shakes his head at me as we grab a table
in the corner.

"Nope, too boring. Try again," he states.

"Um, jewelry?" I suggest, opening up my
insulated lunch bag and removing my ham sandwich.

"Nice, but too over the top. Ooooh, what
about chocolate?" he asks me excitedly around a mouthful of
chips.

"Seriously? Did you just suggest I get Claire
chocolate for Valentine's Day?" I ask in astonishment.

"What? She doesn't like chocolate or
something? That's like, totally un-American."

Before I can tell him what a jackass he is,
Jim walks over and plops down on the chair across from me.

"What are we talking about, dick bags?"

"We're talking about the stupidest holiday in
the world and what we're getting our wives," Drew tells him.

"Ahhh, so Valentine's Day," Jim states.

"Hey, did you know Claire doesn't like
chocolate? She must be allergic to it or something," Drew informs
Jim.

Jim pauses in the process of opening up a bag
of Doritos and stares at Drew a few seconds before shaking his head
and sighing, then turns his attention back to me.

"What are you getting Liz this year? Any fun
plans?" I ask him.

"Hold on, I have a list," he tells me,
reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out a folded
piece of paper.

"A list? What the hell do you need a list
for? What all are you buying her?" Drew asks in shock. "Awwww, man.
You're totally going to make us look like dill weeds, aren't
you?"

Jim unfolds the paper and flattens it on the
table with the heel of his hand.

"No, the list isn't because I'm buying her a
ton of shit and can't remember all of it. The list is from Liz. She
told me exactly what I'm supposed to get her," he explains.

"Um, what? That doesn't sound very romantic
to me," I tell him in confusion.

"Liz, sweetheart that she is, has come to
realize that I suck when it comes to Valentine's Day. Every year
she has this idea in her mind of what she wants me to do, and every
year I completely fuck it up. I ruin her day and she cuts me off
from sex for a week. After an incident that happened four years ago
with a pet llama for a day and floor seats to a Cavs game, I handed
the reins over to her. A week before Valentine's Day she writes
down exactly what I should do, and ever since she started doing
that, I have had a stress-free holiday and lots of good sex," Jim
explains.

"Dude, a pet llama? How in the fuck could
anyone
hate that? That is just full of awesome right there,"
Drew tells him.

"Right? I thought so too," Jim complains. "I
mean, Liz loves animals. And every time we're at the zoo she always
goes to the petting part and spends the entire time with the
llamas."

"So what was the problem then?" I ask.

"It was fine at first. I mean, the handler
showed up with the llama and explained to me what we needed to do
for the four hours we had it. The llama and I bonded before Liz got
home from work and I really thought she understood me. Boy was I
wrong."

"Jim, I'm home! What time are we – SON OF A
BITCH! Why the fuck is there a giant rat with fur in our living
room?!" Liz screeched.

I ran into the room from the kitchen and
came to a sudden stop when I saw Liz pinned against the door with
the llama right in her face sniffing her.

"It's not a rat!" I whispered loudly as I
crept over to where they were. "Don't say that so loud. You'll
offend her."