Odyssey Lenoir

  Claimed By My Ex’s Dad

  Copyright © 2025 by Odyssey Lenoir

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First edition

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  TRIGGER WARNINGS

  This book contains mature themes and content that may be triggering or disturbing to some readers. Please review these warnings carefully before proceeding.

  Content Warnings Include:

  Age Gap Romance

  Violence & Murder

  Non-Consensual Image Sharing

  Workplace Harassment & Termination

  Online Harassment & Stalking

  Substance Use

  Past Incarceration

  Family Dysfunction

  Emotional Manipulation

  Religious Trauma

  Explicit Sexual Content

  Financial Stress

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Za’Niyah

  “Are you single?” the customer finally speaks up.

  I clear my throat, and the words get caught in my throat. My face heats and I’m struggling to find the words.

  No one has asked me that since I’ve been here.

  I glare at the man. He’s probably in his forties.

  The beeping of the other registers takes me out of the moment for a while, and it rings in my ears.

  This customer always grabs protein shakes, steak, and eggs every weekday around noon. Sometimes he throws in a protein bar. But he never says much.

  “Umm…” I stumble over my words. “I have a boyfriend,” I say, lying.

  “That’s a shame. If you change your mind, I would love to take you out,” he says, handing me his card.

  I would say that I’m flattered. I mean, I’ve never really looked at older men except for my 9th grade Science teacher who I had a crush on and would doodle his name in my Earth Science notebook instead of taking notes.

  I look at it. “Allen Roberson.” I put it next to the register.

  “Have a good day,” I say, awkwardly.

  I reach for my phone to see what cycle the moon is in. It’s gotta be a full moon today. I look at it and see that it’s only in waxing gibbous.

  I can’t figure out why men are being extra flirty today.

  Earlier it was Mr. Lewis who is definitely married. Mr. Bill who had a nasty divorce, and it played out on Facepage, and now Allen.

  I’ve never been the one for attention, especially being a thick girl. Usually, those types of men don’t even look my way. I’m either a fetish or not their type.

  No in between.

  I continue with my shift and things go pretty smoothly. One thing for sure is I’m not calling Mr. Allen.

  I don’t care if it has been a while since I had any. I’m not that desperate.

  It’s busier than usual. But I enjoy being busy; it makes my shift go faster. I just want to get home.

  Near the end of my shift, Christina power walks over to me. “Hey, Za’Niyah, close your register for me,” she says, sternly.

  I turn off my light. “Sure, no problem.” I enter my code and close my register out.

  My stomach clenches and my heart pounds against my rib cage.

  Is there something wrong? I dig my nails into my palms as I follow Christina into her office.

  The hallway feels like the walls are closing in, and the fluorescent lights are brighter than usual.

  The bright fluorescent lights in here used to bother me so bad to where I used to get headaches when I first started working here. They stopped once I started putting amethyst in my bra.

  I enter her office, and the scent of peppermint fills the air from her air freshener. Everything is organized and tidy in here. Not one thing out of place.

  “Close the door.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I press the door shut.

  I sit down in front of her desk and look at the Christmas photo of her with her husband and blonde-haired kids that look just like Gary.

  I hold it together with a forced smile, even though my throat is dry as hell.

  “Za’Niyah, you were with us years before you left for college and these last two years since you came back. You’re my best cashier.”

  “I agree,” I say, sitting up in my chair. A smirk builds on my lips. Am I finally going to get promoted? Mr. Reiner is a terrible shift manager, and I could do his job in my sleep.

  Plus, I need extra coin. Hell, I have a bachelor’s degree.

  “But your personal life is affecting your job.”

  I raise a brow heavenward, and a pit grows in my stomach. “Excuse me? I don’t follow.” I toy with my smoky quartz bracelet.

  “Listen, I wish I could understand your generation’s way of doing things and I get that this job doesn’t pay a lot, but…”

  Where the hell is this conversation going? I search her face, still trying to figure out what’s going on.

  My personal life. I barely post on social media, and I always mind my business.

  I raise my hand. “Please, Christina. I’m lost.”

  “Apparently, there are some unsavory photos of you on the internet and it’s bringing too much attention to our business. This is a mom and pop grocery store. My grandparents started it, and I don’t need any negative press.”

  Unsavory photos? Is she snooping on my social media or something? “Like in a bathing suit. That was a family photo and I untagged it from my profile.”

  “No, in your birthday suit.”

  My stomach drops and heat rises in my throat. All the air is sucked out of the room and my eyes widen.

  For a moment I don’t speak, and time stands still between us.

  My words are trapped in my throat, and I tilt my head. “I think you have me mixed up with someone else.” I nervously chuckle and toy with my necklace.

  “A random account tagged it under our post on Chirpper.”

  “How do you know it’s me?” I raise my voice.

  “The tattoos match.”

  I open my phone, my hands are trembling as I go to my text messages.

  I see spam texts from Janica.

  Janica: Bitch, call me now!! Your nudes are on Chirpper.

  Chirpper? I have an account, but I barely post on there. Chirpper is the social media app where everyone from businesses to influencers posts everything. It’s even making a resurgence where people chirp during live shows.

  Did I accidentally post something? Did someone hack me?

  Bile rises at the back of my throat. This can’t be happening to me.

  How the hell is this even possible?

  “It’s really not me. Let me go look,” I say. I open my phone and click on the tweet from Janica.

  I see myself under @HoesofGroveCounty. I look at myself and standing there with my favorite rose crystal waist beads posting in the mirror, naked. My face isn’t shown, but it’s obviously me.

  My tattoos are clearly visible.

  I can’t breathe. My skin’s hot and my mouth’s dry. This woman knows what I look like naked. My boss.

  And probably everyone here in the grocery store.

  How do I even come back from that?

  My phone drops between my legs. “I… This isn’t fair!” I yell out.

  Then it dawns on me and my stomach drops.

  Patrick Bennett.

  My fucking ex.

  I try to explain to her that I didn’t do this, that it was an ex but she doesn’t care.

  “Next time, be careful who you let see your body. This is a family business. We’re going to have to let you go.” She says, shaking her head.

  My vision blurs with tears.

  I can’t even respond to her. I stand up and take off my apron.

  She says something else, but I don’t even hear her.

  I clench my jaw and run out of her office. I head to the back and my hands shake as I put in my code for my locker.

  I grab my stuff. My eyes water, but I can’t break down here.

  This isn’t the place.

  The man I trusted when I came home from college. A situationship that turned into a relationship. To the point I almost considered getting PAB tatted on my hip.

  Foolish.

  I storm out of the store and hear someone whistling at me, but I don’t even look their direction.

  I lock myself in my car and the warm seat hits up my back. I squeeze my wheel tight.

  Chirpper of all places? What would make him do something so fucked up?



  We haven’t texted, talked, or seen each other since the breakup.

  I hit the start button to my Kia and zoom out of the parking lot.

  I grip the steering wheel hard, like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

  Whatever I do, I will get revenge.

  I don’t know how.

  I don’t know when.

  But he’s going to pay for his bullshit.

  * * *

  Later that evening, I sit on the floor in our small two-bedroom apartment.

  The carpet feels gentle under my thighs, and our royal blue couch presses against my back. I look over at Janica as she splits the backwood onto a glossy VSU alumni magazine they send to us in the mail.

  We went to high school together, but didn’t get close until our freshman year at Virginia State.

  “Fucking Patrick Bennett!” I groan. I slam my phone on the floor next to me and let my head fall back.

  I have him blocked for a reason. The man is a sloppy cheater. How could he take a woman on a date in our hometown like it wouldn’t get back to me?

  I don’t know if it hurts more that she was some random older skinny white woman, or that he lied about it.

  At least I knew why it ended with Patrick. My ex, Gavin from high school, was on and off while I was in college, but when I came home, he just disappeared on me.

  “Told your ass to stay away from pink meat,” Janica says, licking the blunt and sealing up that good ass indica.

  I roll my eyes at her, but she’s right. “He was supposed to be just a fuck and then he wanted to be my boyfriend. Ugh, I can’t stand his cheating ass.”

  Patrick was the first white guy I ever dated. Maybe I should have listened to my bestie.

  “Let’s go beat his ass. I’m sure his roommate will open the door for us. He’s had the hots for me since he was on the drumline, and I was on the dance line at Big State.”

  I glare at her. “Ma’am… What happened to staying away from pink meat?” I laugh at her.

  Janica glares at me and smiles, showing that gap tooth smile.

  The dim lights make her light brown skin glow. “Bitch, he got rhythm for a white boy. He’s a spicy white boy, not a nerdy one like your ex.”

  I shake my head. “Girl, hurry up and pass the blunt. I just want to zone out and not think about how I ended up on the @HoesofGroveCounty Chirpper page.”

  “I mean, you’re a baddie and men are thirsting after you. The bright side is you won’t have to worry about getting dick cause baby, it’s been a while.”

  I shake my head and play with one of my braids. The ends feel dry and fuzzy between my fingers. “I contacted the admin on the page, and he took it down. But I still can’t believe I got fired over it. They act like I’m a porn star or something.”

  “We need to beat Christina’s ass, too.” Janica flips her blonde and pink braids to one side and shrugs.

  I still can’t believe she did them herself. She’s so talented. I need her to redo my hair soon.

  “Fuck that bitch. But I’m not letting up on Patrick’s ass. This is why I shouldn’t have dated a Virgo man. He was cheap as fuck anyway. His idea of a date is a movie on streaming and drinking tequila with a blunt.”

  Janica sparks the lighter and takes the first hit. She giggles like she always does and passes it to me.

  “I’ve been sober for six months and this man got me on the deep end,” I say, taking a hit of the blunt. I inhale and the indica fills my lungs. That familiar burn hits just right.

  This is exactly what I need.

  I pass it back to my roommate.

  All I need right now is to get high and just focus on the present moment.

  “I don’t see why you quit, anyway. It’s legal here in Maryland.”

  “I make bad decisions when I’m high, like sending him those nudes.” I pull my knees to my chest.

  I look around our living room and see that the Majesty Palm plants need watering. I grab the LED light controller off the table and turn the white light to royal blue.

  Janica stands up, pulling her nightgown down. She places her hands on her curvy hips. “You’re allowed to fuck up, girl. We’re twenty-five.”

  “Easy for you to say. You get attention without even trying. I’m only getting numbers cause people saw my nudes.”

  “Sis, don’t be like that. These men ain’t shit for real in Grove County.”

  “True. I think this is the universe telling me I needed to let go of the grocery store.”

  “I don’t think the universe has anything to do with you getting fired.”

  “I mean…” I pull up my favorite astrology app. “My horoscope says new opportunities are near.” I flash her my screen.

  Janica relights the blunt and laughs. “Girlie, that astrology stuff is bullshit. It’s just an excuse for people to blame everything on the stars and not take accountability.”

  I glare at her. “Girl, what are you saying? This is my fault? I didn’t even put my face in it.”

  “You have a lotus on the inside of your right wrist and your nickname on the left.”

  The high sets in and my body feels light, my thoughts floating just above me. “You’ve never sent a nude before?”

  “Yes, but not my whole body.”

  “I’m going to get his ass back.”

  I pass the blunt back and stare at the big flat screen TV. I scroll through the apps on the remote and turn on the Music app, connecting it to the TV.

  The familiar beginning of Don’t Hurt Yourself fills the room. The bass hits hard. I vibe out to the drums and dance to the song, letting the anger move through me.

  There’s no point in keeping all these emotions inside of me. They need to be released.

  I roll my hips, throw my middle fingers up, shouting the lyrics.

  “You know what… You should fuck his dad and make him your stepson.”

  I stand up. “Hell no.” Mr. Bennett is fine as fuck, but absolutely not. I know for sure I’m not his type and I’m sure it would never happen. Patrick showed me pictures of a few women his dad has dated.

  All skinny and blonde.

  Definitely not dark brown, plus-size like me. Plus, the man is older than me. Much older.

  “Let’s go grab a drink. Down the street to that one hole-in-the-wall with the pool tables,” I say.

  “Girl, we’re going to stick out like sore thumbs.”

  “Let’s just grab a drink. I need a good margarita. The bartender is always heavy-handed.”

  “Fine,” she says, dragging out the word.

  Nothing is better than topping off your high with a good ass margarita.

  We finish the blunt and get ready for the bar. We throw on lashes, a little gloss, and switch from lounge wear to outside mode real quick.

  We lock our apartment and hit the street. The greatest part of living here is there’s so much to do in walking distance. No drinking and driving for us.

  I take a deep breath as the night air hits my face.

  “Girlie, I can’t drink too much,” Janica says.

  I look over at her in a leather jacket, black crop top shirt, and a skirt that barely covers her ass.

  We’re around the same size, but I would never wear that. I don’t like people staring at me. But, my girl Janica, she can pull off anything.

  “You look like you tryna get fucked, boo.” I giggle.

  “It’s kinda warm tonight. I mean, if I meet someone, I might just bring him home.”

  “Shit, I know that’s right.”

  We make it to the bar and see older men outside smoking a cigarette, leaning against the brick wall like they’ve been there since we were born.

  Their eyes trail over at us. “Hey baby, you looking for a good time? You and your friend?” he says, tilting his chin toward us.

  But we ignore him. He’s probably seen my nudes. We keep it moving.

  He opens the door for us. The music thumps through me and I practically float to the bar.

  The smoke is thick in the air, but I don’t care. I just need to get my mind off my fucked-up day.

  “So, is the universe leading you to apply for jobs?”

  I roll my eyes. “I will, trust me. You’ll get your half of the rent. Don’t worry. I get one more check.”

  “Okay, girlie. I love where we live.”

  The bartender comes over to us and I order two margaritas.

  My body feels good, and I just need to top it off with a drink.

  I look for my credit card, digging through my small clutch purse, but before I can slide it over, a muscular hand slaps down a fifty-dollar bill.

 

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