by JD Hawkins
Heat rises, tingling outward through my body, uncomfortably satisfying. I look around anxiously and brush hair behind my ear. I put a hand over his, planning to move it away, hoping to stop him before he goes too far, but something in me can’t go through with it, not when I feel the hard strength of his hand. Instead I hold him to me firmer, press his hand against the damp spot soaking through my panties, and gasp suddenly as he slides a finger into my pussy, right there under the tablecloth while we’re surrounded by our colleagues.
“Shit,” I whisper. I clench involuntarily against his finger and he slips it deeper, pumping back and forth slowly, stroking me without breaking eye contact. I look down at my plate and hope nobody sees the flush rising to my cheeks. “Your car. Two minutes.”
It takes Owen only a split-second to understand. He glances around at the table, then back at me, and nods only slightly.
I slip off my chair and move outside as quickly and as inconspicuously as I possibly can. The second I reach the parking lot, I begin to feel like I’m acting stupid, that there’s no way we’re not gonna get caught. I consider turning back, but my feet carry me to his car instead. I lean against it with folded arms, debating whether or not to tell him we should just forget it and hurry back inside.
After what feels like an eternity I see Owen escape the restaurant, look around, and head in my direction—and in an instant I forget I was ever going to call this thing off. He swaggers toward me purposefully and I struggle to remember why I ever wanted to say no.
“Owen,” I say in a hushed voice as he draws near, “maybe we should—”
His mouth attacks mine mid-sentence, sweeping the words away, squeezing my body between his and the smooth, cool surface of the tree-shaded car. Giant arms wrap around my hips and pull my center of gravity toward him. Once again I’m lost, leaning into his hard torso as if it’s a missing piece. He kisses me slow but firm, lips savoring, tongue caressing mine with the tenderness of restraint.
I hear the click of his doors unlocking, and suddenly he’s pulling me to him, making me light with the strength of his arm as he reaches out his other to open the door. He lifts me onto the back seat, disorienting me just long enough for him to move inside on top of me, shut the door behind him, and crush me satisfyingly into the upholstery, under his giant, sculpted body.
We wrestle against each other in the cramped space of the back seat, pushing harsh, needy breaths into the air as we pull and tear at each other’s clothes, desperate to put skin on skin, mouths biting and sucking at each other’s. I pull his shirt from his pants, slide my hands up underneath it to claw at the taut muscles of his back, while Owen tugs at the zipper of my skirt, his other hand sliding up into my panties to feel my wetness.
Owen dips his head to devour the exposed flesh around my camisole, hand kneading my breasts while I claw at his back. He rolls my top down to suck on my bare breast, and just as I feel the hot delight of his mouth on my nipple I freeze.
“Shh!” I hiss, gripping Owen’s hair to hold him tight against me. “Owen, stop!”
The words are lost in the noise of rustling clothes and lips smacking on flesh.
“I can’t,” he growls into my breast.
Then the sound that caused me to freeze rings out again.
“Guys? Owen?”
The voice is louder now, clear enough for even Owen to hear. His head snaps up and we shoot each other the same blood-curdled look of a million horror movie victims.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and like a starting shot we reverse everything we’ve just done, hurrying in a tangled mess to tuck clothes back in, smooth hair, and straighten ourselves up.
“Margo?” the voice calls out again.
“Stay here,” Owen says frantically, sitting up a little, his hand on the passenger door.
“Wait!” I whisper quickly, tucking a flap of shirt back into his pants and then grabbing his face to kiss him one more time before he exits the car, as if I might never see him again, unable to contain how much I want him even in this last stolen moment.
When I pull away, Owen’s smiling, and for a second I think he’s about to say something, but then the voice interrupts again.
“Owen?” I recognize the voice. It’s Brad. Of course it is.
Swiftly, Owen swings open the door and steps outside, casual indifference personified. “Hey buddy. What’s up?” he says.
“Yo, dude! They just laid the mocha out. It’s going quick so I figured I’d come out and—who’s that?”
I see Brad’s face poke into the tiny space between the open passenger door.
“Margo?” he exclaims, his voice musical with confusion.
I smile and climb out of the car as calmly as I can. “Hey,” I say, looking at Owen, then back at Brad. I thumb back at the car. “I was just…uh…”
“Dropped her phone down the side of the passenger seat on the way over here,” Owen says, nodding at me dismissively. “Or that’s what she thought, anyway…we’ve been looking for it for the past ten minutes.” He shoots me a look of bemused frustration. “You sure you didn’t just forget it back at the office?”
“Uh…yeah,” I say, hoping Brad interprets my difficulty lying as embarrassment. “Maybe I did.”
“Pfft,” Owen mutters at Brad, shaking his head rudely. “Women.”
“Dude, she’s always been like that,” Brad says to him, as if I’m not even here.
“Tell me about it,” Owen mutters back at him as he turns to go back into the restaurant, Brad mirroring his movements.
I watch them walk back there together, leaving me standing by the car. Half weirded out by the chummy manner in which they talked to each other, half stunned by how easily Owen can cover up a lie again. I shut the car door and start to follow them.
That’s when Owen looks back at me, his mouth fixed in a sigh of relief, before winking at me the way he always does. Suddenly I’m panicking. Waking up and realizing how stupid this is, sneaking out of a work lunch to fool around in the back of his car like a couple of high school kids. As if all of this wasn’t dangerous enough. As if I hadn’t already signed myself up for a boatload of pain and disappointment the second I started fucking Owen. Maybe this should be a wake-up call—maybe almost getting caught by Brad is a sign that now’s the time to end this.
The problem is, I’m not sure I can.
15
Owen
Some people can take a lot of time to show you what they’re all about. You can meet them, spend a lot of time hanging out, and somehow six months later still feel like you only know them a little, that you’ve still got a lot to learn and discover about who they really are.
Other people you can figure out in three seconds flat. My best friend Manny is one of those.
Manny lives on overload, dancing along the line between excess and self-destruction. Just having him near you is like somebody pressing the fast forward button on reality. You can see how much he’s lived from the tattoos that run from his muscled limbs up to his wide neck, you can feel how much he loves life in the manic, booming laugh that can shake foundations two blocks away. A jaw tough enough to take a baseball bat and a mouth that should come with a parental guidance warning.
A couple thousand years ago Manny would have been the first barbarian at the gates of the Roman empire, fifty years ago he’d have been a Hell’s Angel watching Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, but five years ago he was just as wild as me, fucking and partying his way across L.A. like the end of the world was coming. In fact, that’s how we met—fighting over a girl that neither of us ended up taking home that night, because once we realized we were on the same frequency we bailed on that half-assed party and went to a rooftop bar where the chicks were even hotter. Now he owns a fusion food truck that parks most days near Venice Beach, serving Korean barbecue tacos to people with good taste, adding extra helpings of attention for any girl with a body as attractive as the food.
It makes sense in a way; Manny eats like he fucks, fucks like he fights,
and fights like he loves it. The guy is savage, wild, unpredictable, and the best friend I’ve ever had.
It’s a nice day, so I park a couple of blocks away from Manny’s truck and stroll to it, taking in the clear sky, the warm sun, and the chattering noise of Angelenos and tourists all around me. I love Venice Beach, but today the place feels a little different. A little happier, a little more colorful. A few more people laughing and a lot more going on. Then I realize that Venice Beach hasn’t changed at all—it’s me. Something in me has changed.
Maybe it’s the fact that my eyes aren’t getting dragged askew by every babe in booty shorts, or the fact that I’m not edgy with anticipation for the coming night and all the things I’m gonna be doing later. Either way, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Margo’s clicked something into place for me lately—and I have to admit, I kinda like it.
I catch sight of Manny (he’s kinda hard to miss) standing outside his truck, making a couple of blondes giggle like he’s running feathers over their feet.
“Whoa! There he is!” Manny booms out into the street loud enough to draw the attention of anyone within fifty feet. “Owen! I was just telling them about that time at Wanda’s party.”
“Which one?”
Manny laughs and wraps a muscled arm around my neck as he redirects his attention to the girls. “I couldn’t find this guy for hours—he just disappeared. Then I see this big line outside the bathroom, and I figure: ‘maybe…’ So I cut to the front and bang on the door. Boom, boom, boom! Screaming, ‘Owen? You in there, buddy?’ Five seconds later he comes out, looking like he’s been attacked by wolves. And I’m like, ‘What the fuck’s wrong? You feelin’ ok?’ Then Wanda walks out behind him, then another girl, then another girl! Ha!”
“I honestly don’t even remember that night,” I say, smiling.
“Shit. They did! They walked out of that bathroom with the biggest smiles I’ve seen since I went to Disneyland! I’m telling you, ladies: this guy is wild! Oh, Owen, this is Sandy, and this is Jessica.”
Manny and I have a code. It’s not one you’d pick up on, but it works. The fact that he introduced me to Jessica second, for instance, means that he wants Sandy for himself.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, nodding and holding out my hand.
That’s code for ‘not really interested but thanks, buddy.’
Manny looks at me, a little squint in his eyes as if to be sure I’m serious. I get where he’s coming from; both of the girls are blonde, blue-eyed, and possess more dramatic curves than a Tarantino flick. Jessica especially, boy shorts and a tight top struggling to contain her body in their limited fabric.
“Are you coming to the beach party tonight too?” Jessica asks, fingering her hair in a signal as clear as a billboard.
“Hmm…I don’t think I can make it,” I say.
Now Manny’s wearing a frown on his face. “Listen, ladies. Give me a minute with my boy here. We’ve got some catching up to do. I’ve got your numbers, so I’m gonna text you dirty things until I see you again.”
The girls giggle.
“Go ahead,” Sandy smiles, as they turn and walk away, looking back a couple of times as they go.
“Hey Jo!” Manny calls to the bald guy working in the stand. “Dos tacos for me and my boy, and make ‘em big ones.”
Jo salutes and Manny takes his arm from my neck to stand in front of me and study me intently, his face clouded a little.
“What’s up, buddy? Don’t tell me you got a girl hotter than that already for tonight…”
“Not for tonight…”
Manny looks at me with even more bemusement, then lets it go and punches my shoulder.
“Shit, dude! I haven’t seen you in ages! Where were you last week? I was texting you all night.” He stands back and puts out a hand, palm down. “No word of a lie: two AM last Saturday I’m inside this very food truck getting my cock sucked by a girl with bionic lips and I’m just hard for a fucking hour, this girl’s going like a fucking heavy metal fan on the end of my dick. So I finish, and when this girl fixes her jaw again she goes: ‘Why did it take you so long? Am I bad at that?’ And I’m like: ‘You’re fucking great at that. I’m just genuinely worried that my best friend might be dead right now.’”
I laugh and Jo calls from the stand for Manny to grab the tacos. I’m not sure a lot of Manny’s stories are entirely real, but then again, I’ve seen him do things even wilder than the tales he tells. He’s probably forgotten the best ones.
“Not dead. Far from it.” I take the paper plate from him and add, “I had a pretty crazy weekend, put it that way.”
“Oh yeah?” Manny says, taking a big bite from his taco. “Tell me about her.”
“Uh…” I say, looking around me at the crowds, figuring out how to word something I’ve barely articulated fully in my own head. “It’s kinda complicated.”
“Shit!” Manny says, pointing at me like he’s just remembered something. “Dude, I saw your videos! The dating thing, on your work’s website!”
“You saw the vlog?”
“That what you call it? All I saw was you being paid to go out with hot girls. Jesus,” Manny says, shaking his head. “Shit. Here I am busting my ass off to cover the truck rental and filling out forms for city permits and meanwhile you’re getting paid to get laid.”
“I didn’t get laid,” I say, knowing it’ll provoke a reaction.
Manny’s face goes deathly serious for a second, glaring at me like he’s about to break my face apart. “Hold on. The girl in the last video. The one hot enough to cook food on. You fucked her, right?”
I look at Manny and feel like I’m about to tell him Santa isn’t real.
“No way!” he says, my expression the only denial he needs. “Are we talking about the same girl here? You seriously didn’t hit that? She was all over you!”
I shrug. “I just wasn’t feeling it, you know?”
“How? What…? I don’t get it.”
“You know the girl I do the show with? The girl who goes on dates too?”
“Sure.” He nods. “The cute, funny one with the glasses? The one you knew from college?”
“Yeah,” I say, and let it hang in the air for a moment until Manny catches it.
When he does, his eyes light up and he slaps my arm so hard a piece of barbecue meat falls out of my taco.
“Nice! But wait, you work with her, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to not fucking the girls in your office? ‘Cause if you’re opening that can of worms you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. I was clicking on TrendBlend videos for about half an hour after yours just checking out all the talent.”
I laugh and swallow down another bite. “Let’s just say I made an exception. She’s…exceptional.”
“Ok dude,” Manny says, finishing his taco and tossing the plate in the trash. He smacks and rubs his hands together purposefully. “I’m not fucking Sherlock Holmes. You’re gonna start talking, or I’m gonna throw you into the sea right now.”
“Ok, ok,” I say. “It’s like this. Her name’s Margo—”
“I remember. I met her that one time.”
“Right. So she’s the girl I share a desk with—the one with the great legs—”
“Great legs. I definitely remember that.”
I laugh and continue. “Anyway, she’s really cool, and we’ve known each other a long time, but I never really thought about her like that, you know?”
Manny scoffs and I backpedal.
“I mean, sure I thought about it…but I never actually wanted to do anything with her. She’s my friend. And my colleague, on top of that. But we were out a week or so ago—St. Patrick’s Day—and we get really drunk, go back to my place, and then outta nowhere we fuck.”
“Ok, I’m with you.”
“And…” I trail off, realizing how difficult it is to put this into words, struggling to find some toehold within my memories of what happened, of what’s h
appening to me. “I don’t know…it was fine after, no hard feelings and no strings. Nothin’ got weird. Then I get the go ahead for my show and start going on those dates and it’s like I just wasn’t feeling it. And she’s on her dates too, and I can’t stop looking over, checking her out, making sure she’s not having too much fun, you know? And then we hook up again—and the sex is off the charts insane. So I figure: what the hell, I’ll bend the coworker rule a little. Have a little fun with her. I mean, she’s cool. She’s wants it to stay as uncomplicated as I do.”
I shrug and work on the last of my taco while Manny studies me like he’s trying to read my mind. It’s only when I’m done, tossing the trash into a can, that a slow smile breaks out on that Easter Island face.
“Dude,” he says, like he just discovered the secret of life, “you’re in love.”
“What?”
“You’re in lo—”
“Whoa!” I say, waving my palms at him like I’m stopping him from jumping. “Nonononono. Don’t go getting crazy ideas about this now, Manny. I put up with a lot of your shit but that’s—”
“You’re in fucking love, dude!” Manny says, laughing out loud as he steps back, his hands on his head. “Never saw that one coming.”
“Shh! Stop!” I say, stepping after him as if his shouting it out loud might make it true. “No!”
Manny steps forward suddenly as if he’s about to hit me, but instead he slaps a giant palm on my shoulder, his other hand waving a finger in my face.
“You’re in love. That’s why you wasn’t interested in Jessica just now, even though she’s got a body that would make a monk cry. And the girl on your show. And how many times have you told me you’d never fuck a coworker? How many years have you kept your hands off those pieces in your office?”
I slap his finger away and sigh. “I thought you said you weren’t Sherlock Holmes.”
“Sherlock never solved a mystery by seeing something in someone’s eyes. And I can see it, dude. I can see it.”