by Elias Taylor
Tripp shrugged. Mitch was right, of course. And Tripp did love the Warriors. He just didn’t like to get too involved with politics, or crime for that matter—the petty drug peddling and whatnot. He wanted to ride his bike and hang out with his brothers. None of the drama over club leadership appealed to him. None of that other stuff that bordered on criminal ventures
“I went to the last meeting,” Tripp said. “But I skipped the barbecue, they’re probably all pissed about that.”
“Bro, you have got to suck it up,” Mitch said. “Make the rounds, work the contacts, ‘cause you’re gonna need them if you want to start your own business.”
“I need to show my sketches more, too,” Tripp said.
“Dude, yes,” Mitch said taking a swig. “Anyone who sees your sketches knows you got talent.”
It had been six or seven beer and two Tequila shots so it was no surprise that Mitch was slurring his words at this point, and Tripp wondered if he sounded just as sloppy. Who cared? It wasn’t like they were trying to impress anyone. And the girls that were staring them down some time past were now out and about, finding their own way through this maze of happy party-goers.
“I gotta get my sketches together,” Tripp said. “Send out some copies. I know the guys appreciate them. That’s a start.”
“Exactly,” Mitch said.
A soft fuzziness was settling over Tripp. He was in the warm and comforting part of his drunkenness. It was going to turn sour at some point, but he didn’t care. He and Mitch got another shot and toasted to his bike designs.
Another beer later, and Mitch was still talking, but his words no longer made sense. Tripp wasn’t sure if it was due to Mitch’s drunkenness or his own. The bartender was definitely rolling her eyes at them.
Tripp gazed about the room through droopy eyes. He saw the woman, Sandy, who had been flirting with him latched onto another guy. Good for them. Tripp wished everyone all the happiness in the world. He just wanted a little bit for himself as well.
He was an angsty drunk, there was no doubt about that. But he was an honest drunk as well. And honestly, Tripp knew he needed a change. He needed to take action before he started to fester away. If he stayed as he was for much longer, he was going to start to give up. He would stop sketching, stop planning. Then one day, it would be impossible to make the leap to designing bikes full time. He would be a roof guy who sometimes rode his bike. A roof guy who used to sketch designs.
His designs were good. He knew that. All the guys in the Road Warriors appreciated them. They said he had a solid eye for detail and an original mind. Tripp had the talent, he just needed to have the guts as well.
“And you know what, you deserve everything, bro,” Mitch interjected.
His elbow was propped on the table, and it was clear that Mitch had been overserved. The bartender was trying to hide her laughter at his drunken and emotional poetics.
“You deserve a bike shop but also love,” Mitch said. “You just need to find your soulmate, bro.”
“Ok, ok,” Tripp said. “Time to go.”
Tripp stood up and the room tilted. Damn. He had more to drink than he even realized. His parents were going to kill him if his hangover was too obvious tomorrow. The idea made Tripp laugh.
“Whassofunny?” Mitch slurred.
“Nothin’,” Tripp said.
He gripped his friend’s arm and dragged him to his feet. As Tripp took one faltering step towards the door, he wondered if he should go to his own place. He could wake up early and get to his parent’s house. He was pretty sure he could wake up early, anyway.
“Need a cab,” Mitch said.
Tripp patted his coat pockets.
“I can’t even find my keys,” Tripp said.
“Need a cab,” Mitch repeated.
“Ok, you first,” Tripp said.
They stood outside the bar. Mitch called up the local cab company. While they waited, Mitch pulled out a cigarette and started to smoke.
“Thought you were going to quit,” Tripp said.
“Yeah, me too,” Mitch said.
Tripp frowned at his friend. Mitch could be so jovial and optimistic, but then every now and then he was hit with a foul mood. Judging by Mitch’s expression, Tripp was thinking now might be one of those moments.
“You need to appreciate what you got,” Mitch said. “What you got right under your nose.”
Mitch gestured with the cigarette and shook his head for emphasis. Tripp leaned back against the wall.
“Ok, bro,” Tripp said.
“Seriously,” Mitch said. “Right under your nose.”
The first cab pulled up then, and Tripp opened the door for Mitch. He gave the driver his friend’s address, just in case Mitch lost his focus.
Tripp felt his head start to ache as he waited for his own cab. He really needed a shower. No, he needed food first, something salty and delicious. And then water. That would help with the hangover. Then a shower.
Tripp groaned. He already regretted the last few drinks, and he knew he was going to feel disgusting the next day.
At last the cab pulled up, and Tripp hopped in. He gave his parent’s address. They were closer, and he knew that if he went to his own place, he would just sleep through all his alarms. His mom and Christina were not gonna let him sleep in, that was for sure.
Tripp zoned out for most of the cab ride, and when it pulled up in front of his childhood home, he was not doing great. Any ability to hold it together had left as soon as he said goodbye to Mitch.
He managed to pay and extricate himself from the car. Then he made his way up the walk on unsteady feet. His boot hit a rock and the ground came up to meet him. He collapsed flat on his face in the yard.
“Shit,” Tripp mumbled.
He lay there for several long moments.
“Ok, get up,” he said.
He didn’t move. Then he dug his hands into the grass and pushed himself up.
He was a mess. That was another thing he needed to do, Tripp told himself as he reached the front door. He needed to stop being a mess.
Chapter Five: Not a Kid Anymore
Melissa couldn’t sleep. She lay on her back and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Christina had pasted all over her wall years ago.
Mel had slept over with Christina tons of times, but she always had trouble sleeping. She struggled to get comfy in unfamiliar beds.
This was not helped by the fact that Christina was tossing and turning. When her friend kicked her for the fourth time, Mel pushed herself out of bed.
She tiptoed towards the door. The house was totally silent. Everyone knew they needed to rest up for the big day tomorrow. Mel wished she could rest too. She crept down to the kitchen and flicked a light on. It was well past midnight.
Mel felt comfortable in the Charles’ kitchen. She had been there so many times, she knew where all the snacks and cutlery were. She grabbed a glass and filled it with some ice water.
She would drink the entire glass. Sometimes that helped to make her sleepy.
Mel jumped when she heard the front door open and close. She cast her mind about the room and took a step towards the butcher knives. Would she be more likely to hurt herself or an intruder if she grabbed one right now?
Before she could decide, Tripp came stumbling into the room. Mel breathed a sigh of relief that at least it wasn’t some strange hooded figure with malicious intent.
Then she flushed in embarrassment as she realized she was dressed in an extremely short pair of pajama shorts with a cropped blue sleep T-shirt that showed a full inch of her stomach. Plus, her hair was a rat’s nest from tossing and turning in bed for hours.
“Hey,” Tripp said.
As soon as she heard his voice, Mel knew he was drunk. She supposed it wasn’t a surprise if he was coming home this late. She would have thought he had gotten back hours ago.
“Hi,” Mel said.
Tripp gave her a slow smile and stumbled into the kitchen. Mel stood stoc
k still. Even drunk, he was so hot. His dark eyes seemed to smolder beneath his drooping eyelids, and his dark hair was standing on end. Mel wanted to reach up and smooth his hair down.
She flicked her eyes away from him. She was not only in her pajamas, she was also staring.
“Melissa Reynolds,” Tripp said.
He over-pronounced each syllable of her name, as if he was trying extra hard to say it right. Tripp lurched from one end to the kitchen to the other, opening drawers but never grabbing anything.
“You excited for the party tomorrow?” he asked. “Excited to help.”
Mel snorted. Right at the moment, Tripp did not look like he was going to be much help. She felt bad for the guy, he was going to be slammed by one major hangover. Mel didn’t drink much, but she had experienced a bad morning or two after a wild night.
Mel stepped forward and gripped his arms.
“Here,” she said. “Sit.”
Tripp’s eyes widened in surprise as Mel gently pushed him into a chair. He gave her a slow smile that made Mel’s stomach flutter. She turned away and started pulling out some bread, turkey and cheese.
Tripp propped his chin in his hands and fixed her with all his attention. Mel would have been a bit uncomfortable, but his face was so softened. Maybe he was in a good mood, or maybe it was just the alcohol. She finished the sandwich and pushed it towards him on a plate.
“There you go,” she said.
“You’re so sweet,” Tripp said.
Mel smiled. When she was twelve, Tripp Charles saying something like that to her would have made her keel over in joy. Now, she knew he was drunk and probably wouldn’t remember this in the world.
She watched him as he ate. Even drunk, he wasn’t messy. He chewed with his mouth closed, and he even pulled a paper towel onto his lap. Tilly Charles had always been strict about manners.
He had always seemed so much older than she was. Even more so now, with his dark stubble along his jawline and his broad shoulders clad in his biker leathers. Mel figured he was well over six feet.
Mel told herself that she didn’t make the sandwich for him, per se. She made it for the rest of his family. Tomorrow would go much smoother if Tripp wasn’t throwing up or complaining about a headache. She doubted the sandwich would totally prevent a hangover, but surely it would help.
Tripp finished chewing and leaned back in his chair. He stared at the empty plate for a few seconds.
“That was the best sandwich I’ve ever had in my life,” he said.
A burst of laughter escaped Mel before she could help herself.
“I’m being serious,” Tripp said.
“Ok, sure,” Mel said.
She was aware that her cooking skills were subpar at best, but at least now she knew the secret to make someone think she was a good chef was to make them food while they were drunk.
She grabbed the plate and her own glass and quickly rinsed them out before tossing them in the dishwasher. She could feel Tripp’s eyes on her back the whole time. She resisted the urge to reach up and smooth her hair. She was certain it had a million fly-aways.
When she turned around, Tripp was fixing her with a puzzled gaze.
“Why are you still awake?” he asked.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Mel said.
“Nightmares?” Tripp asked.
“No,” Mel said. “I’m just restless sometimes.”
Tripp raised his eyebrows as a slow grin appeared. One side of his mouth curved up further than the other, and Mel found the crooked smile too delightful. There was something almost predatory in the way he smiled, and Mel liked it.
“Me too,” Tripp said.
Mel stood perfectly still as Tripp ran his eyes up and down her entire body. Her knees quaked as he took in her bare legs, the strip of pale stomach, and her chest where the pajama shirt’s collar swooped down. To Mel’s surprise, she didn’t even blush. She wasn’t embarrassed by the way Tripp looked at her. This was Tripp. She had known him her entire life. If he wanted to look at her that way, he could.
In a weird way, she almost felt like she had been waiting for her entire life for him to gaze at her just like that.
When Tripp met her eyes, Mel could see that he didn’t think she was a kid anymore. Far from it.
Mel broke the tension by stepping forward and offering Tripp her hand.
“You should go to bed,” she said. “I’ll help you up.”
Tripp grabbed her hand and pulled himself to his feet. Her hand gripped his large palm, and he gave her a soft squeeze. For a second, Mel was staring right at his chest. She had an overwhelming urge to flutter her fingers across his torso, but she clenched her hand in a tight fist to prevent herself from acting on it.
Tripp released her hand, and Mel felt a pang of sorrow. She knew she was being ridiculous, thinking that this midnight meeting in the kitchen was making them closer in any way, but she always felt raw and emotional this late at night.
“I got it from here,” Tripp said.
He gave a firm nod as if to convince himself, and then headed for the stairs.
Mel followed at a distance, but all of a sudden Tripp turned on his heel and lurched back towards her. She stopped short, but his face was just inches from hers. He looked down, straight into her eyes. She could smell the alcohol, sharp and pungent, on his breath.
He was way too drunk. She knew it. He needed to go to his own bed, and she needed to go to Christina’s room. Nothing good could come from him looking at her like that when he had consumed so much alcohol.
“I always thought you were hot,” Tripp said.
His voice was low and intense. He was murmuring, but he was so close, she heard every word.
Mel’s knees turned to jello. Any idea of running away to Christina’s room totally evaporated. She was rooted to the spot. She couldn’t move.
“And now that you’re legal,” Tripp said. “I might just sneak you off to my bed.”
For a second, Mel couldn’t breathe. Then she inhaled and smelled the alcohol again. Yeah. He was definitely wasted.
She let out a little nervous laugh and looked away. As if he had never said anything, Tripp pulled back.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” Mel said.
She waited until he was all the way up the stairs and his door had closed before she dashed back to Christina’s room.
She curled up in bed with her eyes wide open. Had that really just happened? She knew it had, but something about the interaction had the same feeling as a dream.
He had been so drunk. He probably didn’t even know who he was talking to.
She should feel mortified. Mel knew that. For one thing, it had been super inappropriate for him to comment on how she was legal so she belonged in his bed.
Even so, Mel couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed. It was the way he had looked at her. As if he really saw her. As if he wanted her. And he hadn’t made a move to grab her or even touch her. Tripp had mentioned his bed as if it was a place she would be all too happy to go to.
Mel cursed herself for fantasizing over this. She was being silly.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t bring herself to be too upset. It had been flattering. Tripp Charles looking at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world, not his kid sister’s friend.
I always thought you were hot.
The words replayed in her head and took her breath away again and again.
She was going to have to see him tomorrow. Would he remember? He had been drunk, but not necessarily black-out drunk.
And he had said the words with such intention. Mel knew he would remember.
That was going to be embarrassing. Even if he did think she was hot, he would obviously never say that kind of a thing to her while sober.
Mel was going to have to stick to Christina’s side like a burr and avoid Tripp whenever she could. She would rather just forget about the whole thing or act like it had never happened than suffer through an awkw
ard apology.
One thing was for certain: Mel was not going to get much sleep tonight.
Chapter Six: Honest
Tripp’s head was screaming at him. He heaved two chairs across the lawn and cursed under his breath.
He had already thrown up earlier that morning, but his stomach was still rioting. Plus his head felt like it was housing a sledgehammer.
It was still a few hours before the party started, but his mother was in full Organization Mode. Tripp had been arranging tables and chairs for what felt like an eternity.
He grunted as he plopped the two chairs down where his mother had pointed. She was probably going to change her mind in five minutes and have him move them all the way to the other side of the lawn.
This was all Mitch’s fault. He kept ordering beers and liquor and now Tripp had one of the worst hangovers of his life. And he was expected to smile and make small talk with all his parents’ friends through this.
He needed another week of sleep. And a shower. He really needed a shower.
He would sneak away as soon as his mom was distracted to clean up. He swallowed and scooped up another few chairs. He had brushed his teeth that morning, but no amount of toothpaste could quite erase the stale grime in his mouth.
As Tripp leaned over to grab a table, he saw Melissa come out the backdoor with a bouquet of flowers in her hands. Tripp had the childish urge to duck behind a tree.
He remembered, in detail, every single thing about their late-night exchange in the kitchen. He almost wished he had blacked it out, it was so embarrassing. Then again, it was better that he remembered he had been a total creep so he wouldn’t repeat the incident.
When Tripp closed his eyes, he could picture her stunned expression when he had told her she was hot. He could imagine every freckle dusted across her perfect nose.
It wasn’t that he had been untruthful. He had been all too honest. Mel was hot, and Tripp had of course noticed. In the past, there had been a clear line though. He had been all too aware of their age difference and her closeness to Christina. Mel had been totally off-limits. Tripp had known it wouldn’t even be ok to flirt with her. Not that he even wanted to flirt with her. Mel was too good for casual teasing.