Cocktales

by K. S. Adkins

  Keeping that to myself, I looked around her place. It was small and tidy but the view…

  “It’s something isn’t it?” she asks taking my side.

  “I’d never come indoors.”

  “I’ll miss it,” she says with a sad smile.

  “You’re moving?”

  “Yeah. The new tenant willing to pay the sky high rent takes possession at the end of the month.”

  “Where are you moving to?” I ask hoping it's not out of state.

  “Other side of town, I bought a house. I needed the tax deductions. Yuk.”

  “I don’t know if you caught this from my staring at you through the window, but I happen to work with a dozen men who will lift heavy objects for beer.”

  “I caught it,” she smiles. “And thanks, but I don’t have much plus, I’ve got a mover coming.” Standing there in silence, she excuses herself to put dinner in the oven. Coming back inside, I let her do her thing because I did show early, and when she took a work call, I pretended not to listen. Making small talk, she sipped wine and I opened a beer. Earlier, it was clear she was hungover, now she was smiling and laughing and I couldn’t stop staring.

  Dee didn’t wear much makeup, had a gorgeously thick body but I swear her sense of humor was even fouler than mine.

  After pouring another drink she says, “And then he said, how do you like your eggs? Fertilized?”

  Coughing up my beer, I wiped my mouth and replayed what she’d just said. “Good to know there are guys out there that make me look good.”

  “You already look good,” she says licking her lips. “Don’t change a thing.”

  “You’d be amazed how many people are turned off by my condition.”

  “What condition?”

  “My inability to talk to women,” I admit staring at her luscious mouth.

  “Oliver,” she says seductively. “You’ve been talking to the wrong women.”

  And then the timer went off, dinner was ready.

  Could he be any more adorable? His insecurity and honesty was beyond charming.

  He wanted me to like him.

  He was also funny and clever. Very proud of his work and a great storyteller.

  Because of this, Oliver had me on the edge of my seat well into dinner.

  Well, until he brought me up.

  “Have you ever heard of Dating Diva?” He asked and I almost choked on a cherry tomato.

  “Hasn’t everyone?” I deflect nicely because hello, I'm worth talking about. I've never done the research but, I bet I'm responsible for at least one dozen pregnancies. Or at least, I hoped I was.

  “Probably,” he agrees. “She’s a big deal around here. Ever read her O Face column?”

  “Both actually,” I hedge cleverly. “Clearly you have too.”

  “Hell, I subscribed to them. Some of the time she nails what it's like to be single. But then she takes it too far so, I can see why no one wants her. Not to mention she's infecting the minds of other women making it a bitch to date.”

  Okay, ouch with a proper dose of what the fuck? “Because she sheds light on the singles’ scene? Did you ever stop and think she likes being single? That she’s having fun?”

  Don't stab him with a fork...

  “Dee, no one likes it. Some of us have no choice but to accept it, but we all want a life partner.”

  “I disagree. I see nothing wrong with anyone choosing to be single because some do.” I do!

  “No one I know,” he shrugs off my comment. “Anyway, I heard she was taking a pole dancing class at the studio across from the station which is why I was looking in.”

  “Ah, so you don't want to be forked.”

  “I don't know what that means, but no,” he rushes out. “I asked Shay if she was in the class and she said no. But, I kept watching because of you.”

  “You’ve got a thing for this blogger?”

  “A romantic thing? Hell no. Odds are she’s a beast anyway. Honestly, I wanted to meet her, call her out and let her know some of us don’t give a fuck about the ‘O’ face or a woman’s weight. Plus, the woman sleeps around for fans which is disgusting. Every date I’ve been on since she started that blog, the woman has brought her up and ruined the chances of a call back.”

  Oliver was currently sitting at my kitchen table blaming me for his dating life but also calling me a whore and it…hurt. “Maybe she’s hoping to meet someone who can see beyond that to the woman underneath.”

  “Then she better hope her shit gets printed in braille because that’s the only shot she has. Actually, that's not even fair to blind guys.”

  “Judgmental much?” I spat ready to throat punch him.

  “It’s not like it’s a secret, Dee. If she didn’t want people to view her like that then she’d write other shit. She’s asking for it.”

  “Asking for it?” I actually growl. Where's my god damn fork? “If a man wrote those pieces, went on those dates and had to suffer through the same bullshit she does, he’d get a fucking sitcom. She isn’t a whore, she just has something to say. For instance, that it’s okay to be who you are even if people don’t get it and if they don’t, it’s their loss. That being single is not a disease.”

  “Whoa,” he says holding his hands up but I wasn’t done.

  “Life as a single isn’t a cake walk for anyone, Oliver. That’s why she writes, to remind us not to give up because she knows there are good ones out there. To let the rest of us know we’re not alone. Maybe she writes because in the love department she just feels fucking hopeless. Maybe she just wants to find the one man who will prove her wrong.”

  Out of breath and reaching for my wine, Oliver looks down at his phone and says with pure relief, “Shit. Work. I gotta go.”

  And I let him.

  Because it was either that, or shank him.

  With a fucking fork.

  Work absolutely sucked.

  The building was beyond saving when we arrived, so in hindsight I ran out on her for nothing.

  But when the calls come in, we don't know that.

  We go, we fight, we do our best to save.

  For the record, I did not want to leave her. Not when, for the first time since Dating Diva hit the internet, had I met a woman who's perspective made a lot of sense. Or maybe it was because Dee dug a little deeper seeing something in those words no one else bothered to see.

  Again, Dee was not like other women. She knew her mind, her body and owned that shit. Listening to her debate the reasons why that blog resonated with people took me back a step. I never saw it like that. The women I had dated were likely weak-minded, easily led and believed everything fed to them.

  But not Dee.

  While I still don't agree with Dating Diva's antics, I had to admit, I could see why others did.

  As for me, I knew I was more conservative than most and wasn't changing anytime soon. Nor was my opinion of Dating Diva. The woman was still a slutty menace.

  It was late now. Just after three am and I was too wound up to sleep. My adrenaline was high, my interest in her, higher. Knowing she was asleep, I sent her a text to wake up to. The problem with that was, when lunchtime hit and she still didn’t respond, I worried I'd done something to upset her. And because it was my day off and I knew she was packing, I went back over.

  Uninvited.

  My plan was to offer my help and if I had upset her, to apologize.

  When her door flew open and she stood there in boxer shorts and a see-through wife beater with a tooth brush hanging out of her mouth, I swear to god I might have fallen in love. “Sup?” she says eyeing me up and down.

  “You didn’t answer my text.”

  “So you went with a drive by?”

  “I wanted to see you.” I defend honestly.

  “Hang on,” she says walking into the kitchen. “I gotta spit.”

  And she did. Twice.

  “People get the purpose of text messages twisted,” she says rinsing her mouth again. When she stood b
ack up and I saw her nipples peeking out, I silently applauded her not wearing a bra. “You send one but that doesn’t mean the recipient is on the clock to return it.”

  “Unless the recipient wanted to return it.” I counter reasonably.

  “Touché,” she says easily.

  “Why didn’t you return it?”

  “If I didn’t answer your text I don’t see any reason to answer your question.”

  Think man, think! Compliment her! “Most women can’t pull off the morning look. You do.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  “I want to try again,” I say closing the door behind me. “Odds are good work will call and ruin it but I’m game if you are.”

  “No,” she laughs. “Odds are good you’ll ruin it, but since I have nothing else lined up, why not.”

  Talk about a throat punch to the ego. However, bright side is, it wasn't a no. So I ask, “Have you had lunch yet?”

  “No.”

  “Barbecue?”

  “You fight dirty,” she says spinning away. “Give me six minutes.”

  I didn’t believe any woman could get ready in six minutes, but low and behold, Dee did it in five. Following her out, I rush ahead to open her door. Looking up at me she says, “So chivalry isn’t dead?”

  “No clue,” I shrug casually. “But this door sticks and I don’t want you suing me.”

  Helping her in, she reaches over and unlocks mine for me. She could have hit the button but she didn’t. She made the effort. I liked it. “I used to have a Dodge Ram myself,” she says turning on the radio and finding her station.

  “This thing is old but I’ll be damned if I can scrap it.”

  “It runs fine, why would you scrap it at all?”

  “Women don’t like old trucks.”

  “Uh, what am I?”

  “Rare,” I tell her honestly. “A dying breed.”

  “Like the Velociraptor.”

  “You like dinosaurs?” I ask.

  “Of course. How old are you, Oliver?”

  “Thirty-nine.”

  “Then yeah,” she smiles beautifully. “I like dinosaurs.”

  “How old are you, Dee?”

  “Twenty-five,” she says then grunts. “Fine, thirty.” Then throws her hands up, “Geez you’re pushy, I’m thirty-six and not a day older.”

  “You don’t look thirty-six.”

  “I know, right? It’s because I’m not. I’m thirty-one.”

  Hiding my smirk, I parallel park out front, which never happens, and rush over to open her door. “Thanks,” she says jumping down while I was there to catch her by the waist. God, she was so small compared to me and the position put us mouth to mouth and I wanted it, bad. But I didn't do it. Instead, I led her inside and was happy for once there wasn’t a wait. We had just ordered and were waiting on drinks when she asks, “Ever been married?”

  “No.”

  “Kids?” she prompts.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Ever kill anyone?” Did she forget I saved lives?

  “No.”

  “Ever want to?” she throws back adorably.

  “What about you?” I toss out. “Ever married?”

  “No,” she says taking a French fry and popping it in her mouth.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “No one asked.”

  “Kids?” Please say no...

  “Not that I know of,” she winks.

  “Ever kill anyone?” I repeat her words.

  “Yep.”

  “Ever want—wait you’ve killed someone?”

  “Every chance that I get,” she with an evil laugh. “Call of duty, bitches.”

  “You know what I do for a living, what do you do?”

  “I write sometimes,” she says dismissively. “But most of the time, I cause non-felonious trouble while I wait for a rich family member I've never met to die, leaving me everything.”

  “What do you write?” I ask out of curiosity.

  “Nothing you’d like, just mundane stuff for the paper.”

  “Which paper?”

  “Detroit Weekly.”

  Ah. This explains her death glare over the mention of her co-worker. “So when I asked you about Dating Diva, you got pissed because you work with her?”

  “One,” she says stealing another fry. “I don’t work with her. Two, I wasn’t pissed I was miffed. Big diff.”

  I wasn't touching that shit again so I went with, “I wanted to keep debating with you but when work calls I have to bail, no exceptions.”

  Letting it go she asks, “Did you save some lives last night?”

  “Building was empty, which was fortunate since it’s now ashes.”

  “Yikes.”

  “For the record, Dee, I didn’t want to leave.” I tell her honestly.

  “Noted,” she smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes.

  Just as I was taking a drink of my pop, she asks, “So Oliver do you sleep around a lot?” and it came out of my nose.

  “You just go straight for it, don’t you?” I ask with watery eyes.

  “Pretty sure we covered the dating process is one big interview. I’m also assuming you’re attracted to me to use my not returning your text to show up. And if I wasn’t attracted to you, I wouldn’t have answered the door. So, since the interview process always ends with an eval, I felt I should know.”

  “Eval?”

  “Evaluation. Which is code for potential fuck buddies.”

  “Ah.” Fuck buddies? I'd be changing that in a hurry.

  “So how many, Oliver?”

  “Just a few,” I say ducking my chin.

  “A few what? Dozen? Hundred? Charlie Sheen?”

  Then my pocket buzzes. “Fuck,” I groan pulling out my phone and reading the message. “I gotta go, Dee. Can I call you a cab or something?”

  “I’m good,” she smiles and this time it does reach her eyes. “I’m going to eat from your plate because it tastes better that way. Then, I’m going to visit a friend up the street. Go on, I’m fine.”

  Throwing money down on the table, I kissed her forehead before hauling ass to my truck.

  Once again, leaving her wasn't easy for me. Though when I glanced inside the window at her, she looked happier alone.

  Oliver being called away for work turned out to be a good thing. Because ten minutes later, right when I was getting in the cab, my editor called. His name was Bill, nice and simple, Bill. He was over the moon that a big time publishing company wanted me to write a book. Call me crazy, but I thought the author pitched books to publishers? But, whatever. Still my response was, I write blogs not novels.

  He begged me to think about it, because they loved my online work. So I lied, and said I would. But, I'm reconsidering my lie because having a novel under my belt would be cool as hell. I would totally introduce myself as an author to complete strangers on a daily basis. Seriously, having a story I wrote hit it big would be right up there with adventuring!

  Back at my loft, I loaded up my car to take a few boxes over to my new gag-house-gag. Since I bought it as is and for a steal, there was quite a bit of maintenance I had to have done before I could safely move in. To date, I've had the furnace cleaned and inspected, the water tank replaced, and on Monday, an electrician was coming to update my panel and install smoke detectors.

  It's no secret, Downtown Detroit is a big place full of grand surprises. Yet I was leaving the hustle and flow of the riverfront for suburbia and seriously struggling with it. I had a lawn, a porch, garden, fence and a garage. Now I just needed a few kids and a minivan with auto-opening doors… When my mind took me down that road, I struggled to breathe. Even my ovaries Morse-coded fuck no.

  Once in the drive, I decided to bring my things in through the back door. Setting the box down, I was heading out for the other when a tiny old person in a chic kimono, tightly permed hair and fuzzy house slippers spotted me and invited herself in. “I’m Stella,” she says sizing me up. “Yo
ur name?”

  “So sorry! Just a sec,” I say holding up a hand when I saw Oliver was calling. “Hi, you’re alive, yes?”

  “Yeah,” he says on a laugh. “I’m alive. Where are you?”

  “Unloading a couple boxes at my new place and meeting my awesomely young and nubile neighbor who loves cooking for single girls who lack the skill to grocery shop.”

  “That neighbor female?”

  “I’ll never tell, but okay, yes. She's maybe thirty-five.”

  “Working late,” he says. “But I want to see you tomorrow.”

  “I’d be available for a wakeup call,” I semi-tease.

  “I’m a fireman, Dee, I don’t have to knock. I can ram the door in.”

  “You said ram.”

  “Jesus,” he groans. “Later, Dee.” When he hung up, I tucked my phone back in my pocket and faced my elderly companion who smelled like rum and tequila cheerfully saying, “Hello, new neighbor!”

  Looking crestfallen she says softly, “It sounds like you already have a young man in your life.”

  “He’s way older than me,” I offer not wanting to divulge much. “Though he's got something about him, but it's too soon to tell. Buying this place was the big girl decision for the year.”

  “Too bad,” she sighs as only the elderly could do. You know, making you feel like you've done something wrong even though you haven't. “The man to the left of you is quite the catch. Well, I’m right across the street if you need anything. And I have a gun.”

  “Right on, Grambo,” I say leaning in for a hug. “Nice to meet you, I’ll see you real soon.”

  Locking up, I head back out wondering how I went from being leery of the good guy to having warring feelings for him. Especially since, unbeknownst to him, he hates me and everything about me.

  Trying to explain a woman you're interested in to another man was honest to god fucking pointless. Because guys want to know the basics: Is she hot? She got a job? Gag reflex or kids?

  “She’s different,” I explain to Graham, again. “Doesn’t get pissed when I have to run out for work, doesn’t pull chick shit and she’s seriously beautiful.”