Beauty and the Beefcake

by Pippa Grant

  “Fox,” I say.

  It’s pointless. Not worth saying. Random. But short nonsense usually shuts people up.

  Not Felicity. She smirks. “I have your number, Ares Berger.”

  Something bangs in the basement, and her smirk turns to a wince. “Yes, Gammy, I’ll look into a new furnace next week. Nick’s home tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll come visit, okay?”

  A low groan echoes through the pipes.

  “Now she’s just showing off,” Felicity mutters.

  “Get me the fuck out of here, please,” she answers as Lucy. Cheerful and happy.

  “Wait,” I say.

  She has her trunk balanced weird on her hip, one hand on the door, a light blue fluffy coat across her stuff.

  “It’s the furnace,” she says.

  “Wait.”

  I check downstairs—creepy old basement—to make sure she’s right.

  “If you turn into a horror flick victim, I’m leaving your ass,” Felicity calls downstairs-as Lucy the Cheer Monster—while I look around all the nooks and crannies.

  “Cheese,” I reply.

  “Eggplant.”

  “Peter.”

  “You are such a guy.”

  I grin.

  She’s really funny.

  Odd, but funny. And also—

  A weirdo magnet.

  18

  Ares

  Know what’s not funny?

  Dude making fun of boy bands.

  Don’t trash talk my boys.

  They make good music. Like to sing along. Get to sing with Ambrosia’s band sometimes when I’m in New York with Z.

  Second best thing I’m good at, after hockey and lifting heavy shit.

  But this guy’s up on the stage at Felicity’s comedy club, talking smack about blond tips and singing soprano and doing butt stuff.

  “Boooo,” I yell.

  “Ssh,” Kami hisses at me.

  I’m almost seven feet tall. I can fucking boo a dumbass mocking boy bands if I want to. “Sucks,” I tell her.

  “He’s got a point about the blond tips,” Maren says.

  I glower at her and eat another half a burger in one bite.

  “What?” the comedian says up on stage. He squints at the tables. “Don’t tell me one of you out there likes that boy band shit. That’s like liking black licorice.”

  Yeah, it fucking takes good taste. I start to get to my feet, because nobody mocks boy bands. Especially when I’m already in a mood because I’m not in Arizona with the team, getting ready for a game tonight.

  Maren and Kami both grab me by the arms.

  “Felicity’s going to kill us if we let you stand up on your ankle,” Kami whispers. “You like me too much to let her kill me, don’t you?”

  I’m not falling for that. But she looks panicked. So I stay sitting.

  With my fucking boot propped up.

  Just like last night.

  Should’ve gone backstage with Felicity. Made sure nobody was bothering her. Trying to get her number. Asking to touch her boobs.

  They better not ask to touch her boobs.

  The dumbass on the stage takes a bow. Somebody claps.

  My mom would clap. She’s nice like that. It’s a Minnesota thing. Like pineapple tater tot casserole. Which should be a hot dish, but not everything in the world makes sense.

  “He’s better than he was last week,” Kami says.

  Starting to see who Felicity bases Lucy off of.

  “What’s got your panties in a twist?” Maren asks me.

  “Wheel,” I answer.

  Kami laughs. “Oh, I get it. A wheel’s turning your panties! That’s funny. Maybe you should try stand up comedy. Or sit down comedy. That seems safer. Seriously, though, did something happen?”

  I’ll leave the funny business to funny people.

  “Taco,” I say.

  They both squint at me like they don’t get it.

  Good.

  I don’t either.

  But I don’t need to. Just don’t want to talk about my day.

  It was a day. It’s almost over. Tomorrow’s a fresh start.

  I catch the server’s eye and point to my burger and root beer.

  “One more of both, hon?” she says.

  I nod.

  Gotta feed the ankle. Felicity says so.

  Don’t think I wasn’t listening last night.

  Just needed to get my head back on straight. Away from her. Away from kissing. Away from myself too.

  The scruffy bearded guy with the crooked hat who’s running things takes the mic on stage and introduces Felicity.

  Now there’s clapping. And cheering.

  “She’s popular,” Maren tells me with a grin.

  “Because she’s awesome,” Kami says.

  Felicity walks onto the stage under the exposed beam ceiling, and a slow gasp rolls through the crowd as the lights land on her face.

  “Did she really walk into a door?” Maren whispers.

  “Gammy got her,” I say.

  Kami shudders. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

  “If you guys got freaky last night, and that’s how she got hurt, I wouldn’t tell Nick,” Maren offers. “But you have to give me details.”

  I don’t hurt women.

  Anywhere. Anytime. Over anything.

  I pin her with a look.

  She shrugs. “Just looking out for her. Sometimes the freaky stuff is fun.”

  Felicity takes a seat in front of the microphone with a—is that a cat? Don’t recognize it from the YouTubes.

  Her puppet has matted gray fur, a bent ear, a long ratty tail, round glasses, and it’s in a Thrusters’ jersey. She’s holding a stick to make its arm move, and somehow, she’s also making its jaw and its eyes move. Felicity’s hair glows under the spotlight, gold flecks shining, her mouth spread wide in a pink-lipped smile, her shoulders back.

  Strong.

  Confident.

  Comfortable.

  Like I am on the ice.

  “I love you, Felicity,” some dumbass in the back yells.

  “Oh, look, Felicity, the beer’s talking already!” she chirps as Lucy.

  The first round of laughter rolls through the darkened bar.

  “I love the beer,” Lucy says. Yeah, Lucy the Cat is talking. Go with it. “Can I have one?”

  “You didn’t learn your lesson about beer last night?” Felicity says to Lucy.

  “Not like you did. How’s your eye, by the way?”

  “A little better than my liver.”

  More laughs.

  “At least you learned broomsticks don’t make good dancing partners,” Lucy says.

  “They make good boyfriends though,” Felicity replies.

  Lucy nods “Almost as good as goats.”

  “Goats? Whoa, what about goats? Lucy, do you and Tim have something you need to tell me?”

  Lucy tilts her head away and looks up at the ceiling.

  “Lucy?” Felicity prompts. “Did Tim ask you out on a date?”

  “No, silly! He thinks he’s not good enough for me, which is sooo not true, because he’s so strong and hairy and those hoofs… I love a goat with good hooves. But I did read a book out loud to him the other night. You know. Fifty Shades of Interspecies Romance. His horns got reeeeeeally perky when I got to the part about the stable toys and the barn cat. I think I have a chance. Except I really hope he doesn’t try to eat me, because how could I enjoy sex with a goat if I’m dead? Why is eating a part of sex?”

  Felicity ducks her head. “Ah, Lucy, I’ll have to explain that to you later.”

  My junk’s getting worked up again. She’s talking about cats and goats doing it, and the thought of Felicity thinking about sex and making animals talk about sex is making me sweat.

  Won’t think of eating Murphy’s sister.

  Won’t think of eating Murphy’s sister.

  Won’t—

  Fuck, that kiss tasted good last night. Felt good too. Her hair. Her han
ds.

  Her tongue.

  I don’t fuck around during hockey season. Takes the edge off my brain. Makes me lose focus. Start thinking too much about the girl.

  I’m not on the fucking ice tonight though, am I?

  But she’s still Murphy’s sister. So she’s still off-limits.

  Can I out-crazy his ass?

  Duh. Ever tell you about the time Chase, Z, and me popped all of Ambrosia’s baby doll heads off and put them in with the cabbage and lettuce at the grocery store?

  Yeah. I can out-crazy his ass.

  Should I?

  Guess that depends on the day. And the reason.

  I gulp half my root beer and swipe my forehead while the crowd laughs.

  She didn’t eat anything before the show. Said she was too nervous.

  Doesn’t look nervous.

  Looks right. Like she was born to be on that stage.

  She’s glowing. Feeding off the crowd.

  “She improvs half of this every time,” Maren tells me while Felicity pauses and grins during a long laugh by the crowd. “They’d pay her to be a regular on the weekends, but she doesn’t like to commit to missing Thrusters’ games, and she travels sometimes to the away games. Not as much now that Nick’s with the Thrusters, but she still doesn’t want the commitment.”

  I grunt, and I almost miss the look Kami and Maren share.

  Know that look.

  They think I’m getting hooked on her.

  Wouldn’t be hard.

  But I’m not alone. She’s got a fan club. Has her choice of men. Everywhere she goes.

  She doesn’t need me in that club.

  I don’t need to be in that club.

  Been there, done that. Learned my lesson the hard way.

  Few times over.

  I’m a novelty. A dumb puck with a big dick.

  I’m not long-term material.

  “Lucy,” Felicity says, “what’s that on your shirt?”

  Lucy looks down. “What? Oh. That. That’s blood.”

  “Blood? Lucy! When did you get blood on your jersey? You’re a puppet. How did you get blood on your jersey?”

  Lucy looks away again. “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Does Tim know?”

  The puppet blushes.

  Fuck.

  The puppet doesn’t blush. But it’s twisting its neck and hiding its face with its paw, and the damn thing looks embarrassed, so I think it’s blushing.

  I shake my head.

  This shit’s too real.

  “You’re going to be mad,” Lucy says.

  “I’m not going to be mad.”

  “You should be.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I don’t like it when you get mad at us. You threaten to give us baths and wash our mouths out with soap, and—”

  “Lucy! I do not.”

  “You should.”

  “Lucy. C’mon. Look at all these witnesses. Even if I wanted to dunk you in the toilet, I couldn’t do it. They’d call the puppet cops on me.”

  “There are puppet cops?” Lucy whips her head around and watches Felicity with big eyes. “Are they cute? Are they goats? Are they cute goat puppet cops? Don’t you think Tim would look soooo studly in a cop outfit? Can we get him one? And handcuffs? Please?”

  “Lucy. We’re talking about the blood on your shirt.”

  “Oh. That was Harold’s fault.” Lucy claps her hand over her mouth. “Dang it, Felicity! You got me distracted with hot goat cops and made me spill the jellybeans!”

  “What did Harold do?”

  Lucy mumbles something.

  I lean forward.

  Felicity tilts her head closer to Lucy. “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you.”

  Lucy mumbles again.

  “One more time?” Felicity prompts. “Or I’ll put Tim in a Boston jersey.”

  Lucy gasps. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Oh, I would.”

  “Harold punched your brother because of what he did!” Lucy once again claps a hand over her little cat face.

  “Harold?” Felicity says.

  “Harold,” Lucy whimpers.

  “Grumpapotamus Harold punched my brother?”

  “He said he’d fart on all my catnip if I told you.”

  Felicity sighs. “He’s not going to fart on your catnip. He’s a puppet.”

  “Sssshh! He can hear you.”

  “What, exactly, did my brother do this time?” Felicity asks.

  Lucy mumbles again.

  “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

  “He spray-painted your landlord’s car with penises and posted a picture on the internet calling it the Dickmobile and that’s why you got evicted!”

  Heh. That’s actually a good idea.

  While the crowd laughs, Lucy sags. “I knew you should’ve brought Tim tonight instead of me. He never tells his secrets. Or anyone else’s.”

  “Secrets aren’t good for anyone, Lucy.”

  “Even your secret about—mmph!”

  The cat falls silent as Felicity muffles its face.

  “What secret, Felicity?” the guy in back calls.

  “She doesn’t shave her legs in winter!” Lucy calls back. She claps her hand over her own mouth again. “Sorry. Sorry sorry.”

  “We probably should’ve stayed home tonight,” Felicity says dryly.

  “Yeah, and given your face a rest,” Lucy agrees. “But I think you look beautiful. Even if you do look like a hockey player impersonating Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer after a throw down. And tomorrow, when it starts turning green, you can tell everyone you’re a leprechaun!”

  “Hey! I said that to her over a text at lunch today,” Kami whispers.

  “Great line.” Maren gives her a fist bump.

  This crowd’s happy. Loves Lucy. Loves Felicity.

  She’s good with people. She’s good on stage. She’s good with patients.

  Only thing she can’t do is date normal dudes.

  That not-right feeling goes up my arms again. I twist in my seat, and—there.

  The douche-dick ex just walked in.

  I’d know it was him even if I hadn’t met him when I went to get her stuff. He’s walking like he took a puck up the ass, glaring like he wants his eyeballs to fall out, and sneering like he needs a good sneezegasm.

  Dude needs something stronger than a comedy club.

  I grab my crutches and swing out of the chair.

  “Sit down—oh, shit,” Maren mutters.

  I barely hear, because I’m already moving away from the table.

  He sees me coming before he’s seated. His eyes go wide, then narrow.

  I smile.

  It’s not pretty.

  Never is, but even more so tonight.

  “Whoa, hey, it’s the Force,” somebody whispers behind me.

  The douche-dick doubles down on the tough guy act. Like pulling his shoulders back will scare me. “Back off, asshole,” he says. “She doesn’t want your dumb ass.”

  Probably true. Shouldn’t matter. Usually doesn’t hurt.

  Hurts today though.

  Makes me want to twist him into a pretzel.

  Before I can growl, someone shrieks. “Ohmygod, it’s a rabid beaver!”

  “Dog on two legs!”

  “It’s a fucking monkey!”

  People are leaping onto the chairs. Servers come running. So does management.

  “Oh, shit,” Maren whispers.

  Felicity’s still on stage. “A monkey?” Lucy says. “Why would there be a monkey?”

  I turn and look back at the douche-dick, because if I just stand here, and my monkey’s in the building, he’ll find me. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

  “Fuck off, ret—ooow!”

  He grips his temple and doubles over. The glass that clocked him tumbles to the ground. Loki scrambles up my crutch and arm, laughing.

  “There! The monkey!”

  I sigh.

  If Z were here, he’d talk o
ur way out of this.

  Felicity could do it without moving her lips, but she’s up on stage.

  Not moving her lips.

  Plus, they know her tricks here.

  Since I’m alone, I give the monkey a side-eye.

  His laugh stops, and he lowers his head in shame.

  “Biscuits,” I say.

  He chirps.

  The two of us make our way to the door. I shove all my cash at the manager approaching.

  Didn’t get my last hamburger.

  Loki tenses like he’s going to leap for the cherries on a lady’s dress.

  “Zoo,” I say to him.

  He hunkers back on my shoulder and pouts again.

  Sad monkey face.

  Fuck.

  Sad monkey face kills me.

  Maren trails us outside. “Kami and I will get Felicity and meet you at the back door,” she says. “Don’t lose your monkey.”

  I smirk at her.

  She rolls her eyes.

  When we’re alone outside, I look at Loki again. Hard with him on my shoulder. Have to twist my neck good.

  He loops an arm around my head.

  Like he’s apologizing.

  Must’ve hidden away in Felicity’s trunk.

  Sneaky booger.

  I like him.

  Reminds me of me.

  Hell, reminds me of me now.

  Need to get Z and Chase out here for a night out with the monkey.

  Be almost like we’re kids again.

  Before life got complicated. Before jobs. Before Z and me got split up and put on different teams. Before women happened to them.

  The door opens behind me, and angry voices make Loki tighten his grip on my head.

  Two bouncers are showing the douche-dick out.

  “I have a right to be here,” he snarls.

  I swing around on my crutches and stare at him. Don’t even glare. Just watch him.

  Loki hisses.

  Good monkey.

  The douche-dick rounds on me.

  “This is your fault.”

  I don’t answer. Don’t have to. He’s wrong. I’m not in his way. He’s in his own way.

  Because he’s a douche-dick.

  Needs to treat women better. Treat people better. Probably treat animals better.

  Definitely treat cookies better. Waste of good cookies on Gammy’s lawn. Could’ve fed a few hundred kid birthday parties.

  No, not with the dicks.

  Could’ve fed a massive party after the NHL all-star game. Yeah.

  That’s what those cookies could’ve been for.