by Z. B Heller
I loaded my shot glass with more liquor and looked at Raj. “I don’t think she’s seeing anyone at the moment. But who knows, that could change as quickly as a baby’s diaper.”
I took another shot and I could feel my toes starting to tingle. I wanted to sneak out of the apartment, but I had a feeling if I did that, Miles would know I was uncomfortable. His back was turned towards me while he was talking to the others. It gave me a chance to study his ass. It was perfect, perky, nice shape and his jeans molded perfectly to it. He was dressed casually, but in a Sunday football, I won’t shower kinda way. His blue button-down shirt was just tight enough to mold to his biceps. It was very nice to look at and I imaged my legs wrapped around those arms as he buried his head in my Pleasantville.
An hour later, I had nursed my anxiety away and replaced it with drunk-girl stupidity.
“Have you seen the size of a horse’s cock? I think it’s as long as a football field!” I was chatting to, or more like hanging onto, some of Tom and Ryan’s friends. They eyed each other, wondering who decided to invite the hot mess to the party.
“That would be so funny, because it has balls. Get it? Football field, balls?” I quickly lost my audience when Renee came up to me.
“Are you ok?” She seemed concerned.
“Fannntttaassttiicc,” I slurred out. “Have you gotten to third base with Hairy Balls yet?”
“Moxie, you know that I have no interest in going there. I can’t believe that was the guy Ryan wanted to hook me up with. What are the odds?”
“Enough that I would like to go to Vegas. I could make a killing with my luck. What did you two chat about anyways? And why the fuck is he here?” I demanded.
“Apparently, he is doing some graphic design work for the station Ryan’s at. He’s a graphic designer, but also does other art on the side. Pretty fascinating, actually.”
“Whose team are you on?” I exclaimed.
“I didn’t know we were doing teams. In that case, I want to be traded to Raj’s team. Maybe I can play catcher to his pitching.”
“Was that supposed to be a euphemism for catching his spunk in your mouth?” I asked in a hazy voice.
“Something like that. I’m going to go over there and chat with him. His accent makes my panties melt.”
Renee walked off to attempt her British invasion. Ryan came up to my side and nudged my hip with his. But because I was a little inebriated, I fell over the corner of the couch and face planted into the cushion.
“You ok there?” he asked.
“Super,” I said with my head kissing the cushion. “I was just checking to make sure you sprayed your couch with Fabreeze before the party. I’ve smelled your ass and it can be quite unpleasant.”
Ryan laughed. “So what do think of the set-up?”
“I think you’ve got impeccable taste, but I also think you lost your contestant on the Love Connection.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s Hairy Balls,” I slurred.
“We’ve gone over this. I see a really great chick off Clark and she waxes them clean,” he protested.
“No, asshole. Not your balls, and I never want to discuss your balls being waxed again. He’s Hairy Balls.” I pointed my finger at Miles, who was talking with a group of guys.
“Oh shit, really?”
“No, I’m making this up for my own HBO entertainment. Yes, that’s him. The man I questioned about his balls and on whose shoes I spewed.”
“Then I take it Renee isn’t going to inspect his balls to confirm your assessment,” he grinned.
“No. But I do think she wants a taste of Indian tonight.” I dragged my eyes in Renee and Raj’s direction.
“Hmm, interesting,” said Ryan.
“Go, mingle with your people,” I said. “Leave me to rot in my own despair and prepare for spinsterhood,” I sighed.
“Dramatic much?” Ryan lifted his eyebrow at me.
“I have to make use of the improv classes I took. Besides bluffing an orgasm.”
Ryan shook his head. “I need to check if Tom has gone all OCD and is howling at people to use coasters.”
I sat on the couch and rested my head back. Forcing my eyes closed, I felt the room start to spin and contemplated what a spinster’s life really entailed. Would I sit and spin something on a loom? Or will it be more of an old lady with hundreds of cats scenario? I hate cats and now I was doomed to a life cleaning hairballs and cat poop. Maybe I’ll become a hoarder, like on those TV shows, and they’ll find cat bones under the dunes of my crap.
“Still trying to impress that Russian judge, I see.”
I didn’t want to open my eyes because I knew who would be standing in front of me. I could smell his scent, which happened to have taken permanent residence in my nostrils.
“You saw my little mishap, ’m guessing.” I pulled myself upright on the couch.
“Is that what it was? I thought you were aiming for a new pummel horse routine.”
He sat next to me, putting his arm around the back of the couch. His blue shirt was thin enough that you could still see the defined muscles of his arms. I might have started drooling a bit.
“Do you think cats would eat a dead woman’s body if there was nothing else in the house to eat?” I asked.
“That depends,” he said.
“On what?”
“On how they feel about cannibalizing another pussy.”
My eyes flew open and I looked at Miles. His eyes were burning into me again, like they did in my classroom that one day. He knew he’d caught my attention and I felt the heat in my cheeks rise.
“So you met Renee?”
“Well, sort of. She was with you that night at Dickies, so I wouldn’t technically say this was our first meeting,” he said.
“True, I guess.” I paused, wondering if I should take the conversation further. Heck, why not? I’d already made enough of an ass out of myself. Why stop now?
“You know Ryan wanted to set you guys up?”
“He did mention something about that.” Miles took one hand out of his jeans pocket and rubbed his cheek. “But I don’t think that’s going to work out.”
“Oh? Why is that?” My voice came out a little shaky.
“Not my type,” he said.
Interesting. I wondered whether I wanted to push my questioning even more. The alcohol in my blood stream gave me some liquid courage to continue my inquiries and advance this little game we seemed to have started.
“And what would be Mr. Dane’s type? Enquiring minds want to know.”
I could feel the air shift and now the heat that was just in my cheeks spread to the rest of me. He leaned over and put his elbows on his knees, twisting the beer bottle in his hands. I sat up straighter on the couch and looked straight into his rich cobalt blue eyes.
“I like a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to get it. A woman who is honest about who she is, and who doesn’t give a fuck whether someone else agrees with her or not. Someone with all the fine features of a woman, curves in all the right spots.”
I wondered if I could count the curves in-between my stomach jelly rolls. I would definitely consider it a shape, but I had a feeling that was not what he was talking about.
“Well, it sounds like you have a very specific woman in mind.”
“I do,” he said, and the corner of his lip curled up.
“So what made you become a teacher?” he shifted the topic.
“I like working with kids, I always have. I got my degree in elementary education and found a job right out of school. I was lucky.”
“I know Dillion really likes having you as his teacher.”
“Then he doesn’t know me very well yet,” I joked.
“I wish you were my teacher,” he said, grinning.
“Oh, I’m sure I could teach you a thing or two.”
“I bet you could.” He put his hand on my knee and I knew we weren’t talking about elementary education. More
like, I want to play doctor with you and show you my boy bits. I felt like I was going to combust when he touched me. I knew I had to change the way the conversation was going, or I was going to be in some serious trouble.
“So art, huh? Do you paint nudes?”
That was not the direction I had intended on.
“I don’t paint nudes,” he replied. “But I do paint, mostly with acrylics. I also do freelance graphic design work. That’s how I got the position at the station. I went to a school for graphic design, but during my studies we had to take a lot of art classes to understand mediums better. Painting just stuck with me. And you can’t feed a growing boy on a starving artist’s salary.”
I started feeling more comfortable talking to Miles. Not only was he easy on the eyes, but he also was interesting to talk to. We talked more about our jobs, likes, dislikes and even got into a heated debate about chocolate chip versus oatmeal raisin.
“Clearly, your views on chocolate chip cookies have been severely tarnished,” I tried to say in a serious tone.
“Not when you ingest three packs of Chips Ahoy in two hours, then throw up chocolate chips all night,” he laughed.
I suddenly felt a vibration on the couch. Wow, this man had some skills if he could make the couch turn into a massive vibrator. But he reached towards his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He swiped the screen to answer. “Hey, Hon. Right now? Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He closed the phone and looked at me. “I’ve gotta run. It was nice running into you again.”
He got up from the couch and made his way over to Ryan to say goodbye. Then he ran towards the door and was gone.
Wait, back the fucking truck up. Was he not just flirting with me? He got me all hot and bothered until “Hon” rang and demanded his presence. Well, “Hon” could go ahead and have him. I’ll sit here and continue my spinster’s life timeline.
Renee bounced up to the couch. “Guess what?”
“Chicken butt,” I answered.
“Wait, what?” She looked at me with annoyance. “No, seriously, guess what?”
“What?” I waited, hoping she was going to tell me that they found world peace.
“Raj asked if I wanted to go out to dinner tomorrow night! Isn’t that sweet?” she gushed.
“As sweet as stealing some kid’s candy and taking a big bite of it right in front of them,” I retorted.
“Things didn’t go so well with Mr. Balls?” she asked.
“Depends on how you define going well.”
“Well, it’s one-thirty. Let’s say goodbye to everyone and head out,” Renee proposed.
“Sure. Maybe if we get lucky we can run into the Golden Shower man in the L.” I looked at her with my now glazed eyes.
She reached over and moved the bangs out of my face. “We should be so lucky.”
Chapter Seven
The next morning I headed over to the coffee shop for some much needed caffeine. I was hoping that my favorite barista, Josie, was there, because she always sneaks in extra espresso shots in my drinks. Either she’s being kind, or she likes watching me act like I’m on speed. I really enjoy the mom and pop coffee house and like to support them instead of a large coffee chain.
I went up to the front of the line and was happy because Josie was in fact working.
“Hey, Moxie. Do you want your normal?” she asked.
“Please. And add some extra love in there, if you don’t mind.” I looked at the bakery items. “Wait, that chocolate chip scone just threw me a seductive wink. It must know I’m a chocolate whore. Throw it in a bag for me, too.”
She smiled and nodded.
“One low fat non-skim macchiato and no whip and three Splenda,” called out another barista to the room.
What the hell was that? What happened to plain old coffee with cream and sugar? I was not quite sure coffee had to go and get all exotic. It probably found out that Mr. Coffee found a hot piece of ass in Brazil and suddenly there was competition. I cradled my cup.
“It’s ok, coffee, I love you just the way you are. Plus, I hear that the beans in Brazil get one hell of a wax before they get ground,” I whispered to my cup.
I had brought my laptop with me to finish up some school work and to catch up on any entertainment news I might have missed. I treat Hollywood entertainment like my holy grail. If a super couple breaks up, I write them a letter and offer couples’ counseling. If a celebrity goes to rehab, I start a donation collection at school to send them a fruit basket. When Kirk Cameron went all super freaky religious, I wrote him a letter saying that Jesus left a message on my voice mail and said to tell him to tone it down a notch.
I figured the unrealistic life of celebrities was a way to mentally check out for a while. Like posting an out-to-Lunch-be-back-at-one-fifteen sign on my brain. Plus I really could use some escapism after dealing with Miles’s multiple personality disorder.
I was still at a table and opened my laptop to find that I had a few emails.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
7:38 a.m. CST
Subject: Are you still Jewish?
Moxie,
I hope you told that person who came to the door selling you a new religion that you are a proud young Jewish woman and your people walked for days in the dessert for your freedom. Did you get that pimple cream I sent you? Your blackheads looked very inflamed last time I saw you. It’s because you’re working too hard. If you found a nice boy to take you out, your skin would clear up because of happy endorphins. It’s true. I read it in Prevention magazine.
LOVE
Mom
___________________
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
9:53 a.m. CST
Subject: Buddhism
Martha,
I have taken up the ancient religion of Buddhism. That’s because I need peace of mind, to stop myself from throwing the computer out the window if you talk about my pimples one more time. I seriously doubt that a man taking me to dinner would clear any acne on my face. If that were the case, Misty Collins should have had a glowing complexion for all the boys she blew in high school.
The Pimple-Faced Princess
___________________
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
10:05 a.m. CST
Subject: NOT FUNNY
Moxie, I did not teach you to talk like that! Your father would have a fit to know his daughter had a bad mouth. And use that pimple cream. It was expensive.
LOVE
Mom
I folded my arms on the table and started to bang my head against them. Why must my step mother feel I would not be able to function correctly without her interfering? I lifted my head and took another drink of my coffee before I continued with my email. I was starting to think that adding a splash of whisky in my morning coffee was a necessity.
I looked at my inbox and noticed that there still wasn’t anything from David. I guess it was my turn to make a move in the game of who can be more aloof.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
10:15 a.m. CST
Subject: Happy Saturday
Hi David,
I hope you’re having a nice start to the weekend.
That might be the lamest opening to an email…ever.
I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten back to you sooner; it’s been a crazy week.
That’s a complete lie. I was waiting for you to make another move so I could save face.
I suppose you wouldn’t come back to the cold and I bet Arizona has lovely scenery.
What the fuck? Am I writing an article for Home and Garden magazine?
I teach kindergarten at Montgomery Elementary. I love being a teacher.
When I’m not contemplating throwing all my kids into hot boiling water and feeding them to pigs.
Do you want to m
eet up for drinks sometime?
Because I’m desperate to get laid and I’m running out of batteries for my vibrator.
Talk soon.
Please email me back soon and put me out of my misery.
Moxie
I closed my laptop and sat back to stare at it like it had magical emailing powers. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and reached for it.
Renee: OMG!!!!! Guess what???
Moxie: They’ve found an answer to the energy crisis?
Renee: What?
Moxie: Never mind. What’s up?
Renee: Raj texted me this morning and told me that he thought I looked stunning last night!
If there was any question whether Raj wanted to get into Renee’s panties before, this just solidified it.
Moxie: So are you going to invite his gondola into your river of love?
Renee: We’re going out tonight. He wants to take me to Devil’s Kitchen.
Moxie: That new place that opened in Wicker Park? I thought it was just a front for a crack house.
Renee: Funny. Gotta figure out what to wear. TTYL!
I was glad someone was going to get some loving tonight. Which reminded me I had to get a replacement head for my vibrator. Since I was stuck being an old maid, I figured having good ways of mechanically pleasuring myself would be essential. I opened my laptop back up to set up my order, but I heard my inbox bell chime. It was a reply from David. I felt a little tingle in my belly.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
10:23 a.m. CST
Subject: Happy Saturday to you
I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to email me back. My ego was about to shatter. Yes, meeting for drinks works. Are you available tonight? I know it’s late notice and you probably have plans.