by K. T. Mara
The woman blinked a few times. “Excusez-moi?”
“Je l’ai dit, c’est pas tes oignons,” Rachel said again. Damn, I wondered if I could convince her to speak French for the rest of the night.
Rachel glanced at me, but I was still waiting for her to explain what was going on. “She’s not really French,” she whispered in my ear, “and apparently, neither are you.”
“Guilty,” I smiled.
Trevvy and I had been in the same French classes, yet her fluency was light years ahead of mine. I wonder if she was tutored privately, or if she was just gifted? Probably both.
The bartender came by and asked if I wanted anything. My eyes drifted to Trevvy again. “Two scotches, rocks, please.”
I knew that was her drink of choice. During our senior class trip to Europe, I was just returning from a party with some guys when I spotted Trevvy in the hotel bar by herself. It was an unusual sight, not because she was alone—she was always alone, but because she was drinking.
Even though the minimum drinking age in Europe was eighteen, we were both still seventeen at the time. I broke that rule lots of times during the trip, but Trevvy was such a stickler for the law, I was genuinely surprised she broke this one.
After she left, I tipped the bartender fifty Euros to find out what drink she had. Scotch on the rocks, he had told me. Yet another surprise. I figured she would be a vodka girl, but she was a scotch girl. And I was a scotch boy. Even back then, the fact made me oddly happy.
When the bartender placed the drinks in front of me, Trevvy was already done with the woman.
“So did you answer her question?”
“No,” Trevvy frowned.
A nerve struck me. “Because you didn’t want her to hit on me?”
Her frown deepened, “I just don’t like random strangers asking me personal questions.”
I was thrown. “But it was a simple question. You could’ve told her no and be done with it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Trevvy pursed her lips. “She was a random woman we met at a random strip club. What if she had some other agenda?”
“I’m pretty sure her other agenda was to get in my pants.”
Trevvy rolled her eyes. “I don’t talk to people I don’t know. It’s how I was raised. End of story.”
So she wasn’t jealous. Huh.
“What happened after?” I asked her. “I wasn’t listening.”
“Stuff.” She shrugged half-heartedly, before she reached for one of the drinks.
I blocked her hand. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that to earn a free drink,” I smiled.
Her face. Oh God, her face. If only I had a camera so I could have a permanent record of what her pouting face looked like.
“It’s rude to get between a woman and her alcohol.”
“It’s rude to get between a man and his story.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Nothing extraordinary happened. After she called me a fucking whore, I basically told her to fuck off in German, which I guessed was her native language.” Trevvy looked and me and arched an eyebrow. “Since she understood me, it’s safe to say I guessed correctly.”
My jaw almost dropped. “You speak German, too?”
She shrugged her shoulders again, “Enough that I can flip people off.” Trevvy quickly snatched my drink from my hand, and took a sip then beamed, “I can do the same in twenty different languages.”
Oh my God. A sudden barrage of images took over my brain. Trevvy and I, in Germany. We’re exploring Germany and Europe, pissing people off as we go. Together.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I felt like a teenage girl with all this fucking daydreaming. Man up, Shaw. Man the fuck up.
While I was having a manic meltdown, Trevvy had finished her drink and mine.
“What the fuck, Trevelynn?”
She spat out an ice cube she was sucking on, “The ice was melting. I did you a favor.”
“By leaving me with no drink?”
“No scotch is better than watery scotch.” When I started frowning harder, she simply shrugged. “I don’t administer the rules, Shaw. I just follow them.”
I signaled for the bartender, and ordered two more. “This one’s on you,” I glared at her.
She ignored me, and continued sucking on her ice. If she didn’t look so cute doing it, I would’ve kicked her in the shin for the annoying slurping noise she was making.
“Ahem.” We both turned towards the direction of the cough.
A behemoth of a man stood in front of us wearing a plain black t-shirt with the sleeves ripped. His head was so bald the dim lights on the ceiling reflected off it like a fucking homing beacon. He would’ve been a bit intimidating if it weren’t for the ridiculously ugly mustache he had. It made him look like Salvador Dali, and standing behind him was the boobs woman from earlier.
Salvador directed his mini-death glare to Trevvy. “Were you the one who told my girlfriend to fuck off?”
I got off my chair ready to come between the two in case Muscles tried anything. Trevvy stopped me with her arm giving me a look that said I got this.
Fuck it. If it were any other girl, I wouldn’t have believed them, but I really did trust Trevvy could take care of herself. She was after all a black belt in the same self-defense techniques the Israeli military used.
I sat back in my chair, but I was still ready to intervene in a flash if the situation got out of hand.
Trevvy stood up. The man had at least a foot of height on her, but she didn’t look the tiniest bit afraid. “I could tell her again if you aren’t sure, Salvador.”
I almost lost my balance and fell off my chair. The giant’s fuzzy eyebrows furrowed together. He didn’t get the Dali reference. But Trevvy did, and it was surreal how much joy I felt.
“Good one,” I beamed at her.
She low-fived me as Salvador started to fume. “Is this a joke to you?” he shouted.
“Your girlfriend,” Trevvy pointed at Boobs, “was hitting on my friend. Your relationship is the real joke here.”
I would’ve snickered, but I was too caught up on what she used to describe me.
Friend.
The word quickly became my second favorite f-word in the world, and I didn’t give a shit how much of a wuss that made me sound like.
A loud crash jolted my entire body. Salvador had thrown a bar stool at Trevvy. Thank God she managed to dodge it. I bolted from my seat, and punched him in the face as hard as I could. I think I heard bone crack, but I didn’t care. All I could see was red.
As soon as I threw my punch, Trevvy followed it up with a knee to his balls, and from the way he toppled over in pain, it fucking hurt worse than the punch.
We stood above his body, now doubled into the fetal position. “Please,” he begged, and the bastard was actually crying. “Please don’t hurt me. I give up. I give up!”
Trevvy looked at me and we both rolled our eyes.
We left the club laughing hysterically. Our bodies were shaking so much we barely made it to the nearest bench to sit down.
“Did you see the size of his tears?” Trevvy giggled. “He gave crocodiles a run for their money.”
“I guess he can’t help he was born such a big baby.”
When our laughter finally cooled down, Trevvy mimicked Salvador’s mustache with her finger. When she wiggled her eyebrows, I doubled over laughing.
“Stop!” I cried, between bouts of laughter. “Stop making me laugh! My gut hurts.”
Out of nowhere, a barrage of water dropped on our heads, completely soaking us. “Shut up!” shouted a voice above us. “People are trying to sleep!”
We looked above our heads, to an open apartment window. An old woman holding an empty laundry basin huffed angrily at us, before slamming her window closed.
I turned to Trevvy slowly. “Did we just get dumped on by a grandma?”
“That better have been clean water,” Trevvy muttered.
I t
ook a quick sniff of my shirt. I doubted it.
--------------------
Contact D
Name: Debra
Age: late fifties?
A.K.A: The creepy psycho lady I met at 7-eleven
Occupation: 7-eleven clerk
Moods she invokes: Confusion…maybe a bit of fear
--------------------
“Where are we going?” I asked after a few minutes of walking. I’d just been following her around after the woman dumped the water on us. We were lucky grandma had shitty aim. Most of the water landed on the pavement, so our clothes were only a little wet.
“To 7-eleven,” She replied. “I need to get some chocolate.”
When we entered the 7-eleven, the smell of fried chicken assaulted my senses. I was gravitating toward the chicken, when I felt Trevvy tug on my arm.
“You know that chicken is at least two days old, right?”
“Don’t care.” I pulled her towards the chicken. I was still hungry despite already eating—the strip club really needed to work on their proportions.
She tugged again. “If you get food poisoning, I refuse to hold your hair while you regurgitate all of your insides.”
“First of all, I have short hair, and second, you’re a paranoid germaphobe.”
“You can’t be a germaphobe and not be paranoid. They coexist!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I gently pushed her towards the candy aisle. “Now be a good kid and go pick out whatever candy you want.”
“Why weren’t you my brother? I think we would have gotten along perfectly.”
“Ha!” I smirked. “You wouldn’t want me as your brother.”
“You’re right.” She bit her lip. She had a definite spark in her eyes.
I wouldn’t want you as a sister, either.
“Ahem.”
I turn around and see the clerk holding a pair of tongs. “Ah, young love,” she clucked her tongue.
No. Not young. Not in love. “You’re mistaken,” I smiled politely. “I would like two pieces of chicken thighs, one drumstick, and two hotdogs please.”
The clerk shook her head. “You,” she said while she pointed the tong dangerously close to my face, “have feelings for little Miss Chocohead over there, and I’d bet just as much money the feeling’s mutual.”
“Chocohead?” I asked. She pointed towards the candy aisle, where Trevvy was clearing the shelves of all its chocolate bars. She must’ve had at least ten pounds of chocolate in her basket.
This time it was my turn to shake my head. “We’re not like that.”
Debra, according to her nametag, clucked her tongue again. She was adamant she was right. I didn’t want to sound pretentious, but taking love advice from a stranger who was also selling me fried chicken seemed hardly appropriate or sensible.
After Debra packed up my chicken, and rattled on about how I will marry Trevvy and we’ll have three kids and maybe five grandchildren – she wasn’t sure – I headed over to the candy aisle.
I felt Psycho Debra staring holes into the back of my head.
Trevvy looked up from the chocolate bar she was holding. “Hey there,” her lips curled into a smile. Another smile.
“I got you some food,” I said. I tried very hard not to look at her very kissable mouth.
Wait—what the fuck? Since when did I think of Trevvy as kissable? I used to think she was less kissable than a frog’s ass.
“I hate finger food.” She wrinkled her nose. I wanted to kiss that, too.
Stupid brain! Stop thinking about Trevvy, and stop being stupid!
“I know. That’s why I got you something with a wrapper.” I was super proud I’d thought ahead. I looked down at the chocolate bar she was holding earlier. “What do you think Jersey Milk is?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders, “Beats me.”
“Do you think the cows are from New Jersey? What’s different about a New Jersey cow?” My eyes opened wide as the questions came to me. “Maybe they’re extra tanned?”
She had absolutely no words. “You’re kidding, right?”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Never mind, I have Google, and unlimited data. I don’t need your sarcasm.” I put the chicken bag on one of the shelves, and pulled out my phone, and started typing in the question.
“You must have been the type of kid who thought chocolate came from brown cows,” she muttered.
My head whipped away from my phone. “How did you know that?”
“Because you two share a connection.”
We swiveled our heads around to see Psycho Debra standing right behind us, smiling. She stepped toward us and we both simultaneously took two steps back.
“More like I know from personal experience he’s an idiot,” Trevvy replied.
“A connection is no laughing matter. They’re very hard to come by, and they’re the base for you to find your soul mates.”
“Yeah, I think we have a connection, too, Debra.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s how I can tell how full of shit you are.”
“Can you have a connection with food?” Trevvy snickered. “Because I really don’t like broccoli. I guess the magic’s just not there.”
I stared at Trevvy. I was so using that excuse the next time Meredith made me eat spinach.
“So are you some kind of psychic?” Trevvy asked. “Do you grant wishes?”
Psycho Debra shook her head. “Wishes are dangerous. You must watch what you wish for.”
“I wish for food,” I jumped in.
“Me too,” Trevvy said.
“Mexican?”
“American.” She smiled. “Steak and fries.”
“Yummy.”
Psycho Debra glared at us. We were getting an awful lot of those tonight.
“You two get out of my store,” she snapped.
Trevvy and I exchanged a glance.
“Well….” I started.
“…it’s technically not yours,” Trevvy finished.
“Get out!” Her voice boomed throughout the store.
I put a fifty on the counter to cover for the chocolate and chicken before we headed towards the door.
From the 7 eleven, it only took us five minutes and fifty-seven seconds to get to the car. I was so glad I had a GPS locator on it, or we would’ve been fucked trying to find our way back. Trevvy and I are shit with directions.
Trevvy grabbed my arm when we arrived at the car.
My stupid heart started beating quicker again. “W-what?” I asked.
“We drank alcohol. We need to wait one hour.”
I wanted to shrug her off, but I didn’t want to let go of her hand. “I only had one drink, and I’m feeling fine now.”
“No.” She blocked my way to the door.
“You’re being ridiculous.” I tried to gently move her, but no dice. “Move, Trevvy.” I didn’t try to keep the exasperation out of my voice.
“One hour for every drink you had since the last drink. You are not ready. You get in that car I will tackle you,” she snapped.
“I call you on that bluff.”
I reached for the handle of the car and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground. She really tackled me! “What the fuck, Trevvy?”
“I told you I would do it,” she said while she still had my arms pinned to the ground. She was on top of me, her legs straddling my body. In another situation this would’ve been incredibly hot, but we were in the middle of a street, and my back lying on very cold asphalt. My dick understood it was more likely to get sacked than laid.
“Okay, you win,” I said. “What do you suggest we do then?” I tried to sit up, but she wouldn’t budge.
“Come on, Trevvy,” I gently moved her again.
As much as I would like to think otherwise, I had as much control over my little guy as the next dude. And frankly, Connor Jr. wasn’t the brightest head in the world. If Trevvy didn’t get off me soon, Jr. was going to make a very unwanted appearance.
“Hmm?” she murmured, her voice
distracted, like her mind was elsewhere. I followed the trail of her vision to my lips.
I smiled like a sphinx. My Trevvy does have hormones.
-- It’s nice to remember what fun feels like --
I did not have a lip fetish, but in my defense, anyone would if they focused on Shaw’s lips. They weren’t ruby red, like lipstick, but they were definitely red. They plush red, so full and lush, they begged to be bitten. I couldn’t stop studying his lips. They had my brain’s undivided attention for reasons beyond rationalization.
I felt like a dazed crow being lured to a shiny object.
“Trevvy?”
“Yeah?” I said, still staring at his mouth as it moved.
“Can you get off of me?” I heard the cocky smugness in his voice, and I knew. I knew that he knew, and I knew I was screwed. “Or do you want to stare at me longer?”
“Fick dich” I snapped at him. Fuck You.
And for some odd reason, his smile grew. Curse him and his stupid dimples. Why did they make him look so sexy?
I got off him and stood.
“Come on,” he smiled, patting the spot next to him.
I wrinkled my nose, hesitating.
“Just sit down, Trevvy,” he rolled his eyes.
“Fine.” I huffed and sat on the ground next to him.
Eventually, I lay back on the ground. Our bodies were only inches apart. I hoped he couldn’t hear my heart pounding against my chest. He was so close, I only needed to stretch my fingers a little to reach his. I entertained the thought for a second, before brushing it off. “You like getting cursed at?”
“Only in German. I have a special soft spot for the language.”
I shook my head. What a weirdo.
“You know a lot of languages, Trevvy. How many do you know?”
“French, German, Russian, and Italian.”
Shaw whistled, “That’s a lot. Why do you need to know so many?”
I squirmed uncomfortably. I always felt uneasy whenever people questioned things that would involve me bringing in the family business. I hated having to edge around it like a nervous puppy. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to remain as casual as possible. “It’s useful in my family’s line of work.”