by Kayt Miller
We rock for a few minutes as I hum some random musical notes to her. She likes when I sing to her. “So, Katie, are you going out later?”
“Yes, she is. She’s got a play date with cousin Abby.”
“Oh, hey Sophie. How are you feeling? Hank said you were under the weather.”
“I’m fine. Just tired. And before you say it, no, I don’t know if I’m pregnant. Hank is picking up a pregnancy test for me later today. Please don’t say anything to anyone, okay?”
She knows what a gossip-mill my family can be. “No problem. My lips are sealed.” It’s nobody’s business anyway. “So, have you two figured out your Halloween costumes yet? Tick tock. My party’s only a couple weeks awaaayyy,” I sing-song the last sentence, so Katie is entertained.
“We have a couple ideas, but you’ll have to wait and see,” Sophie says smiling. “Here, let me take Katie. I want to give her a bath and change her before we head over to Keith and Beth’s.”
Keith is my older brother, and Beth is his wife. Their little girl, Abigail, was born a month before Katie. She’s a beauty too, and I don't mean to play favorites. But, there’s just an inexplicable connection I have with Katie.
Honestly, I think it happened the first day I met her. She was crying, no, wailing is more like it. Sophie tried to calm her down then Hank tried. My mom, Sarah, stepped in then my dad, Declan. Nothing they were doing would calm her. I decided to give it a try. What the hell, right?
Dad handed her over, and I looked in her eyes, and she looked at mine, and I whispered, “Hey there, Katie Did, what’s the problem?” She stopped crying right then and there and just blinked her beautiful eyes at me. I smiled at her and kissed her little nose and told her how pretty she was and how much fun we were going to have together. My family was stunned, to say the least. But, that’s the way it’s been with us ever since. She’s my Katie Did.
“Aw, okay.” I turn and kiss baby Kate on the cheek, “I love you, Katie. I’ll see you soon.” I step over and gently hand my girl over to her mama. “Well, I’m going to head out. Nice seeing you, Soph. I hope you feel better… or whatever,” I wink.
As I’m leaving I get a text. I pull my phone out and read. I throw my head back and laugh. Veronica. Damn that woman is fun.
“Mick?” Sophie says stopping me from exiting the house.
“Yeah?” I turn to look.
“You seem different. Happy. Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad you’re happy. But, what’s going on in your life to cause such a shift?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. I’m just in a better mood. I can’t attribute it to anything in particular. But, Jesus, if you think I’m happier now, I must be a real ass most of the time, huh?”
“Not an ass. Just a little sullen.”
“Sullen?” That’s what Emily called me. “Well, I’ll try to do better okay?”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I just noticed a little change. That’s all. Are you seeing anyone?”
“You bein’ nosey Soph? You aren’t going to run to my mom and sisters with the news flash that ‘Hey, Mick isn’t a dick anymore’?”
“No. I wouldn’t.”
“Well, I made a new friend, but that’s all it is. A friend. She’s funny and no one I’d ever date. She’s just a friend.”
“Friends are good. We all need them. Good for you, Mick,” she says smiling. “I’ll see you.”
“You too. Tell Hank I’ll catch him later.”
I head out the backdoor. I’d like to see if my little sister is home, but I don’t have time now. She lives in the garage turned carriage house behind Sophie and Hank’s place.
I glance at my phone again wanting to read her text again.
Veronica: I’ve got bad news. You didn’t invent the word ‘tittage.' Poor, delusional Mick. (See screen shot.)
I hit the spot to type.
Me: Well, I’m not sure what to think. On the one hand, I’m saddened that I wasn’t the one to invent the term. On the other, I’m positively giddy that you looked up ‘tittage’ on the interweb.
Veronica: You did not just type ‘positively giddy.' And ‘Interweb’?
Me: Yeah, what of it?
Veronica: Nothing. Nothing at all. You’re a very strange man, Mick Flynn.
Me: Strange but hot, right?
Veronica: No comment.
Me: It’s ok. You don’t need to say it. I know I’m hot.
Veronica: Aren’t you supposed to be working?
Me: You started it. And yeah, I’m late. Talk to ya later, babe.
Chapter 8: Roni
Babe? I know he just throws that word around like it’s nothing but it puts ideas in my head, and I’ve got no business hoping for anything with Mick Flynn. I might as well enjoy our budding friendship and focus on Chris. Yep. That’s what I need to do.
The rest of my Saturday is uneventful. I run errands, do laundry, clean my apartment, call mom and dad, and Facechat with my sisters and their kids. I miss them all so much, but I chose the big city. The drive to visit them is only a few hours, but I’d have to get a rental since I don’t have a car here in the city. Car insurance is astronomical, and on top of that, parking is impossible unless you rent a space, which is also very pricey.
As I get ready for bed, I grab the book I’ve been trying to finish for the last few weeks. It’s one of those great romances with the super alpha male and a woman in distress. I love those. I don’t know if I’d actually like a guy who was super bossy in bed, but I could give it a try. I open the book at my bookmark and hear my phone ding. A text. My heart jumps in my chest. I grab my phone and peer down.
Mick: What’s the difference between a tire and 365 used condoms?
Veronica: **eye roll** shouldn’t you be working?
Mick: Answer the question.
Veronica: Okay, but please note I’m doing this under duress… What’s the difference?
Mick: One’s a Goodyear. The other’s a great year.
Veronica: No. Just no Mick. That’s so very wrong.
Mick: If it’s wrong, I don’t wanna be right. ;)
The guy is driving me crazy. I decide two can play at this game.
Veronica: What’s the difference between a G-spot and a golf ball?
I wait for several minutes. Probably busy.
Mick: Um, a G-spot is…? I give. What’s the difference?
Veronica: A guy will actually search for a golf ball.
Mick: You wouldn’t say that to me if I were in your bed. I know the difference.
Veronica: **eye roll x 2** Whatever! Get to work!
Mick: It’s dead tonight. Cubs are on. Playoffs. They’re all up on three.
Veronica: So, you want me to entertain you?
Mick: Fuck yeah!
Veronica: Okay, here’s a little test for you. How fast can you guess these words? I’ll time your responses.
1. B O O _ S
2. _ _ N D O M
3. F _ _ K
4. P _ N _ S
5. P U _ S _
6. S _ X
Go!
I can’t wait to see what comes in. I already know what he’ll say.
Mick: BOOBS (tittage), CONDOM, FUCK, PENIS, PUSSY, SEX. That was too easy. Next!
Yep. That’s what I thought he’d say.
Veronica: You are such a pervert. The answers are BOOKS, RANDOM, FORK, PANTS, PULSE, and SIX.
Mick: What the hell? You tricked me. No one would come up with BOOKS for number one. No guy anyway. Oh, hang on, customers. Back later.
Wow, that was fun. The guy cracks me up. I don’t remember being this comfortable with a man––ever. I’m usually a nervous wreck when it comes to guys. Maybe I feel comfortable because I know he’s unattainable and I’m just his buddy.
I try to read my book for the next hour, but I can’t concentrate. I’m too busy looking at my phone hoping I’ll get another text. Chill out, Roni. I decide to save myself from further torture and turn off the phone and my light and lay down to sleep. Just chi
ll.
Chapter 9: Mick
The crowd at Chrome tonight is spotty at best. People are trickling down from the third floor to dance and hang out with friends. Since there’s a lull, I decide to restock the bar and clean. It’s a never-ending part of bartending: clean, restock, repeat.
Lugging a case of Guinness from the basement, I turn the corner and see two familiar faces at the bar. “Hank? Keith? What are you guys doing here?”
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you when you stopped by today,” says Hank.
“And I haven’t talked to you in over a week,” adds Keith.
Hank and Keith are best friends and my older brothers. They’re about four years apart. Hank is thirty-six, and Keith just turned thirty-two, I think. It’s hard to keep track of everyone’s ages these days. But, the two of them are very close just like Emily and me.
That leaves David and Sandy who used to be close until Dave decided to marry Jen. She’s a bitch on wheels. Sandy can’t stand Jen, and she’s even more disgusted with David because whenever Sandy wants to hang with Dave, alone, Jen pitches a fit. I don’t blame Sandy.
“Been busy. What’s new with you two besides raising the two prettiest girls in the world?”
That comment makes both of my brothers smile. They’re proud papas. That’s for sure. “What can I get you guys?”
“Beer,” they say in unison.
“I grab a couple imports I know they like and pop the caps and slide them down. So, why are you really here?” The truth is, they rarely come to Chrome––especially on a Saturday night.
“What’s this I hear about you being a God damn joy to be around?” asks Hank.
“So, Sophie couldn’t keep it to herself, huh? She’s turning into mom and our sisters. You’d better nip that in the bud.” I know that comment is going to piss him off. Sophie can do no wrong.
“Shut the fuck up, little bro. Sophie was just happy to see you a tad more chipper. She cares. Get over it.”
See? I told you.
“Well, I must be a fuckin’ nightmare if Sophie notices me smile and makes a big fuckin’ deal out of it.”
“Whatever. Tell us what’s going on? You seeing someone?” asks Keith.
“No.” Jesus. I take a deep breath, “I made a new friend who happens to be female. But, we’re just friends. She’s not my type.”
Hank snorts, “So that means we’ll like this one?”
“Fuck you, Henry.” That’s his real name, but he hates it when anyone but Sophie or mom calls him that.
“You can’t blame him, Lauren was a fucking nightmare. She was your last serious girl, right?” asks Keith.
“Don’t mention her name. Not going to talk you about her,” I growl walking away from them. I refuse to talk about Lauren Sly. Her name makes my skin crawl.
I pull out the clean glassware from the dishwasher under the counter and turn to put them on the shelf behind the bar.
“Mick. What’s going on? We’re glad you’re in a better mood. What’s the deal with this new girl?” asks Keith. He’s usually the voice of reason when Hank’s around. Henry Flynn has a temper that he has a hard time keeping in check. He often regrets shit he says––he speaks first and repents later.
I sigh, “She’s just a woman who came into the bar a few weeks ago. She was funny and smart, and she made me laugh my ass off. I don’t remember the last time I laughed like that.”
“She sounds awesome. What’s wrong with her?”
“Shit, Hank. Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s pretty, it’s just…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. She’s not my usual type like I said. She’s, um, bigger than I’m used to.”
“Bigger?” asks Hank sounding pissed. His wife Sophie is tiny at about five feet tall, but she’s got curves, lots and lots of curves. I think Hank is reading too much into the way I described Roni.
“Honestly, Roni is beautiful. She’s smart…”
“She flat chested?” asks Keith.
I spit out the swig of beer I just drank, “No. She’s definitely not flat chested. As a matter of fact, her tits are spectacular.”
“So, what’s the problem?
“She’s got a thing for a guy at work for one. And two, Veronica is a relationship kind of girl, and I’m not getting into another relationship. The last one ended in disaster and I can’t go down that road again.”
“You cannot use that thing with Lauren you called a relationship as a Litmus test. She was a nut job. You’re lucky you got out of that when you did. Just imagine if you’d have married her,” Keith shivers. “I’m just glad you figured things out before it got out of hand.”
The thing is, neither of my brothers knows what actually went down with Lauren. The person I confided in was my baby sister, Emily, and she promised to keep my secret.
I’m pulled from my negative thoughts when I hear Hank say, “You should invite her to a Sunday dinner at mom and dads. We could vet her for you.”
“She doesn’t need to be vetted. She’s cool. You’d like her, I’m sure. I’m just not ready to do that. It would confuse her, and I don't want to lead her on, man.”
“I get it. So, invite her to your annual Halloween bash. We could meet her then, and it’ll be casual.”
“Keith, you’re a fucking genius. I’ll ask her to the party. Which reminds me, you got costumes yet?”
Both of the guys groan. “The women are working on them. We don't get to find out until the day of. They’re tired of us shooting down their ideas.”
I laugh at that because I can just picture them in couple’s costumes. “Oh, I know! You and Sophie could go as Raggedy Ann and Andy,” I smirk. “Keith, you and Beth should go as Papa Smurf and Smurfette. Good luck getting that blue shit off after the party,” I snicker.
“Shut up, asshole,” grumbles Hank. “That could actually happen, and I don't want to think about it.”
But, he’d wear whatever Sophie wanted him to wear and so would Keith. That’s just how pussy whipped they both are now. They’re an embarrassment to mankind.
When I look out into the club, I notice that it’s filling up. “Looks like my break is over. Hang if you guys want…”
“Nah, we need to skedaddle,” says Keith.
Skeedaddle? “Yeah, okay. Talk to you later.” We give each other one-shoulder man hugs, and they’re off. Time to get back to work.
Chapter 10: Roni
Sunday afternoon I realize I hadn’t turned my phone back on. I pull it from its charger and hit the power button. It dings awake, and I hold my breath, hoping there’s a text for me. Nothing. To say I’m disappointed is an understatement.
I do my best to put it behind me but all I did all day was watch sad, romantic movies and eat junk food. I ended the night in tears thanks to the stupid movie The Notebook. Why do I torture myself? I should have watched something funny.
I wake up late on Monday and have to run around like a crazy person to get ready in time. Tossing and turning all night long makes you do that. I had a fitful night of sleep thinking about Mick and Chris from work.
The two men couldn’t be more different. Mick is tall, broad, and muscular. Chris isn’t. Mick has a full head of long blonde locks, Chris doesn’t. Mick obviously knows how to work hard. Chris is a professional, but there are times when I‘ve noticed that he lacks a little of that work ethic. He delegates a lot of his tasks to his assistant––and to me.
Chris and I are both market analysts for a large advertising company. And by large, I’m talking huge. We handle some major national campaigns. My job as an analyst is to perform research and provide insights regarding the market, trends, competitors, potential and existing customers, and current campaigns. After my research, I recommend changes and offer suggestions based on the market. It’s an intense and challenging job and one I thoroughly enjoy.
Monday at work is dragging on and on and on. Hopefully, I’ll sleep tonight. At five o’clock on the dot, I pack up my computer and
head out the door. I usually put in extra time, especially when I’m working on something big, but I’m just too tired to work overtime tonight. I even grab a taxi instead of waiting for the bus. I can’t handle the crowds, or the extra time it’ll take on the bus, so I splurged.
At home, I put on my favorite pajamas and throw a frozen pizza in the oven. Yeah, I live a very glamorous life. I turn on the television and see a Cubs game is on. Go Cubbies! I hope they make it this year and get that damn curse out of the way.
After eating the entire pizza… don’t say it. I already know. Portion control, Roni. Anyway, after eating, I straighten up my mess and head to bed. It’s pathetic that I’m in bed before seven. I plug my phone into the charger and grab the damn book again. Five minutes later, I hear a ding.
When I look at my phone, I smile. It’s Mick. Yay!
Mick: Yo! What doing?
Me: I’m in bed, reading.
Mick: It’s seven o’clock. You’re too young to be in bed before ten. Oh, unless I’m interrupting something.
Me: No, perv. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I had a busy day at work. I’m tired.
Mick: What do you do for a living?
Me: Marketing. Market analyst, specifically.
Mick: And that means???
Me: I work with clients and their products to help get them on the market. I research other brands, demographics, and profitability stuff like that.
Mick: Wow. That sounds super complex. I’m impressed. And I’m not easily impressed, babe.
Me: Gee, thank you, Mick.
Mick: Sarcasm. I can sense it even through a text.
Me: So, what are you doing tonight?
Mick: Babysitting my niece, Katie.
Me: Babysitting? Seriously?
Mick: Sure. I watch her every Monday night while her mom, Sophie, goes to class. My brother is a detective with the Chicago P.D., and he’s usually working so, I have a standing babysitting gig with my best girl.
Me: Oh, that’s sweet.
Mick: Yeah, I am pretty sweet. Oh, you prolly meant Katie. Yeah, she’s my Katie Did. Wait a sec; I’ll send you a selfie of us.