The Other P-Word

by MK Schiller

  “How do you taste, baby?”

  “Good.”

  “Play with your clit.”

  I squirmed, surprised that a sheen of slickness coated the rest of my body. My muscles started to expand while my heart and pulse accompanied Evan’s strumming guitar. Then it all intensified tenfold.

  Fuck—what had I been missing?

  “Oh my God, that was amazing,” I managed to gasp out between breaths.

  “Come again?”

  “I said that was amazing.”

  He chuckled, a low rumble that released a new flurry in my belly. “I heard you. I was asking if you wanted to come…again.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tilla took one look at me and shook her head.

  “You have to change your footwear, sweetie,” she said.

  “I thought all the girls wore heels.”

  “They do, but we’re all used to it. Go change into flats or better yet, sneakers, at least for your first week. Trust me, your feet are going to thank me.”

  I came back in black flats. I met the other employees of The Lost Souls’ Club. It turned out most of them were long-time friends of Tilla and Mike. Mike’s brother Brick acted as another bartender slash bouncer. The name fit him.

  The bar wasn’t huge but it had a tendency to get crowded. Tilla showed me how the sections were divided and explained that sometimes we’d need to make our own drinks if the bar was busy.

  I didn’t see Evan until it was time to report for work. I’d heard him leave earlier. Being a girl of good manners, I wasn’t sure what the appropriate response would be to the night before. I wanted to thank him but that seemed odd. Was there an appropriate thank you card when someone helped you orgasm?

  I didn’t say anything. He graced me with a bright smile as if nothing had happened between us. Maybe to him it hadn’t. He wore dark jeans, sufficiently faded in all the right places, and brown work boots that for some reason really turned me on. His short-sleeved black T-shirt showed off his muscles and his naked arms, the left one inked in the same pattern as his neck, the right with the Dylan Thomas poem.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing Tilla a key. “I finally found mine.”

  “I think you should give this to Billie,” Tilla said. She turned to me. “Evan has a habit of losing his key.”

  “Good idea,” Mike chimed in, carrying a box of beer. Evan started helping him unload the bottles.

  I wasn’t sure if they were trying to create something between us, or if she was just being a logical landlord.

  “It doesn’t happen that often,” Evan said. “You have a problem with me getting the spare from you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Mike said. “The last thing I want to see at four in the morning is your ugly mug on our doorstep.”

  “It’s not like my ugly mug woke you up or anything.”

  “You didn’t wake us up, but you did interrupt us,” Tilla said.

  “We were busy,” Mike added then he looked at his wife and winked. “Very busy.”

  “Ah, I gotcha, so next time I should wait five minutes.”

  I cupped my hand over my mouth to cover my laugh, but it didn’t matter because Mike and Tilla were cracking up too. The three of them seemed to have this easy-going friendship, the kind forged over years.

  Tilla put her hands on her hips. “Kiss my ass, Evan.”

  “Sure thing,” Evan responded. My jaw dropped when he kissed Mike on the forehead.

  Tilla and I laughed so hard we both doubled over. Mike pushed Evan away, giving him a look that was trying to be disgusted, except he couldn’t hide his smile.

  “Props for the joke, but don’t ever fucking do that again,” he said.

  “You got it, man. I’ll go fill up the ice,” Evan said.

  “Mike and I can get it.” Tilla took her husband’s hand and disappeared in the back, leaving Evan and I alone.

  He leaned against the bar, throwing the gold key into the air then catching it in his palm. Each time it seemed to go higher, glinting against the lights. “How’s about it, Price?”

  “How about what?”

  “You wanna hold onto the spare key?”

  I wondered if it meant something that he called it the spare key and not my spare key. I shook the thought out of my head, watching its ascent.

  The third time, I grabbed it before he could make its landing. “Sure. Will you take mine?”

  He smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I closed my fist around the key so hard that the metal indented my palm.

  “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give, so long as I’m able to.”

  Why did he talk to me like that?

  I didn’t have time to ask because Mike returned and we all got to work, getting ready to open.

  “Did you rearrange the bar?” I asked Tilla, trying to keep my eyes on something besides Evan.

  “Thanks to your friend, Dillon. He gave me some good ideas.”

  “He does that for a living.” I must have been very preoccupied with Evan that night, because I didn’t even remember Dillon and Tilla’s conversation.

  “He told me. I would hire him if I could afford it. I owe that boy a couple rounds after this. The bar is super-efficient, thanks to his ideas.”

  “He’ll be glad to hear it.”

  Someone yelled out an order for two beers. “I can get it,” I said.

  “Always yell ‘behind’ when you’re walking in back of someone,” Tilla instructed.

  “Why?” I asked, just as Brick bumped me, causing the two glasses of pilsner to slosh. Thankfully, they didn’t spill over. “Never mind.”

  Tilla laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I hope so,” I said when I returned from taking the glasses. It seemed easy to start and continue a conversation between serving tables.

  “The trick is not to get stressed out. This is the kind of place people come to relax, commiserate and listen to some kickass music. Most of the customers we get are cool.”

  I turned toward the stage where the Evan fangirls were starting to scout their territory.

  “Yeah, that’s a recent phenomenon. They can be a little much, but they give us good business.”

  “Did you and Mike always want to open a bar?”

  “At first.” She bit her lip as if she was surprised by what she said. “Don’t get me wrong. I love this place, but Mike and I have been married for four years. I want to start a family.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “He does, but it’s impractical when we’re running a new business and working until three in the morning.”

  I struggled with the appropriate response. The few times I’d seen them together made it clear Mike worshipped her.

  She wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to make the perfect margarita…frothy not frozen.”

  Tilla was a good trainer and I learned a great deal from shadowing her. I even managed to serve a few tables on my own. The time went fast, especially when Evan took the stage. I think everyone went into a trance when he sang Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen.

  That was, everyone but the annoying brunette who’d had her fill of cosmopolitans.

  “I wish Evan would stop playing this obscure stuff,” she complained as if she knew him intimately. I swallowed down the thought. She probably did know him that way.

  “This is Bruce Springsteen,” I said.

  She responded with a confused shrug.

  “The boss?” I added.

  “The boss of what?”

  “Everything.” I set down her drink and moved to walk away, but a whole bunch of girls started making their migration toward the bar at the same time. Evan had just announced they were taking a break.

  “I think tonight’s the night. He’s looking right at me,” the girl said to one of her friends.

  My head jerked toward the stage. He was looking at her. Then again, I was standing there too. A slow smile crept
across his face and he winked. Who’s that wink for? I shook away the thought, angry that I was acting petty and jealous.

  “You ignoring me, Price?” he asked, coming behind me as I attempted to recreate Tilla’s version of a perfect margarita. Please let the noisy blender block out the loud thump of my heartbeat.

  “No.”

  “I have a feeling I did something wrong, but I have no idea what it is.”

  That made two of us.

  “I still have my penny, if that’s what it takes to get your thoughts.”

  “I’m just trying to get acclimated to everything.” The enthusiasm in my voice sounded forced.

  The bar had somehow gotten narrower. Even though we weren’t touching, it felt as if he was pressing against me. His warm breath washed over me as he leaned in, his mouth hovering next to my ear. “If you say so.”

  Then he was gone again, lost in the sea of obnoxious girls who vied for his attention. Who would win the battle tonight, I wondered. Would he take one of them home? Dear God, would I have to listen to it?

  Thankfully, the night was just busy enough to distract me from the menagerie of my suspicious musings. When Mike finally started his a cappella version of Closing Time, I was both relived and surprised the time had gone by so fast.

  When he got to the part about knowing who he wanted to go home with, he grabbed Tilla around the waist and spun her around. My laugh died in my mouth though when the redhead threw her arms around Evan and whispered something in his ear. He shook his head, managing to detangle himself from her.

  “You guys go home,” Evan said to Tilla and Mike. “Billie and I can close up.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mike said, clasping his wife’s hand.

  Tilla looked at me for reassurance.

  “Yeah, we can do this,” I confirmed.

  “You did good tonight, Billie.”

  Evan placed all the chairs on the tables and mopped the floors. I wiped the bar and finished the dishes. He whistled while he worked. I don’t know why, but I joined in.

  It didn’t take long for me to realize we were actually whistling Whistle by Flo Rida. Shit…how did that happen?

  “We’re done,” he said, taking the last glass out of my hand and placing it on the shelf. “How bad do your feet hurt?”

  As soon as he asked, they began throbbing. “Bad.”

  “I can fix that,” he said, taking my hand. He led me to a bar stool and turned it, sitting on the one next to me. Before I knew it, my right leg was in his lap and my flats were off.

  He rubbed my ankles with a firm, soothing grip.

  “That feels good.” I moaned the statement more than spoke it. His arms flexed with each movement.

  “Glad to oblige.”

  I got lost in him for a minute. I could just make out the small white scar on his strong jaw, which was almost covered by the perfect smattering of stubble, and his lips moved slowly as he hummed a tune I didn’t recognize. And those warm brown eyes were so deep I could sink into them. His worked his fingers down to the sole of my foot, relieving the pressure. Then he gave the second the same treatment. My feet looked smaller in his large hands.

  “Want me to fuck you, Price?” he asked in with that slow, sexy southern drawl that hypnotized me.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back,” he said, gently taking my foot off his lap.

  “Huh?”

  “You said you were hungry. I’m gonna get us food.”

  I did? I blinked my eyes, coming to the realization that I’d somehow imagined the question I wanted to hear.

  “Is there a restaurant that’s open this late?” I asked, trying to recover from my own stupidity.

  “Yep, my favorite kind of restaurant.”

  “Which is?”

  “The twenty-four-hour kind. Chinese okay with you?”

  “Super.”

  He gave me a double take, probably because the amount of glee I’d said that one word with didn’t make much sense.

  “Lock up and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  When I reached my apartment, I wondered if I had enough time to take a cold shower. I decided to change into sweats and a hoodie instead. I grabbed a bottle of wine, uncorking it carelessly. I opened the window to let in some much-needed fresh air. I sucked in a deep breath, surprised that Chicago smelled good for once. A fingernail moon graced the dark, starless sky. I climbed out onto the fire escape, taking the wine and two paper cups with me. A subtle fresh breeze provided the right amount of coolness while the temperatures were warm enough to be pleasant.

  “Billie?” Evan called out less than twenty minutes later. I wasn’t sure if it was from my room or his.

  “Out here.”

  He popped his head out of his window.

  “Do you mind if we eat on the fire escape? It’s a nice night.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The view wasn’t much. Just a narrow alley where two brick buildings stood close to each other with a few lampposts providing some light. The food smelled almost as good as him. I pulled my legs against my chest. He let his dangle over the edge.

  “Sorry, I forgot to ask you what you wanted.”

  “It’s okay, I like anything. What did you get?”

  He took out two containers, setting them between us. “Orange beef or cashew chicken, but I really hope you opt for option three.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We switch halfway.”

  “I can go for that.”

  “Fork or chopsticks?”

  “Fork, please.”

  He rummaged in the plastic bag. “Chopsticks it is. They didn’t give me forks.”

  “I can deal.” I held up the wine. “I have wine. I hope you don’t mind the paper cups.”

  “Nah, this is great.”

  I filled a cup for him. “I have wine glasses but Dillon noticed spots on them so he took them home.”

  “He took home your wine glasses?”

  “Yeah, he said he has a special solution to clean them. I should get them back in about two weeks.” I had no doubt they’d sparkle too.

  We ate in silence mostly, commenting occasionally about the bar or music—safe topics.

  “I should go,” he said, picking up the empty containers.

  “Wait. Did they forget the fortune cookies too?”

  “No, but I never eat those things. I don’t think anyone does.”

  “I do. That’s the best part, Evan.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me. You can’t ignore the fortune cookie.” I rummaged through the bag and found the two plastic wrapped cookies. “Pick one.”

  He gave me a dubious look but took one from my hand. He broke it apart.

  “What does it say?” I asked, peering over his shoulder although it was too dark for me to read it.

  “You have been blessed with many gifts, but the best is yet to come.”

  “That’s a good one. You have to eat the cookie now.”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t eat the cookie, the fortune won’t come true.”

  “I feel like you’re making this up as you go along.”

  I took one of the half shells in his hand and held it against his mouth. “C’mon, Evan, it’s a good fortune. Don’t let it go to waste.”

  He opened his mouth hesitantly, chewing slowly. “I think it’s stale.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “Open your cookie.”

  I cracked it open, taking out the small scrap of paper and holding it toward the light. “You cannot have passion without a purpose.” Was that word following me around?

  I shrugged and shoved the paper and cookie back into the plastic bag.

  “What the hell, Price?”

  “I didn’t like that fortune so I don’t have to eat it.”

  He arched his eyebrow. “How’s the weather over there?”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “In Crazy Town, where you
live.”

  I laughed. “Oh, probably about the same as Surly Ville where you reside.”

  He bumped my shoulder with his and almost knocked me over. I shoulder-bumped him back. He barely moved.

  “We didn’t finish the wine,” I said with regret, holding up the almost full bottle. “I broke the cork when I opened it so I can’t close it back up.”

  “We can fix that.”

  “Do you have a wine stopper?”

  “Do I look like someone who would own a wine stopper? Besides why would anyone want to stop the wine? We’ll drink it.”

  “Want to play a game?”

  “What did you have in mind? Beer pong with wine?”

  “Not exactly…it’s called Truth or Shot. We ask each other questions. You can either answer truthfully or take a shot. Like truth or dare, but without the dares.” Now, this I was making up as I went along.

  He shook his head. “What’s the matter, Price? Can you not handle my dares?”

  Hell no, I could not, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure if I could handle his truths either.

  “I think this is a better version.”

  “Sounds to me that if you pass enough times, you’ll be drunk enough that the truth just spills out of you.”

  “Sort of the idea.”

  “I’m in.”

  “Go first, Evan.” My excitement deflated as I took in his wicked grin. He wasn’t going to let me get off easy either.

  “What’s your middle name?”

  Okay, this wasn’t so bad. “Marie.”

  “Billie Marie…that’s pretty.”

  I swallowed, hearing my name from his mouth in a raspy whisper.

  “Yeah, but I can never use my initials when I write a book.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would be B.M., and no one wants to read a romance novel from B.M.”

  Evan laughed. “Good point. Is Marie a family name?”

  “No, it’s for Marie Osmond, believe it or not.” He gave me a look like he didn’t believe it. “My mom went through a country phase.”

  Evan arched his eyebrow suggestively. “Are you interested in going through a country phase?”

  “Does everything you say have to sound so dirty?”

  “Maybe it’s your mind that’s dirty.”

  I didn’t respond to that because both things were true. He said naughty things and I enjoyed those naughty things way too much. “What’s your middle name?”