Selling Satisfaction

by Ashley Beale

  "Twenty six. My birthday is on New Year’s Eve."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. When is yours?"

  She sighs. "August ninetieth."

  "Why is that such a bad thing?"

  "What do you mean?" she asks.

  "You made a loud sigh, like the idea of your birthday was annoying or something." I probably shouldn't give hints as to how easily I pick up on things, but I honestly want to know. The way she looked, it was almost painful.

  Pressing her lips together, she takes a wide turn, pulling into a parking spot, killing the engine once she’s parked. She picks up her purse by my feet, throwing her keys into it. "My eighth birthday was the same day my dad killed my mom, then himself."

  She opens the door, slamming it shut before heading towards a hole in the wall restaurant.

  I sit here for a few added minutes running my hands through my hair as I try to register what she said. That's fucked up. No wonder she doesn't like to talk about her parents. Her history is more fucked up than I thought.

  Climbing from the car, I head into the restaurant too, trying not to think any more about what she said. I'll have to look up the case later this week. I’m at a point where I need answers, and I have a feeling she does too. However, if I continue to think on it right now, it'll cause a thick tension between us we don't need. I'd rather enjoy our time together.

  Brenna stands at a counter looking over a giant white board that has a menu scribbled over it. An old Italian man stands opposite to her, ogling her body in a way that immediately pisses me off. I stand next to Brenna, placing my hand on her backside as I search the menu over. "What are you thinking of eating?" I lean in to ask softly.

  She looks up to me. Her glasses are off, and somehow the green in her eyes have intensified. The corners of them lift as she smiles sweetly. "I'm thinking a burger and fries. I'd ask what you're eating, but I think you're already full on yourself." It takes some effort on her part not to laugh, I can tell by the way she holds her lips together.

  "What? What did I do?"

  Her eyes point to her backside, where my hand is placed. "Trying to lay claim on me, all because some sixty year old man gets a little riled up over my body."

  "He's a pervert. I'm just trying to advert his eyes."

  "It's not working," she whispers. "And he'll probably spit in your food now."

  "It'd be worth it."

  "Oh yeah, why's that?"

  "Because my hand is on your ass, and it feels incredible."

  She slaps it away with a hint of amusement radiating on her face. Stepping forward, she leans in. "Giovanni, could I please have the bacon burger, extra pickles, no tomato? Oh, and add mustard. With a side of seasoned fries and the coleslaw."

  "Anything for you, Miss." He scribbles it down. I have a feeling she comes here a lot. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with that idea, but I bite my tongue. I think I've made enough of an ass of myself.

  I step forward with her, still wondering if I dare eat here. Seeing how impatient he is, I decide not to give him any other reason to spit in my food. "I'll take the Chicken Parmesan Sub, with fries as well."

  He doesn't say anything, instead he scribbles it down and goes into the other room. Brenna giggles softly. "He doesn't like you."

  "You a regular?" I ask.

  "Maybe. Not because of Giovanni though. Not even because of the food, although it's amazing. You'll see."

  Glancing around the restaurant, I don't see anything appealing about the place. There is only one other set of people in here, and they're older than the cook. "I'm trusting you," I tell Brenna.

  "Good."

  Once our food is given to us, Brenna tries to pay, but I don't let her. I need to allow a bit of my ego to be intact by the end of the night. With a thanks- although I'm not sure if to me or the perverted old man- she walks towards the back of the restaurant. I walk with her, and we go through a set of doors. Outside is a covered gazebo directly on the beach. It's a little bit of a walk when you're wearing sneakers in sand, but we're the only ones out here so it's worth it.

  She sits down with her tray and I sit next to her. "So it's the view?" I ask.

  With a nod, she glances over to the waves crashing on shore. "I love the ocean. I didn't know how much I'd enjoy living in Pensacola until I moved here. How are you enjoying it so far?"

  "It's better than I thought. I'm still getting used to it though."

  "Is it a permanent move?"

  "I... I think so." I look Brenna over. She isn't someone I could easily walk away from. She's undeniably stolen more than my heart- she's captivated me entirely.

  Without looking at me, she pushes her straw into her cup. "Good." The response may not be much, but it said more than a hundred words could suffice.

  Despite the fact I didn't want to actually admit how good it was, I tell Brenna she made a great choice in lunch. She gave me a look that proved she knew all along I'd enjoy it. Once our lunch is tossed into the trash, we start to walk along the coast line. At first it starts out with only a few small words, the silence not too uncomfortable, but eventually I reach over to lace my fingers with Brenna's.

  She doesn't give any notion that it makes her uncomfortable.

  I think back to what she said this morning. This is the perfect opportunity to get to know her better. "Want to go back to grade school for a second?"

  Instead of responding, she gives me a questioning look.

  "Did you ever play Ice Breaker as a kid?"

  "Not that I recall," she answers. "What is it?"

  "You ask questions to get to know the person better, but they're not yes and no. For example, you could ask if I'd rather kiss a jellyfish or lick a sea lion, after I answer, I turn around and ask if you were an ice cream flavor, what would you be and why. You can't repeat questions back to one another though."

  She pretends to think on it but I can actually see the fascination in her eyes. "Okay, sure. Nothing too personal though. I want to keep it fun."

  "Deal."

  "You first."

  "Okay, let me think." It ends up being harder than I wanted it to be, but I come up with a question after a moment. "What are three words to describe yourself?"

  "Pretty. Wealthy. Independent." I love her response. Too many girls pick themselves apart, while Brenna can confidently admit who she is. "What was the name of your first girlfriend?"

  "Clark."

  She rolls her eyes. "Be serious, this can actually be fun."

  "I am being serious," I tell her with a hint of laughter. "Her name was Clark. Clark Hubbard, to be exact. She had hair past her butt which she always wore in pigtails, and her face was lined in freckles. She snorted when she laughed, and her favorite thing to wear was a homemade dress that had pineapples all over it."

  "That's... really awkward."

  This time I can't help but to laugh. "Saying it out loud, I agree it is. We were in second grade. She moved in third grade. Okay, my turn. If you were any celebrity, living or dead, who would you want to be?"

  "Audrey Hepburn without a doubt. Okay, what is your favorite smell?"

  "Um. I guess the smell of rain, although I haven't really ever thought about it." She nods to my answer. "What is the funniest prank you ever played on someone?"

  She starts laughing before I can even finish asking. I can only imagine what it was. "Okay. So there was this kid, Vashon. He was an asshole, even at twelve. I was only a year younger than him, but he acted like I was a child and he was of some kind of hierarchy or something. Anyways, I knew he was scared of snakes, I had overheard our foster mom telling one of her friends how he cried when he saw a snake outside. So my foster sister Jolene and I bought a ton of snakes from the dollar store. When he was sleeping, we covered them in vegetable oil, then put them in his bed. There had to have been thirty of them. I unscrewed his light bulb, then locked his door before leaving his room. About fifteen minutes later, I knocked heavily on the door. All you could hear after that was a scream so shrillin
g a deaf person could hear. He ended up peeing his pants. We both got scolded for that, but man was it worth it."

  "Remind me not to share my fears with you," I joke.

  She grins. "Hey Everett. What is your biggest fear?"

  "Sex." I wink.

  "Dammit, I'd feel bad scaring you. I guess we can't screw anymore."

  "I was kidding," I hurry out. "My biggest fear is actually anything bad happening to my sister or nephew."

  "I can understand that. Now what for me?"

  "If you were to die tomorrow, what are three things you'd want to do first?"

  "What kind of question is that?" She laughs. "I don't know if I can answer that."

  "Try. It's a good hypothetical question. Kind of makes you think what you could do improve your life."

  She sticks her tongue out while thinking. Stopping- but still holding my hand- she faces me. Her expression turning serious almost instantly. "I'd donate all my money to the foster system in hopes it'd improve lives of children, even if only a handful of them. I'd write a letter to my aunt, expressing how thankful I am she's too much of a selfish bitch to take in her own niece in the most desperate moment of a child's life. And third... if I were certain I would die... I would tell you I loved you. Because I would hate to leave you behind and have you question the certainty of my feelings for you."

  Her words sucker punch me to the stomach, but in the best of ways. Without hesitation, I lean in to press my lips against Brenna's. Her knees buckle at the touch of my lips. Wrapping my freed arm around her waist, I pull her in closer. After a moment of the most satisfying kiss, I pull back to whisper against her mouth, hoping she can absorb my words, "I love you, too. Brenna, I didn't know it possible, but I could never love someone like you."

  As I lean in for another kiss, one much needier, she pulls back. Looking down at the sand, she rubs her hand along the back of her neck nervously. "Everett... I don't want to start saying it to each other." She peeks up at me, her hand still in place. The way she glances up at me is like a lost kitten searching for acceptance and love. "I like what we have. I don't want to define us, at least not any time right off. I don't want to depend on one another. I don't want to feel trapped. Let's... please keep it how it is."

  The Band-Aid she yanks off damages to say the least, but I understand her request. I respect that Brenna is unapologetically herself in every single aspect. I couldn't take that from her. I can't push her more than she can pull. "Whatever you want, beautiful."

  "And no pet names." Despite her final demand, she blushes in the way I adore the most.

  "You got it." I wink, pulling her hand to hold mine once more. She grins up at me. There is a difference between us- a thick cloud shading what could be absolutely stunning. As long as there is no storm brewing, I won't complain. After all, I can still sense a rainbow peeking through those clouds. "Time to ask me something."

  And as if we hadn’t missed a beat, she plays our game once more. "Oh, right. Okay, what is the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?"

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brenna

  After walking on the beach for what had to have been two miles, playing along with Everett's game of a million questions, or whatever it was he called it, we both end up with sun scorched skin. My shoulders are bright red and sore, as is Everett's nose and forehead.

  When we get back to the car, I hand him the sunscreen I keep in my car. He applies some on his face. Thankfully my foundation has built in SPF, so I didn't have to worry about it, but I do run the sunscreen along with my arms and shoulders. He asks me to put up my roof, but I assure him the breeze will feel good against the sunburn.

  He had no suggestions as to what to do for the rest of the evening, so again I take us where I decide. It's kind of fun to drive him around, oppose to have him bringing me places in his oversized truck. I pull into the busy parking lot of Wild Buck's Entertainment.

  "Mini golf?" He glances over at me. "I can do real golf, but I don't know about this childish shit."

  "Childish? What? Mini golf is hard! Plus, there are go carts and laser tag. Don't be such an old man. Come have fun."

  He follows me inside, as I knew he would, chuckling softly under his breath. He's been full of life ever since I fucked everything up by telling him the feelings I wasn't even sure I had until he gave me the stupid hypothetical question. I guess I could have skipped out on telling him the truth, but it felt right.

  "Did you just call me old?" He asks as we walk to the counter.

  "Well you are like thirty." I give him my best what are you going to do about it look, waiting for some kind of faux-anger retort.

  His eyes narrow at me. "I'm kicking your ass at everything." Turning to the pubescent teenage boy working the counter, Everett orders an all-day pass, handing over his credit card. I hadn't meant for him to pay for everything today but it makes me feel good about myself... about us.

  Since the go carts shut down before anything else, we do those first. I win the first two rounds, but I think Everett let me. The third round he sped past me, and although I'll never admit out loud, he even lapped me seconds before the flag called the race to an end.

  He jumps out of his cart, a shit eating grin on his face. "Looks like I'm the next Dale Earnhardt."

  "I'll punch you," I say, walking past him to the mini golf course.

  "What? Don't like losing?"

  "Says the person who lost twice… to a girl," I mock.

  "Yeah, I let you though."

  "Liar. That's what all guys say when they get embarrassed."

  "You think I'd be embarrassed that a girl beat me racing? Hell no. Knowing a female can handle a fast car and enjoys speed is fucking sexy."

  Some woman hisses, "This is a family park, please watch your language."

  Everett's face turns bright red. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

  "Better be," she mumbles, pulling her daughters arm along the way. "Some people just don't have any respect. Let's go, Lully."

  In a sing-song voice, I point at Everett and say, "Someone got in trouble."

  “Fucking bullshit,” he murmurs under his breath.

  I pretend to gasp, horrified by his language. “Well, golly sir, this is a family park. How dare you speak that way?”

  I swear his eyes sparkle. He stares at me in way that is highly uncommon for a man to look at me. Something about it is… sweet. Unsettling too, for the sake that I like it far too much. “What?” I hiss. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  It takes him a moment to answer, enthralled by something apparently. “That’s the second time you’ve done that around me, but it’s ridiculously adorable. And somehow, I swear you became more beautiful.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That thick Alabama accent. You’re definitely one of those southern beauty queens. What are they called?”

  “A southern belle?”

  “Yeah, that. You’re that.”

  I shove at his shoulder as I continue to walk past him to the course. “Stop talking to me like that.”

  “Why?” he questions behind me.

  “Because… because I said so.” My answer is lame, but truth be told, I don’t know how to handle a man flattering me with sweet words and loving looks. I’m not used to it. If he were to call me a hot piece of ass, pathetically enough I’d thank him seductively and we’d probably get it on somewhere in this park, but that isn’t at all the case. What is happening between us is so much more meaningful.

  The mini golf course is eighteen holes, and it takes us a while to get through them. Everett has more issues than one man should. At the sixth hole he gives up trying to get his ball out from the fake sand trap, and ends up hitting it with a force that sends the ball five holes away. When he runs to fetch his ball, I see him point to me with a shaking head, laughing with an old man that hands him the ball.

  Coming back over, he says he blamed it on me, and that the old man got a good laugh out of it.

  At the ninth h
ole he loses his ball altogether and has to go back to the beginning to purchase another one. I have to let three groups ahead of me while I waited.

  On the eleventh hole he gets a hole in one. While he hoots and hollers, I end up getting a hole in one as well. His response is to throw his hands in the air in defeat, which results in his putter going into the water behind him. On the twelfth hole it takes him fifteen swings, putting him thirty one points behind me.

  At the end of it all, I win a free ice cream by putting my ball into the eye of a clown. Everett gets it into the mouth of the clown, and wins a dollar off his next trip. He rolls his eyes. "This game is rigged."

  "Why, because you scored a ninety eight compared to my fifty seven?" He rolls his eyes to answer me. For once, I can't tell if he is actually upset or not. We laughed a lot while playing, in fact, I think I laughed more than I had in a long time. "Well... is it sexy to lose at mini golf, too?"

  "Not at all," he admits. Running his hand over his face exasperated, he adds, "Golf is a man's sport, if I say that you beat me by that much, I may as well hand over my real balls with these clubs."

  It takes some serious energy to hold in my laughter. "Wow, you are a horrible poor sport. I don't know if I can handle laser tag with you."

  He stops short of the building, turning around. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get upset. I am a poor sport," he admits. "I'll be better at laser tag."

  "Good." I grin. "I've never played before anyways, so I'm not even sure what to do."

  Everett goes over the rules, showing me the map outside of the arena, so I can know where to hide. The more he talks about enemies, and your home base, and attacks, the more I realize exactly how giddy he is about the idea of laser tag. I'm seeing the thirteen year old Everett in front of me, his balls recently descended.

  We get our gear on after he questions me three times if I understand the rules, stressing over how important it is not to run around too freely. I was seconds away from sitting in the car while he played. Once dressed, and the rules are simplified by the girl giving us our laser guns, we're sent into the dark to get used to it. It's pitch black with black lights all over, and my light colored shirt sticks out like a sore thumb. There is no doubt I'm going to be one of the first to go.