by Belle Aurora
“Oh, is that right?” Anne asked with a curious tone. “I’m sure Ruby would love that.”
I cleared my throat, shoved half a cookie inside of my mouth, and then just shrugged as if I didn’t understand English and therefore couldn’t contribute to their conversation.
“I think I finally won Ruby over tonight. She avoided me like the plague for two years, but you bond really quickly with someone when you’re holding janitor’s underwear and hunting down murderers.”
I laughed and swallowed down a sip of lemonade before clarifying. “I thought they were janitor panties, but it turns out they’re just part of George’s collection.”
He grinned at that and took a bite of his tiny sandwich.
“Is that true, Ruby? Did you finally bond with Sawyer?”
The way she said the word “bond” made it sound like we were having weird cult sex together. So, I decided to play along.
“Yes, Anne, I bonded with your grandson. Does that make you happy?” I could tell from the mischief in her eyes that she had caught onto my sarcasm.
“Well, I’m really tired, so I’m going to head to bed, but you guys should bond for however long you want,” she quipped, pushing up out of her seat and kissing each of our heads before heading off toward the exit. The party wasn’t even close to ending, but Anne had probably had her fair share of Sandy and Gertie for the day. I can’t say I blamed her.
Sawyer caught my eye. “Were you just talking to my grandma about sex? It really felt like it, and I’m not sure if I need to go purge that from my memory or not.”
I laughed and kept the truth to myself, taking another sip of lemonade without answering his question.
The shrill ring of a microphone pulled my attention to the stage just as George began speaking to the crowd lingering around for refreshments.
“It’s time to start the next phase of our party,” he announced, taking off his thin glasses and placing them in the front pocket of his argyle vest. Oh no, shit was about to go down.
And boy, did it.
It started innocently enough, some music played over the loud speaker in the dining hall. Just a little jazz at first. A few couples started to stand up and slow dance, shifting their weight back and forth to the smooth beat. But then someone turned on a local radio station that played everything from rap to Taylor Swift.
That changed everything.
For the next hour, I was on official “grind-prevention” duty. As soon as Jay-Z started playing over the speaker system, the space between dance partners lessened more and more.
“Okay, alright, let’s leave room for Jesus and for Muhammad and for Buddha and whoever else we can shove in there,” I said, stepping between Mr. Tennon and Gertie. I’m all for bootie dancing, but I draw the line when Mr. Tennon started spanking her on the ass.
“So does your job mostly consist of preventing public intercourse?” Sawyer laughed as I joined him at the punch bowl.
I cracked up. “Yes, and I don’t even do a very good job of it,” I said.
Sawyer turned to me, pinning me to the spot with his green gaze. “Do you mean to tell me—”
His question drifted off as I started nodding my head. “Apparently sexual prowess peaks at around eighty-five,” I joked.
Sawyer tipped forward, holding his stomach as he laughed. “So we have a really long way to go then.”
I smiled with the edge of my mouth, surveying the sea of people around me. “A long way.” Just as I finished speaking, I saw Mr. Buchanan sit down at the piano.
“Oh no,” I murmured under my breath and turned to set my cup of punch on the table behind me.
“What’s wrong?” Sawyer asked, trying to follow the path of my gaze.
How do I explain this as quickly as possible?
“Do you see that man that just sat down at the piano?” I asked. Sawyer nodded. “Well, he’s lost all of his hearing. For some reason, within the last year, he’s gotten it in his head that he’s a piano prodigy.”
Sawyer nodded. “Is he any good?”
As if on cue, Mr. Buchanan pressed down on a couple of piano keys will all his might so that a loud “wompppppp” was heard over the rap music.
“Oh,” Sawyer said, seeming to find his own answer as Mr. Buchanan continued to thud awkwardly on the keys, creating a tune that made me want to claw my ears off.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Sawyer before walking over to the piano and waving to get Mr. Buchanan’s attention.
He couldn’t read lips very well, so I spoke slowly and used my hands to help him figure out what I was saying. “Do you want to go dance with me?” That’s the only thing I could think of to get him away from the piano without hurting his feelings.
I had to ask him the same thing three times, eventually even reenacting a little waltz before it clicked for him. He beamed up at me, shut the lid of the piano and then reached out to lead me toward the dance floor. He held one of my hands confidently in his and then gently placed the other hand at my hip. I glanced up at his eyebrows, white, bushy, and overgrown, but beneath them there were crystal blue eyes with smile lines around them.
He led me around the dance floor at his own pace since he couldn’t hear the music anyway. It was kind of hilarious doing a waltz to a Nicky Manaj song, but Mr. Buchanan didn’t care, so neither did I.
Just as he was about to dip me down for our grand finale, I saw Sawyer approach us out of the corner of my eye.
He tapped Mr. Buchanan on the shoulder and then did the universal gesture for, “May I cut in?”
Mr. Buchanan nodded and handed me off with one last warm smile. Sawyer held me the same way Mr. Buchanan had, but he stood a little closer to me, his grip a little more warm and possessive.
“I’ll dance with you, but I’ll warn you, there’s no way you’ll be better than Mr. Buchanan,” I said with a smile.
As if to prove me wrong, Sawyer spun me out quickly and then twirled me back against his chest.
“Challenge accepted.”
***
An hour later, after some truly terrible dance moves and two more glasses of punch, we stood at my car, encased in the moonlight surrounding us. Usually I tried to get in my car as fast as possible after a late shift, but I wanted linger as long as possible with Sawyer.
“Thanks for helping me clean up,” I said with a small smile, trying not to look up into his eyes.
“Thanks for putting another murderer behind bars tonight, Detective.”
I laughed and glanced down at the cup of punch in my hand.
“Here’s to a night of getting to know each other, pulling apart gyrating geriatrics, and handling banana hammocks. I can’t say I would have wanted to do it with anyone else,” he said, holding out his cup of punch for a toast.
I laughed and clinked the lip of my cup with his before meeting his eye and taking a long sip.
“I liked that toast,” I said.
He smiled.
“Well I guess I should get going,” I replied, conscious of the awkwardness surrounding us.
“I have one last thing to ask you before you go,” he continued, taking a step closer.
“Oh?” I asked, tilting my head back to meet his eyes.
“Would you rather have me kiss you right now or when I come back to visit my grandma on Thursday? You get to pick.”
My heart kicked up a notch as his words sank in. I couldn’t believe how much had changed in the matter of a day. I’d had a crush on this man for two years. TWO LONG YEARS. And now he was just casually talking about kissing me.
I must have drifted into my own thoughts for a moment because Sawyer asked, “Is it that hard of a decision?”
I laughed and shook my head, letting my empty cup fall to the ground at my feet.
“Easiest decision I’ve ever made,” I said before lifting up onto my tiptoes and placing a kiss directly on his lips.
(And don’t worry, I picked my cup up later. I’m not a litter bug, jeez.)
END
About the Author
I am a lover of books, chocolate, reality TV, black labs, and cold weather. Seriously, if I had it my way I would be curled up on the couch with all of those things…Every day. I live in Texas where I spend my free time writing and reading. My favorite authors are Mindy Kaling & Jonathan Safran Foer. I’m a comedy geek and love all things ‘funny’. Women like Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Mindy Kaling are definitely the biggest inspirations for my writing, though I think my work tends to skew a bit smuttier than theirs.
Connect with RS. Grey
Website: www.RSGrey.com
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Twitter: @authorrsgrey
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Email: [email protected]
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Other Books by R.S. Grey
Scoring Wilder
With This Heart
Behind His Lens
The Duet (Due out November 10th)
Mystery, Matzo Balls and Moxie by Z.B. Heller
A mystery weekend gets steamy and stuffed... with food
*Warning: This story contains panty-melting sex and a woman who cannot contain her swearing. No matzo balls were harmed in the creation of this story.
Chapter 1
I sat in the teachers’ lounge of Montgomery Elementary School enjoying my hot cup of disastrous coffee. It tasted like what I imagine tar mixed with gravel would taste like. We needed to dethrone the school secretary, Mrs. Kramer, and lobby Dunkin Donuts to build a store in the school. Good coffee and tasty donuts every morning would make teaching more bearable. Especially when I had to deal with evil-spawn children on a daily basis.
I’d been teaching at the school since graduating college and had been upgraded this year to first grade instead of kindergarten. Okay, it wasn’t that much of an upgrade, but I didn’t think I could handle teaching fifth grade considering my math skills ended with simple addition and subtraction. And that was usually with the help of a calculator.
My name, Moxie Summers, meant determined or vigor. And I was determined… determined to drink something better than the battery acid Mrs. Kramer called coffee.
“Hey, Triple Titties. What’s up?” my best friend and co-worker Renee said as she entered the teachers’ lounge.
“Don’t be hating on the girls.” I motioned to my chest. “You’re just jealous because God didn’t bestow unto you the greatness of plump breasts, even though you have Miss America good looks.”
“Moxie, your breasts aren’t plump; they take up and entire football field.”
“Perfect. Better for guys to put their balls onto.” I laughed and took another sip of coffee.
Okay, so maybe my name should have meant bigmouthed and crass instead.
Yes, my breasts were big, but they balanced out my size sixteen frame. I thought Renee secretly admired my long red hair and the junk in my trunk. I loved my best friend, but if you blew air on her she’d tip over. However, Renee’s long brown hair, green eyes, and stick thin body weren’t exactly a deterrent for keeping men at bay. Renee and I met my first day teaching and we quickly became best friends. I was the only child and Renee was the closest thing I had to a sister. What other person would pretend to be your lesbian lover just to ward off nasty guys who were trying to hit on you? Renee was also a good yin to my yang as we balanced out each other’s personalities.
“And I wonder on a daily basis how Miles puts up with you.” She snickered while pouring herself a cup of crap coffee.
“The beautiful Adonis has no complaints when this Jewish princess rides him like a stallion.”
Renee rolled her eyes and joined me at the table. “It’s because you give him great head.”
“Well there’s that, too.” I smirked.
“I give the man a lot of credit. After emptying the contents of your stomach on him and asking him about hairy testicles, he still wanted to cuddle up to your Pound Puppy.”
Renee loved that I could conjure up different names for the female genitalia. Pound Puppy, cooch canoe, triangle of heaven, and my favorite, putang.
“Excuse me, but the tall hunk of Miles meat couldn’t resist my charm. Plus, I have a complete weakness for brown-haired, blue-eyed guys. It was meant to be that I upchucked on him. I was marking my territory.”
I did have a heavy thing for dark hair and light eyes. I dated a couple of blonds in my time and was freaked out when I saw the lack of pubes they had going on down south. I really lost it when I dated a fellow red head. I mean my drapes matched the color of my rug, but on a guy it just seemed wrong.
“I thought you peed on something to mark your territory.” Renee smiled.
“Listen, bitch, it was only the one time and the guy was about to run off with my new bike. I had to protect my property. Not to mention the fact I desperately had to piss, and it saved me from going up to my apartment.”
Renee took a sip of coffee and winced. “But your bike smelled like piss for weeks afterward. Who took a shit in the coffee maker this morning?”
“Mrs. Kramer and her fantastic barista skills.” I gave her a thumbs-up in jest.
“Does she not understand teachers need a healthy dose of caffeine if they are expected to deal with insubordinate students?”
“Put it on the list of gripes for the staff meeting.”
“Right,” Renee scoffed. “Like we’re allowed to say anything at those meetings. Not with the hoochie bitch Amber leading the meeting.”
“It’s like we have our own personal Stalin running the meetings.”
Amber was my elementary school arch nemesis. Scratch that. She was my life nemesis. The bleach blond, orange spray tan, hoebag tried to scheme and plot her way into breaking Miles and I up earlier this year. She used my insecurity about my weight to conspire her way into Miles’s bed. It didn’t work, and I am convinced the bleach she used on her hair must have seeped into her brain and destroyed the few brain cells she had left.
My phone buzzed on the table and I checked the caller ID. It was Ryan, my other best friend. Ryan and I became tight after I’d shamelessly hit on him at a New Year’s Eve party. I was smashed and could have blamed it on the alcohol, but I took a chance only to find out he preferred large sausages. Another beautiful man unobtainable to females because he played for the other team. It was a sad day for women everywhere.
“Hey, salami sucker.”
“Hey, beautiful Moxie girl.”
Ryan and I had a thing about insulting each other during our greeting. It was a sign of love rather than of malice. His voice had a sickening sweet tone he used only when it benefited him the most.
“What do you want?” I said with an edge to my voice.
“What? Can’t a guy compliment a beautiful lady?”
“Maybe if I had a big beautiful penis, then yes, I would believe you. But since I’m not a gay man, I would say the compliment means you want something, so spill.”
“You know me too well.” He sighed.
“It's a good thing your boyfriend and I put up with your shit, or you'd be left to die in a Michael Kors dressing room.”
“That isn’t a necessarily bad way to go. Although, it would be in the Top Shop dressing room, not Kors. Listen, I’ve got these tickets for a weekend getaway, and I wanted to invite you, Renee, and your respected loved ones to join Tom and me.”
“Amazing! Where to?”
“It’s a weekend at Sullivan Manor just over into the Wisconsin border. They do a mystery whodunit weekend over Halloween. We all get characters to play, and we have to solve a murder mystery.
I rolled my eyes at Renee as she scooted in closer so she could listen to Ryan’s end of the conversation. “A murder mystery… so it’s all right if I kill you for including me in this stupid idea.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun! We’ll get new identiti
es for the weekend and be all sleuthy.” Ryan whined like a two-year-old when he didn’t get his way.
“Is sleuthy even a word?”
“Probably not. But I need a break from the TV station, and so does my co-worker aka your boyfriend. Plus, it will give Tom the opportunity to bitch about someone else’s cleaning habits.”
“I’ll chat with Renee and get back to you. What’s the theme for the mystery anyway?”
“Murder at a High School Reunion.”
“Ryan, I hated high school the first time around. Why the hell would I want to relive it?”
“Just because you were the antisocial Goth girl in high school doesn’t mean you have to be one at the party.”
“I wasn’t Goth! I just wore a lot of black. It was slimming.” And with that I ended the call, making sure to press the end button with extra oomph.
I wish I could forever erase my time in high school. Memories of braces, perms, and Tommy Sullivan trying to get to second base behind the bleachers clouded my mind. I had been excited a boy was into me. Until I found out Steven Sanders bet him ten bucks and a Twinkie to touch my boobs. If he were smart he would have asked for the Ding Dongs and the Twinkies.
Renee looked at me with curious eyes.
“Ryan wants us to go to one of those murder mystery parties for Halloween.”
“I’ve always wanted to do one of those!” she said with a squeal.
It reminded me of an Orca whale and a feral cat, and I groaned.
“I guess it’s a whole weekend event at Sullivan’s Mansion in Wisconsin.”
“Oh, I hear it’s totally haunted.”
“I don’t think it’s haunted, but I’m still scared the shit of it. It’s Wisconsin for God sake.”
“Why is Wisconsin scary?”
“A state that has too many cows means someone has to slaughter them all, which means there are ghost cows mooing in the fields.”
Renee stared at me for a moment. “Did you talk to your therapist today?”
I flipped her off just before our principal, Mrs. James, came in.