by M. Mabie
He came out of the bathroom and demanded, “Don't tell me no. I'll be downstairs.” Then he left. It was obvious that I truthfully couldn't tell him no. So, again, I didn't fight it.
When I got downstairs, he was waiting for me near the door. He looked carefree and comfortable. I felt anything but. My legs moved me forward—my body on autopilot—and I went straight to him.
“’Bout time,” he teased. It had only been about ten minutes. Hell, I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Only running a comb through my hair before gathering it up into a messy knot on my head, and brushing my teeth, I looked like a hot mess. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I only answered with, “Coffee,” as I slid my sunglasses over my eyes.
Casey ushered. “Right this way.”
We walked down the sunny street and I was thankful we were in a part of town littered with shops. I didn't care for shopping. I hated malls. I hated feeling like a consumer on a conveyor belt. When I shopped, I preferred stores like the ones we were walking past. I mentally noted to hit a few of them after we got coffee.
“Stop, I'll be right back.” Casey rushed into a store and glanced at me through the window, holding up his index finger. When he came out, about five minutes later, he had two big coffee mugs and wore a pair of lime green sunglasses. One mug was bright yellow and the other was black and white striped.
“I like the sunglasses. What are these for?” I asked pointing at the mugs.
“What do you think they're for?”
“Well, they're coffee cups, but I don't get it. We're going to a coffee shop, right? In my experience, they give you a container with which to drink your coffee from.”
“Gross,” he said and tugged at my arm to continue us down the street. “You're a chef, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you should get it.” His voice was coated with something like annoyance. “Okay. Imagine the perfect steak. You eat meat, right? Otherwise this analogy won't work.” He looks at me and lifted his glasses.
I lifted mine, too, and said, “I love meat.” Then I gave him an exaggerated wink.
“Perfect.” He continued and weaved us around a couple who were window-shopping. “Okay, so you have this steak. It's perfect. Just the right cut. Grilled to heavenly, juicy awesomeness. Shit, I need a steak. Anyway, there has never been, nor will there ever be, a better steak than this one. Now, picture eating it off of a paper plate. Yuck.”
I laughed. “Oh, so you're crazy?”
“That's how I feel about drinking out of paper. This coffee shop,” he stopped us in front of a beautiful brick building, with a chalkboard sign that read The Best Sip and their specials, “has exceptional coffee. Drinking it out of paper should be criminal. It's blasphemy.” He was so animated and quite obviously very passionate about his beverages.
Casey Moore had so many moods. At the bar, he was closed off and reluctant to talk to me at all. Then when he did, he was cocky and bold. The morning had exposed yet another facet of his personality. He was playful and a little eccentric. I wondered if I’d enjoy them all, because so far I had.
Casey opened the door and I instantly thought he might be right. The smell of roasted coffee beans was heavenly as it infiltrated my nose. My tummy grumbled and suddenly I was a believer.
“But I like it when they write my name on the side,” I implored. He looked at me like I had three heads. His eyebrows bunched together as if I'd told him that I liked ketchup on my ice cream. I giggled. “What?”
He rolled his eyes. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Surprise me. Your beer is really good. I'm sure whatever you choose will be, too. I want to know what you like. I'll find us a seat.”
His smile spread across his face like a wild fire.
I found a little table off to the side that seated two. When he reached me he was carrying the two coffee mugs like the cargo was liquid gold. He bobbed and weaved around people trying his best not to spill a drop. I couldn't help my grin.
He offered me the hot mug and I was more than happy to take it. I put it on the table and awaited further instruction. For some reason, I was compelled to wait for him. He sat across from me and unraveled his long legs out to the side of our table. His funny sunglasses, perched atop of his head, held back his hair like a headband. It was adorable and strangely sexy seeing him without the hair framing his face.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked.
“Probably not.”
“Drink it, but be careful it's hot.”
I grasped the handle and I turned it so I could lift it with my dominant left hand. Scribbled on the side was “Betty Is Trouble.” My head swam. I stared at it. I read and reread it. Then, I looked over to Casey's cup. He turned it so I could read his, too.
“Lou Likes Trouble.”
It was so weird and sweet and unexpected at the same time.
Where in the hell did this guy come from?
Saturday, May 24, 2008
I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE in the fuck she came from. And I didn't give one shit. If I only had that day with her, and hopefully that night, I was going to take advantage of every single minute.
Boyfriends and girlfriends be damned.
“How do you like that coffee?” I asked, but I knew she loved it. She'd only taken about three drinks and her cup was almost empty.
“It's really good. Thank you.”
“You're welcome. Now. This boyfriend...” I began.
She bared her teeth and inhaled a long breath. It made a whistle sound and she winced.
She stood. I thought she was about to leave. Instead, she slugged back the last drink in her cup and looked into mine, seeing it was empty, too.
“Another?” Blake asked.
“Yeah.” She walked to the counter, and bought us each another cup. Walking back she looked worried. The subject of our significant others wasn't going to be a comfortable conversation, but it was necessary. I was breaking it off with Aly that day. I hoped she'd tell me that she and this other guy were on the downhill, too.
I didn't know why.
What difference would it have made? She didn't live in San Francisco. I did.
I thought she could do better than be with a guy who she could so easily forget, though. He couldn't have been that great and that was the part that got into my craw. I fully intended on being inside her again, and soon hopefully, but first I needed to know some things.
“So, what's up with this boyfriend?” She shifted in her chair and tapped her fingers on the tabletop. Seconds passed. Then minutes. I wasn't changing the subject. There wasn't any reason for us to not lay it all out there.
She finally relented after a stare off, “What do you want to know?”
“Oh, I don't know? Is it serious? How long have you been with each other?” Was I better in bed? Did he make her come as hard as I did?
“I don't know. I guess it's serious. Why do you want to know all of this? And forgive me if I'm wrong, but don't one-nighters usually end, you know, in the morning?” Her defensive tone didn't go unnoticed. Neither did the nervous bouncing of her legs or the little twitch in her lip.
“Hey, I'm not judging you. We both did what we did. I'm just curious if you did it because you're not really that into him, or if it was something else?”
She cleared her throat and looked around, like anyone gave a fuck about what we were talking about. “I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think that it's any of your business, Casey.”
She wasn't my business. She was right.
“That's fair. I just thought we could be friends.” Instantly her features softened. Her brow relaxed and she took another long sip of her coffee.
“Sorry. I…I've never done anything like, you know, what we did last night.” Her cheeks flushed and I hoped she was thinking about how good it felt. I needed to stop thinking about it, too, before I had to adjust myself.
“Never?” I asked.
“Never. Have you?”
I wish I could have said that I'd never
fucked around on a girl. Not that I was a prick or anything. I liked to think I was more of an opportunist. Sometimes opportunity climbed on your lap. Sometimes an opportunity bent over in front of you when you weren't wearing pants. Sometimes the back of an opportunity's throat itched and wanted me to scratch it with my cock.
Maybe I was a prick.
But I'd never strung a girl along. I'd never lied. Sure, I had hooked up with other women while I was with someone. Granted, it was at the end of the relationship every time. Call it a red flag for me. If I wanted to bang the shit out of one chick, while I was dating another one, it probably wasn't mean to be.
“The truth? Yeah,” I admitted.
I could can tell by the way her eyes wouldn't land on mine that she was not impressed. After I'd thought about it, I wasn't that impressed either. Maybe I should have lied and said I was a saint, but she probably would have saw right through it though.
“Listen, Blake. It isn't nuclear physics. If you sleep around on someone, there are only a few reasons why.” I held up a finger and she looked at it like the answer was written there. “One. He's a jerk.”
“Grant's not really a jerk.”
“Very convincing. Especially when you add 'really' in there like that. But for the sake of argument, we'll say he's not.”
“Okay.”
I had her full attention. As if I were about to tell her where the Holy Grail was, she leaned over the table and her boobs pushed up enough so that her cleavage was on display just for me. It was mag-fucking-nificent. I needed to slow down and come up with a few more reasons. “Two. You think he's unfaithful and you're doing a tit-for-tat thing.” I wiggled my two fingers and then directed them at her for an answer.
“No, that’s not like me. Even if I did think that, I'd just break it off with him. But he's not like that either.” Damn. I had hoped it could have been that.
“Three. You are looking for a reason for him to break up with you.” Something fired in her eyes and then she shook her head, but didn't verbally shoot it down. “Or four. He doesn't know how to get you off.”
She had a filling in her back, bottom left-side tooth. I gained this bit of Blake data when her jaw unhinged itself there in the middle of the cafe.
“So. Number four then? That sucks.” I leaned back in my chair and watched her. I would have loved to hear what she was thinking in that moment. It appeared she was having a conversation with herself, the way her head was nodding and her eyes squinted in deep thought.
Would she change the subject or fight back?
“He gets me off. All the time,” she defended, a little louder than I expected her to.
She was a fighter.
Then her small-framed body slouched after she noticed how loud she'd spoken. It was one of those moments when you're somewhere full of sound and right when you speak the planet goes on mute. She was living that scenario.
I kept going. “Nope. That took you too long. I feel a little bad for you. Women as a whole, really. Half the men I know don't give a shit if a woman gets off or not. I think it's a testosterone thing. They can't be blamed.” Her eyes glazed over in thought. I changed the subject, “Wanna go find some clothes?”
She was so cute. Still shaking her head. I knew she was trying to think of the last time her boyfriend curled her toes. If he did, in fact, get her off like she'd claimed, it was a long time ago.
“Come on, Betty. You need some duds.”
She rose. We made for the door and then she froze, “Wait. We can't leave our mugs.” She turned back for our abandoned table and grabbed a few napkins from the counter on her way. As she came back to me, she tried her best to wipe them out. “You bought these. I'm keeping mine.”
“Sure. Keep it.”
“You don't want yours?” She looked a little disappointed at the fact that I was going to leave it behind. Somehow that morning, two fifty-five cent coffee mugs from the resale shop down the street had become landmarks. Mementos.
I didn’t think of myself as sentimental, by nature, but seeing how attached she grew to those inanimate objects made me consider them special, too.
Maybe it was her. She was awesomely different. Original.
And, thank God, she didn't shop like other women I knew. Certainly not like the women in my life. She walked into a store, looked, touched, and bought. Very decisive. When I thought we were going back to her hotel, she stopped us in front of a shop called The Flower. From the window I could tell it was a bra and underwear place.
“Casey? I need to buy some private things. Thanks for walking me around this morning, but I think I've got it from here.” Her nose was again pink. She was being bashful.
“Right. Right. Right. I get it. Are you sure you don't want a man's opinion? I have an eye for these kinds of things.” I smiled, but I didn't feel like smiling at all. I hadn’t even thought of leaving her. I wanted to spend the whole day talking and laughing with her. I wanted to go back up to her hotel room and have her for lunch. I guessed that was shot all to hell.
“I'll be at the graduation party tonight. Are you going to be there?” She looked hopeful, like she wanted me there.
“Does a hobby horse have a wooden dick? Yeah, I'm going. I have stuff I need to do anyway. I'll see you there.” Real smooth. I was bringing back some real zingers.
“Good. I was hoping you were still going. Besides, you said that you needed to break up with Aly, right?”
Well, wasn't that interesting?
“I do need to do that,” I said in agreement.
“I know my way around down here pretty good. I lived here. Remember? So you don't have to hang around. Besides, I need to buy a bra and underwear. I'll see you tonight.”
I have to kiss her.
That fast, the thought sprung to mind. I needed to kiss her. Mark her lips. Leave a taste of me on them to remind her. Not giving it any more thought, I closed the space between us. She didn't flinch or move, so I continued. I cupped her pretty face in my hands and rubbed my thumbs across her soft lips. Her tongue snaked out to lick where I'd touched and that's when I moved in, catching her tongue mid-swipe. She still tasted sweet from the coffee.
She wasn't going anywhere until I let her go, so I had an advantage. One I thought I'd make good use of.
It was when she dropped her bags and wrapped her arms around me, deepening the kiss, that all hope was lost. There on the sidewalk, outside of a ladies’ under-thingy store, our first sober kiss pulled something tight inside my chest. I swallowed the taste of her in my mouth and I moaned.
There I was trying to make a mark on her, and she's successfully turned it around on me.
I really needed to break up with what's her name.
“You didn't do anything wrong. I think that we'd be better friends.” That part always sucked. I didn't enjoy making girls sad. I heard Aly sniff on the other end of the line. “Are you okay? I'm sorry, Aly.”
“I'm fine. I just wish I knew what I did wrong.” She blew her nose. She was a sweet girl. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with her, but she was a yes girl. It's hard to explain. I wasn't looking for a girl who yelled at me constantly, or even bitched about everything. Call me crazy. Call me a masochist, but I liked a girl who had a backbone, a girl with a fire inside her. A spark. A fuse. A girl who had an opinion and wasn't afraid to give it.
Aly was sweet, yes. But she liked me more than I liked her. She agreed with me all the time. I'd even spouted off things that a sane person would dispute in a heartbeat and she would go right along with whatever it was I'd said.
I knew it was a terrible idea dating my boss’s daughter. I really did. But what Aly had working for her had been her innocence. She wasn't a virgin, but she could play one on TV. I didn't know if that was really her, or the version of her she wanted me to see, but she gave off this vibe of purity that was appealing. She wasn't wild or aggressive, but she most certainly was willing.
But like her personality, her sexuality lacked an identity. She quickly learned what I l
iked and simply repeated that. That's a problem a lot of women have.
Sure, I loved that thing you did with your tits and my cock the first time, but every time? No, thank you. I liked it the first time because it was new, refreshing, a surprise. It's like opening up the same birthday gift every year when women find that special something and keep doing it. It became like a routine. And if there's one thing I didn't like, it was a routine.
“Aly, you're a good girl. You'll find a good guy and you'll be much happier. I promise. This wasn't going anywhere.”
Harsh. I know. But, like I said, I didn't lie.
“Whatever, Casey. You'll change your mind,” she bit back.
“We'll see. But I have to go. I'll see you Monday. Friends?” Even I winced. But shit. She was my boss’s daughter and she worked there, too. I'd be able to avoid her for a few days, but I was sure to run into her eventually. It was not that big of a business.
“Fine. ’Bye.”
“That was rough. Was she bawling?” said Cory as he straightened his tie.
“Yeah. You heard that?” I set the phone down and took a seat at our kitchen island.
“Sure did. What happened to breaking up with her in person?”
“Last night happened to breaking up with her in person. What did you want me to do? Break up with her at Micah’s party? No, thanks.”
I knew the look on his face; I'd seen it from my very own in the mirror. Being identical twins was a lot like that. Facial expressions are easy to read on someone when they're the same one's you make yourself. So, as he stood there with a look that begged for the details of last night, I tried to get out of it. “What? Nothing happened.”
“So you're telling me that after we left, you and Blake didn't go back to her hotel and fuck like rabbits?”
I stalled. He noticed. Yeah, he knows the Jedi-twin-face trick, too.
“I knew it. I knew it the moment we walked in. You know she has a boyfriend, right? That he was supposed to come with her and then backed out last minute. Kind of a dick move if you ask me, but even so, what the hell are you thinking?” He sat on the arm of the leather couch in the apartment we shared. I said shared, but I meant that I lived there and he stored his belongings in it. He spent practically every night at Micah's, claiming it was closer to work.