by Gephart, T
“Am I hearing right? The great Dan Evans spent the night cuddling?” Troy laughed not even trying to hide how much he was enjoying the situation.
“Whatever, asshole. I seem to remember you going home alone, and whether or not I got laid, I still went to bed with the hottest girl in the club.”
I could have gone home with the two girls who had been getting hot and heavy with me earlier that night. Now I couldn’t even remember their names but truthfully, after seeing Ashlyn, those two broads didn’t even stand a chance.
Troy smiled, not the least bit pissed off. “I went home alone because I needed to help you get the hottest girl in the club and her crazy-ass friend, home. By the way, one of them left their purse in the Suburban. TJ found it in the backseat this morning when he took the car to the Wash and Vac.”
“Well, whose was it?” I took another sip of my coffee.
“I don’t know, I didn’t go through it, dude. Girls have all kinds of weird shit in there, and I prefer to live in ignorance.”
“Truth, right?” The man had a point. Some women were like Mary Fucking Poppins with their purses; god knows what you are going to find. A man had no business going in there; some things are best not seen.
“We’ll make Jase go through it, the man was in the Army. He’s trained for that shit.”
“I don’t think they covered purse recon in basic training, Dan.” Troy laughed,
“You know he was in IT, right? He wasn’t actually on the front line dodging bullets. Not to take anything away from the man, ’cause straight up I am fucking thankful for his service and sacrifice, but unless you count hostile computer viruses our man wasn’t in any danger.”
The Army is still the Army. I don’t care if you are sitting at a desk or on the front line. Those bastards are tough, and I’d rather have an IT guy who used to wear camo by my side when shit went pear-shaped, than a juiced-up security guy whose biggest claim to fame was being a mall cop.
“You wanna go through the purse?”
“Nope.”
“That’s what I thought. Jase it is then.” I rested my case.
“So getting back to your wild night of spooning. What happened this morning? I assumed even though she isn’t your biggest fan, she still would have been impressed you didn’t try anything last night.” Troy continued, not willing to let it go. I swear sometimes he was worse than my ma.
“Yeah, well maybe I didn’t tell her that part.” I’m not sure why I didn’t, I know I should have told her, but I guess it pissed me off a little that she had just assumed.
“What? Why the hell not? You’d rather her think you are some asshole who takes advantage of women? No wonder you aren’t getting laid.” Troy chuckled. The bastard actually chuckled.
“Firstly, I can get laid any time I want. You seem to have forgotten, I scored two fine broads last night that would have more that scratched that itch. Secondly, Ashlyn had zero recollection of what went down. When she woke up, she just assumed we’d done the deed. She was too busy telling me she isn’t that kind of girl to give me a proper chance to explain. Then she found out I went through her underwear drawer and she threw me out.”
I would have told her, eventually. Not to say that I wasn’t hoping to rectify the no-sex thing in the morning but she completely lost her shit and told me to leave before I had a chance.
“You went through her underwear drawer? Jesus, Dan. Do you have any impulse control?”
“Oh not you, too. I was fucking bored, okay? I just looked, it’s not like I sniffed it or did anything freaky with it.” It was just a look, the way everyone was acting you would have thought I put it on and paraded down fucking 42nd Street. What is the big deal? It’s not like she was in it at the time. Then, maybe you could call me a pervert.
“Well thank fuck for that. You want to wear ladies panties, knock yourself out but maybe in future get your own Victoria’s Secrets.”
“You are such a tool.” I’d go commando before I’d pull on a pair of panties.
“Tool or not, I need to head back to the city, so if you’re done crying into your caramel macchiato, let’s make tracks.” Troy tilted his head to my now empty cup.
“Is that what I’m drinking?” I angled the cup so I was able to read the writing on the sleeve. “It was actually pretty good.” Kudos to the counter chick for her recommendation but I had to agree, it was time to eject. The small coffee shop was starting to fill with too much morning cheer for my liking. We both stood to leave. “Yeah, let’s get out of here. I’m starving and there is fuck all in here to eat. No way I was chowing down on a fucking muffin.” I needed food.
“What’s wrong with muffins?” Troy scoffed. Poor fucker had no clue.
“It’s like a poor man’s cupcake. No frosting. So fucking dry. I’m putting something cake like in my mouth then I want it to be sweet and fucking tasty. Not some lame-ass muffin that has all the promise of goodness and then leaves you unsatisfied. It’s like a girl who stuffs her bra to make her tits look bigger and then you get her home and boom, no big tits. I hate false advertising man, makes me angry.”
I slid out of the booth and tossed my empty cup in the trash. Troy followed suit stretching out his back after standing and joined me as we strolled toward the door.
“Does it always come back to tits with you? No wonder you are sitting here with me instead of your girl. I’ve known you a long time, brother, but some of the shit that comes out of your mouth surprises even me.”
“Tits are important, I don’t know why you are fighting me on this. Cupcakes too, I love those little fuckers.”
“You are so fucking weird, dude.”
“Let’s go, asswipe.”
****
It was like a standoff. It eyed me from the other side of the room, taunting me. My hands fisted in agitation as I sat in the armchair across from it, watching it, wondering why something so small was giving me such a headache. I’m from the Bronx for Christ’s sake, it’s not like I had led a sheltered life. I’ve never backed away from a confrontation, not ever. And we have played some shitty dive bars in our time, especially when we first started out. Hell, some of those places we’d been lucky to walk out in one piece, and yet if someone were itching for a fight I would look them dead in the fucking eye and ask them if we had business. Now, I was getting my ass kicked by a six-inch, glittery purse that sat on my fucking coffee table. What’s worse is that I’d rather take my chances with a drunk Giants fan from Jersey than crack that fucker open.
“FUCK!”
I moved to the edge of the chair wondering where the hell I’d left my balls. It was a purse, for fuck’s sake, not a fucking bomb. I looked over at the half-eaten box of cupcakes sitting beside it, the lid still cracked open, reminding me I had smashed four of those bad boys on the way to my apartment. And despite Troy being an argumentative bastard and not being on the same page with my cupcake love, I let the big guy snare a couple of them too. I was a giving kind of guy. I looked away from the box, deciding I was probably already way too hyped on sugar to eat anymore, which is probably why I was jittery as fuck.
I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated, knowing I was just going to have to man up. Jase had already shot down my idea that he do it when I called him on the car ride over, laughing his ass off telling me to stop being a pussy and do it myself. What’s the worst that could be in there? A tampon? It’s not like I hadn’t seen one of those before. Jase was right. I was being a pussy.
“Okay then, let’s do this.” I cracked my knuckles as I reached over and snagged it off the coffee table. I had half expected for it to shock me or something. For it to have some magical powers that meant if anyone with a dick opened it they’d get Tasered or some shit. Nothing. No sparks. No jolt of electricity passing through my body. Nada. Well thank fuck for that.
Slowly, I popped open the clasp. It looked innocent enough so I might as well dive in there and see if there was an ID or something. It had to be either Ashlyn’s or Megs’s and
I hadn’t paid enough attention to which of them had been holding this thing when they had gotten into the car. Both of them had fished out their apartment keys before we left the Suburban with Ash, who’d also pulled her phone out so she could text Megs she was home when we pulled up to her building. So that didn’t yield any clues either.
I shook the contents onto the coffee table and out rolled a lipstick, a few dollar bills, and a condom. Nice, this was like CSI…piecing together a profile based on random shit.
I tossed the dollar bills to the side and I moved on to the condom. It was standard, nothing exciting. Ribbed for her pleasure. That shit always made me laugh. What kind of numbnuts needs a special condom to get off his woman? Straight up, if he is relying on the latex for her pleasure he is not doing it right. When I’m with a girl, I make her come at least once before I even stick my dick inside her. I get her nice and lubed up, soft and ready for me, so when I finally get my cock in her, she is so wound up she has no choice but to come again. I don’t get the amount of girls I do solely ’cause I’m a good-looking guy. Women know when they are with me, I take care of them. I might not call them back later but while I’m fucking them, no one else exists. I was getting hard just thinking about it. Seriously, I was going to need to go jerk off soon or my dick was going to fall off. It had been hard so many times in the last twenty-four hours. I was surprised I still had the ability to fucking walk.
Next up, lipstick. I slid open the lid and rolled up the stick. Red. Like let-me-fuck-your-mouth red. I knew this color. I had washed it from my neck early this morning in Ashlyn’s shower. This was hers. I’d bet my balls on it. I rolled the stick back down, imagining the color on her lips like it had been last night. That sweet, fucking mouth that talked way too much trash. Yeah, I wanted that mouth. I wanted to own every inch of those beautiful full lips, watch them stretch around the head of my cock while those sweet green eyes looked up at me.
“Get it together, asshole.” I laughed out loud as I shoved the lipstick back into the purse, and had a quick look to see if there was anything else in there. Sure enough, there was a small zip sewed into the lining, and I’d figured I’d come this far, I might as well continue, right? I pulled the zipper across, the pocket it opened barely big enough for me to slide a finger or two inside. I pulled out a driver’s license and an ATM card. If there were any doubts as to who the owner of the purse was before, I could put them to bed. Ashlyn’s passive face looked up at me from the plastic, Boston-issued ID. She was about to turn twenty-eight, her birthday was in less than a week, and either she had never gotten around to changing her address to New York or she didn’t plan on sticking around for very long. I tapped the card against my fingers hoping she wasn’t planning on leaving soon. No one ever looked good with a DMV issued photo, but fuck me if she didn’t look drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn’t fancied up with makeup and her hair was pulled away from her face. She didn’t need all that stuff to make her look good. She was beautiful without it.
“Fuck!” I closed my eyes and leaned back into my armchair. What was it about this girl that was turning my brain into a pretzel? It wasn’t just the way she looked, though that sure as shit didn’t hurt, but it was more than that. For the first time, I think I was actually interested in someone. I needed to see her again and now I had my opportunity. I would play it smart; for this girl, I was going need more than just my usual tricks.
“Megs!” I yelled into the phone without giving her the opportunity to say hello. I needed to debrief and I needed it now. I sat on the edge of my bed, still reeling from the events of the morning.
“Ash?” Megs groaned into the phone. “My ankle is killing me. What happened last night and why aren’t you here?” Her recollection was obviously just as unreliable as mine. Note to self - keep better track of how many cocktails consumed and don’t go wandering around a club looking for trouble.
“So much happened last night. You fell as we were leaving Panic. I think we should probably go get it X-rayed. What do you remember?” I sighed knowing it was up to me to piece the riddle together.
“Did we meet Power Station last night?”
“Well I guess you could call it meeting them.”
I would say what happened last night went a little beyond just an introduction, considering I woke up with one of the band members in my bed.
“The details are foggy. I think I remember hugging Troy Harris? Did you make out with Dan Evans?”
I let out a long, slow breath. Megs was my best friend. Not only did I tell her everything but I also needed a sounding board. I needed her to help me make sense of this in my head, how I could have done something so out of character. “I think I did more than just make out with him.”
“Ashlyn. You better start talking and fill me in with details.”
“Let me get dressed and I will come to you. There is way too much to discuss over the phone. Do you need me to get you anything on my way over?”
“You don’t happen to have any Percocet do you?”
“No, Megs. While I’m sure the apartment downstairs is probably a meth lab, I don’t actually live in a drug store.”
“Okay, then just get me the biggest coffee you can find and maybe a muffin. And hurry, I need details.”
“I’ll be there soon. Chill.”
We said our goodbyes and ended the call. Tossing the phone onto my bed, I moved into my tiny bathroom. The fuzzy, faded bathmat was still damp from when Dan had taken his shower. He had been naked in this very spot. I tried to ignore my excitement as I stripped off my clothes. Shit. I looked around my bathroom in a moment of dread. He had seen this. A bra hanging from the towel rack, my messy vanity that was crammed with cosmetics and skin care. My wicker laundry hamper filled with dirty socks and polo shirts from the bar. The chipped paint, ugly pea-green tub with it’s discolored shower curtain. The rust-covered faucet that spewed brown water for a few seconds when you ran the water for the first time in the morning. He had seen all of this. Mortified. That was probably the only apt description of what I was feeling. How he hadn’t run a mile the minute he stepped inside was beyond me. I shook my head, solidifying my silent resolve to never see him again as I turned on the faucet and stepped inside the tub.
The old pipes groaned in protest through the thin plaster wall as I turned up the water to maximum capacity. It was the only way to achieve any kind of water pressure and even then it wasn’t great. Still, today I had bigger problems than my ancient bathroom.
I showered and then dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt before pulling on a pair of Vans. I just needed to grab my purse, my phone, and get out of here.
Now, where did I put my clutch from last night? It had my ID and my ATM card in there and while there was probably less than a hundred dollars in my savings account, the least I could do was spring for coffee this morning given Megs had paid for our night out yesterday. Hmm. Where did I leave it? I searched in the regular spots, the bedroom, and the kitchen counter - the places I would usually toss it when I walked in the apartment. Though given last night was not usual, it could be anywhere.
I ate up valuable time tearing from room to room, trying to locate the small, sequined culprit, but came up empty. I had my keys and my phone, so where was my clutch? I slumped onto my bed, willing it to reappear but sadly my willing did nothing but intensify the headache I was already fighting.
Giving up any hope of finding it, at least in the immediate future, I grabbed a random twenty-dollar bill I had found in my change jar and a handful of coins, and decided I would look harder when I got home. It had to be here somewhere.
****
“Hey.” Megs greeted me at the door, hobbling while trying to balance a bag of frozen peas on her ankle. “I was getting concerned and was going to send out a search party.”
“Sorry, Megs. I couldn’t find my purse from last night. It had my ATM card in there. I still don’t know where it is.” I handed her the prized coffee before opening the paper bag t
hat housed her muffin.
“Where did you leave it?” Megs asked, balancing her precious muffin and coffee as she hopped back to the sofa where she allowed herself to fall into the large, plush cushions. Once settled, she lifted the lid from her cup to lick the whip off the top of her coffee.
“If I knew where I left it, it wouldn’t be lost.” I strolled out of the hallway and joined her on the sofa, pulling my cup of coffee out of the cardboard carrier and taking a sip.
Megs blew over the surface of her cup before taking a big gulp. “Okay, well you obviously got into your apartment so you must have had it on the way home…wait. How did we get home?”
“The Power Station Express,” I deadpanned.
“They drove us home?” Megs’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, well according to Dan, so not sure how reliable my information is.” I bristled, annoyed I was at the mercy of his version of events.
“You better start telling me everything you know, Ashlyn Marie, or you are going to be wearing this coffee.” Megs held up her paper cup up to verify she wasn’t kidding.
“Okay, okay.” I took a long breath and settled in, this story was going to take a while.
I started explaining how Dan had found us at the club’s entrance, and how Megs’s Louboutins were responsible for her rather undignified spill. Deciding to play hero, when clearly no one had asked him to, Dan had stepped in and with the help of Jason and Troy, bundled both of us into their car to drive us home. In reality, it could be seen as kidnap, who just takes two girls and puts them into a car? My theory was solid except obviously I hadn’t been resistant to the idea and according to him, had my hands all over him on the ride home. A vague recollection of giggling in the back seat flashed into my mind as I recounted the story.
“Let me touch you.” I moved my hands down his chest as I pushed my lips against his mouth, his hand threading through my hair as our kiss deepened.
“Fuck,” he groaned as I flattened my palm against the front of his jeans, he was hard. The denim between us was so tight it left little to the imagination.
