A Is for Alpha Male

by Laurel Curtis

  I couldn’t wait to start experiencing the hotel, so I booked it down the hall, opened the door with world record setting speed, dropped my bags on the wall next to the TV, and ran into the bathroom to use it and do a mild freshening up.

  No need to look like a million bucks, but it wouldn’t hurt to have plaque free teeth and no mascara smudges under my eyes.

  Allison followed suit, albeit at a much slower pace.

  Once I got my face cleaned and my teeth brushed, I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back with my palms flat on the comforter behind me and my feet eagerly rocking from heel to toe and back while waiting for my mom.

  Half my energy went into my fidgeting and the other half went into keeping my fidgeting to a reasonable level. It was a delicate balance, and only the finest of artisans could manage the precarious situation.

  Okay, that was crap. But I was trying to keep myself under wraps.

  Allison meandered out of the bathroom, planted her hands on her hips, and announced, “Okay, I’m ready, Twitchy.”

  I jumped to my feet in one swift movement, clapped my hands together in front of me, and grabbed the keycard off of the dresser, sliding it into the back pocket of my denim shorts.

  My mom followed behind me, giggling softly at my theatrics.

  The soft click of the door closing behind us was my only indication that she had also exited the room as I didn’t look back even once on my way to the elevators.

  Thankfully, my mom was use to me, so she didn’t take any offense to my seemingly self-centered rudeness.

  The truth was that I would lay down my life for her, put myself in pain if I could take away hers, and do everything in my power to make her the happiest she could be. And she knew it.

  That’s why she put up with me. At least, that was my theory. I’d imagine I also offered up quite a bit of entertainment.

  And every once in a while, there were glimpses that seemed to suggest she was just as crazy as I was. Or if she wasn’t anymore, she was when she was my age.

  As the elevator dinged its arrival, I reached blindly behind me for Allison’s hand and laced her fingers together with mine. If the faces of the already present occupants of the elevator were an accurate indication of their assumptions, I would say that they thought we were the ultimate taboo couple. Lesbian lovers of startlingly different ages.

  I even saw one very touristy looking woman reach for her camera from her fanny pack.

  The wardrobe differences in the passengers of the elevator alone were abundant. Mrs. Fanny Pack had a Mr. Fanny Pack with her, but there was also a group of four women, giggling and crowding into the corner, who each had on dresses with cutouts of varying shapes and sizes strategically spread out over their bodies. Rounding out the group and landing squarely in the middle of the modesty scale were me and Allison.

  The car coasted to a stop on the level of the casino smoothly, not even giving the slight jerk that was often present in cheaper elevators.

  As we filed out and dispersed, I leaned over and whispered to Allison, my hand still securely in hers, “I’m fairly certain Mr. and Mrs. Fanny Pack thought we were lesbian lovers.”

  Allison nodded, a small smile curving up her lips, the bright colors of the casino behind her. “Oh well, at least they think I have good taste.”

  Aw, that was so nice.

  “Little do they know looks don’t mean everything,” she added, ripping the compliment callously away and replacing it with a killer jab.

  My lower lip protruded in an overly pronounced pout, and my mom took pity on me at the sight of it, a soft, graceful laugh filling in the gaps between her words like background music.

  “Aw, honey, you know I think you’re fantastic. There is no one I would rather spend my time with than you. And if it adds to your healing and brings a smile to your face a little quicker, take heart in the knowledge that no matter how crazy you are, at least you don’t have a huge camel toe like Mrs. Fanny Pack did,” she consoled, even finishing her observations and feelings with a cute, little wink.

  Laughter bubbled up from deep inside of me, filling the large space with the sound of my maniacal impression of a hyena.

  Allison just pulled me forward, disregarding the looks I garnered with my outburst, and guided me to what seemed like an endless row of slot machines.

  Breaking free from her hand and taking off on my mission, I perused each machine, making sure to note not only the theme of each game, but the denomination for which each played.

  I ticked off machine after machine, slowly watching the credit amount change from a dollar, to fifty-cents, to a quarter, a nickel, and then finally hitting rock bottom at my preferred denomination.

  The penny slots.

  The glow of goodness was so strong, it was like the light of heaven shown down on them, and I could have sworn I even heard the melodic sound of the chorus of angels singing down from above.

  They were calling me home.

  Finding an empty machine and discovering that it was Wheel of Fortune themed, I settled my jean covered ass into the plush softness of the stool in front of it and unzipped the wristlet I had attached to my belt loop.

  Starting big, I pulled out a ten dollar bill and put it into the machine, watching as the tally of credits rounded out at a thousand.

  “I’m going to make this slot machine my bitch!” I told Allison excitedly.

  Shaking her head, she sat down beside me and starting playing the Tickle Me Elmo slot machine in front of her.

  Okay, so it wasn’t Tickle Me Elmo, but it was some weird pirate ship themed game.

  I had my hand permanently attached to the “bet max” button even though that would be the worst possible decision if I wanted to stretch out my ten dollars.

  Nevertheless, I hit it repeatedly, jumping excitedly every time the machine threw me a bone by paying out some small number of winnings.

  “That’s right, pay me my fifty cents!” I yelled at the flashing inanimate object in front of me, my hands facing palms up with my fingers flexing in and out in a taunting motion.

  Shockingly, once again, people were starting to stare at me.

  It really was a good thing that I didn’t care what people thought of me. I might not like what I found if I did.

  Just as my available credits were coming dangerously close to gone, my phone started to ring a tone I recognized as familiar.

  I felt my heart rate pick up, and I could see Allison roll her eyes out of the corner of mine.

  Biting my lip, pulling my phone out of my pocket, and sliding my finger across the screen, I hit the “bet max” button once more as I answered.

  The reels spun furiously and stopped, one by one, starting with the left and moving to the right.

  This slot machine was far more high tech than the ones with the physical wheels, as it had five different virtual reels, and could be operated with just the touch screen.

  The word “hey” was milliseconds from escaping my mouth when the screen started to blink, music started to play, and flashing lights reflected off the planes of my face and irises of my eyes.

  “I just hit the jackpot!” I screamed at Danny, not bothering to say hello even though it had been the original plan.

  As always, Danny never missed a beat, rolling with me effortlessly and asking, “How much?”

  I searched the screen for the answer, gasping out excitedly, “Two thousand credits!” when I found it.

  “How much money?” he clarified, perhaps correctly guessing that I was a cheapskate.

  “Twenty dollars,” I murmured, keeping my voice quiet in an effort to casually steamroll over the fact that it was so low.

  “Look out, big spender,” he mocked good-naturedly, and I knew his incredible hazel eyes were sparkling with amusement.

  “Penny slots are legit. Don’t hate,” I told him, trying to sound as streetwise as possible. It came out sounding more like a poser teenager.

  Despite the distance, I felt his chuckle in my che
st, the rumbling vibrations spreading warmth through bone, flesh, and epidermis, the energy it caused radiating off of my skin and forming goosebumps of pleasure.

  “I take it you made it there,” he stated looking for confirmation.

  “Yeah, Dan-o. We’re in Sin City. I was a little too excited to bother with menial tasks like calling you,” I teased, the smile in my voice acting as balm to the sting my words might have caused.

  Glancing at my watch, I said, “It’s really late there, huh?”

  “Yeah, babe,” he told me simply.

  “What are you doing calling me?” I asked, knowing that Allison and the silver-haired lady to my left were listening in on my conversation.

  “I’m just getting off of work, and I’ve been wondering all night if you made it there safely. So when I had the opportunity to curtail my worrying, I took it,” he said softly, his voice low, rough, and deliberate.

  Man, he always said the nicest things.

  And it made me sound really bad in comparison.

  “You’re good at making me sound like a bitch,” I told him, now oblivious to my still-listening audience.

  “Hales baby, anybody who knows you, knows you aren’t a bitch. And the crazy, slightly obnoxious show you put on is nothing but fun if you ask me. I never get tired of waiting to hear what the next thing you’re going to say will be,” he told me, lifting my spirits and showing irrevocably that he really got me.

  He saw the layers underneath the in-your-face surface, and from the sound of it, he was happy to hang out in either location.

  We talked for several more minutes, but not about anything important.

  I knew he wouldn’t bring up what we really needed to talk about until I got some privacy.

  But the wait was killing me.

  “I THINK I have a gambling problem,” I told Danny as Allison and I left the desert city, brilliant sunlight reflecting off of the hotels and into our rear view mirror.

  It had been a good couple of days, but I was D-O-N-E done with Las Vegas. I was ready to go out to the beach and sleep my way to recovery.

  I hadn’t even gotten that wild, but the smoke inhalation alone will effing kill you. You don’t realize how used to breathing fresh air you are until you go to a place with no indoor smoking ban.

  “How much money did you lose?” he asked, mirth richening his tone significantly.

  “Forty fucking dollars!” I exclaimed and slammed my hand down on the wheel as I said it, causing Allison to cower ever so slightly in the passenger seat. She had been listening to me rave about that forty dollars for hours now.

  Yeah, I was talking on my phone and driving. Get over it.

  “Um,” Danny started cautiously before I talked right over him.

  “Do you know what I could buy with forty dollars?” I asked heatedly, my glare hidden behind the lenses of my sunglasses.

  “These days?” Danny asked, and then answered himself. “Not much.”

  He was, of course, right, so I kept working my sob story, but tried coming at it from a different angle.

  “Vegas isn’t good for me, Dan-o. If I stayed for even one more day, I would be a damaged woman when I left. Or poor. Or maybe I would be “winning” but only Charlie Sheen’s version.”

  And something I wasn’t telling Danny was that I felt entirely too swampy for much too much of the time in Vegas. You know what I mean. Your underwear is dangerously wet and it’s not from arousal.

  Yeah. Swampy.

  It was just too hot. And being a Vol fan, I avoided all things that included The Swamp.

  Danny’s deep chuckle mixed effortlessly with his words as he told me, “Then by all means, get the hell out. I like you just like you are.”

  And I would be willing to wager that he liked me better when I wasn’t disgustingly sweaty.

  Crap! There I went gambling again.

  See? I had a problem.

  Though, there was good chance gambling was not it.

  Adding even more absurdity to a pot I already filled with a heavy helping of it every day, we were also headed west. Another four hours away from home.

  Away from home.

  Meaning we would have to drive that in addition to the five billion we had already tallied in order to get home.

  “Hales?” Danny asked, sounding like he had been trying to get my attention for a while.

  And he probably had. After all, I had been busy thinking about swamp butt.

  “Sorry, Danny!” I told him, shaking my reverie off and trying to get my head back in the game.

  I could have sworn I heard him murmur “fuck it” in the background, and then at regular volume he told me seriously, “I want you to come back to Alabama when you’re done on the west coast. You and Allison drive back in your car, spend the night, and then I’ll pay for a plane ticket for her to fly back to Knoxville so we can have a few days just the two of us.”

  Holy shitballs.

  That sounded effing awesome.

  Before I even got my mouth open to spout my usual bullshit, Danny clarified, “And that was an order, not a request. It’s not open for discussion, negotiation, bartering or anything else you can come up with. And I know you don’t follow orders, but you’re still fucking going to.”

  Um, okay. That was really hot. And really alpha. And Danny was the one saying it to me.

  Was I already dead? Was this heaven?

  No, I was fairly certain he would have been telling me all of the pleasurable things he was going to do to me had it been the ethereal realm of the afterlife.

  “Now, I gotta go,” Danny told me, sounding like he didn’t want to go at all. “Be careful, let me know when you get there, try to stay out of trouble,” he said, paused slightly, and then amended, “well, too much trouble, and don’t stay out there too long before you get your cute, little ass back here.”

  “Are you talking to me?” I asked, knowing my ass was cute but not all that little. “Because my ass is—”

  Danny laughed, but obviously didn’t have the time to let me continue, “Gotta go, baby doll. Talk to you soon.”

  Disconnect.

  But there wasn’t a disconnect between Danny and I. No, that connection, though not entirely resolved, felt as strong as ever.

  It was our second and final full day in Malibu, and I still hadn’t gotten over how pretty some views were.

  The curve of the coast line matched with the blue of the ocean made for the perfect setting for all of the beautifully expensive homes.

  We were eating at Moonshadows, a restaurant with an outdoor deck, and the reds and purples of the sunset were glinting off the water of the ocean.

  Most of my time had been spent on the East coast, so as silly as it sounds, the sight of the sunset over the ocean was something of a novelty.

  Thinking my mom was still beside me, I spouted on and on about the beauty, in a manner much like I always did. My language wasn’t censored and my vocabulary was rich in creativity.

  “I’m so glad we did this. Holy amazeballs, don’t you think this has been a good experience? I mean look at how fucking gorgeous that is.” Allison didn’t respond, but that didn’t stop me from continuing with my rambling. “You think that blue of the ocean is anywhere near the color that KA meant for Tack’s eyes?”

  “You have a way with words,” a coldly distinguished voice said from beside me, surprising me and putting a lid on my one woman show pretty fast.

  Holy crap! That definitely was not Allison. Um, scary.

  Where the hell did she disappear to now?

  I looked into the lust filled, green eyes of the dark haired owner of the voice as I considered my next words.

  That could have been a nice thing to say, but the way he said it was not nice. It was haughty, superior, and judgmental all rolled into one, tightly packaged tomato basil wrap.

  Or maybe the wrap was just plain, but he was all of those things and his face was scrunched up into a sneer.

  Maybe that’s why I replied
with, “Yeah I’m a fucking poet,” and went really heavy on the sarcasm. Or possibly, it was the fact that he still looked confident about getting into my pants despite the sour attitude and insults.

  And that really got my goat.

  When he made a show of rolling his eyes but still leaned well within my personal bubble, I lost all pretense of a subtle brush off and went straight to forthright, my eyes hard and blazing and my body preparing to settle into my ninja fight stance.

  “Um, I’m sorry. Who the fuck do you think you are? Prince fucking William? Because he’s probably the only person alive who could act all haughty and superior and still have a chance at getting in my pants. And he would actually have a reason, seeing as he’s a mothereffing Royal.”

  It’s true, Prince William was a guilty pleasure crush. Kind of like watching reality TV. You would almost sell your soul to experience it, but you also wouldn’t ever tell anyone.

  All set to lay into him some more, I glanced beyond him for a second and saw my mom come around the corner on her way back from the bathroom.

  She looked really tired, so when she was finally within lip reading range I mouthed, “Are you okay?” completely ignoring the arrogant asshole directly in front of me and focusing on her instead.

  She nodded her head and smiled, which seemed to perk her up a little, bring a little color back into her face, and all together make her seem more alive.

  I walked around the guy, not even giving him a second glance when he scoffed at my noticeable indifference.

  When I got to Allison, I grabbed both of her hands in mine and asked one more time, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Squeezing my hands with emphasis, she cocked her head to the side, and murmured, “I’m fine, baby girl. I think the trip is just starting to wear on me. And I think I got a little too much sun today.”

  Knowing the trip was starting to wear on me, I figured that had to be extra true for her. She was still young, vibrant, and the prettiest woman I had ever seen, but that didn’t mean age didn’t exacerbate side effects. It did. As unfair as that may be.

  “I didn’t think that was possible,” I joked in reference to her comment about too much sun. Allison loved the sun and sand like none other.