by BT Urruela
“I can imagine. If I ever see that prick…” Xander’s voice trails off and he cracks his knuckles. His eyes are intense and lost in the row of top shelf liquor.
“Don’t worry, I think he got the hint. I didn’t see it, but I heard my dad didn’t go easy on him. Shit travels fast in small towns.”
“Yeah, it was the same where I’m from.”
“Cody and your buddy from the other night run together,” I say, motioning my head to the spot where Benji Mathis was at the mercy of Xander just a couple nights ago. “They’re really doing their best to turn this town to shit. They deal meth and some other stuff with this guy, Russ. Real pieces of work…all of them. ”
Brandi approaches with two more shots and sets them in front of Xander and me.
“Tell me you’re not talking about that horrible ex of yours. Have some shots. Lighten things up a bit.”
“I’m okay with how the conversation’s going,” Xander says, a smart-ass smirk on his face. He raises his shot glass in the air and nods to Brandi before taking it.
“Okay, your turn. Don’t you go thinking I’ve forgotten about this game of ours.” I smile and poke him in his side.
“Okay, okay, let me think…I’ve got major Fireball brain right now.” He rubs his temples and closes his eyes. “Oh, I have one… has your brother always been such a dick?” He laughs, as do I, and then he puts up a hand. “Completely kidding. He seems… uh… nice.”
“Hey, you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me. I know full well how much of a dick my brother is. But he’s been through a lot in his life. He was in foster care himself awhile. Went through a few families and didn’t have the best experiences. My parents couldn’t conceive after me, but they desperately wanted another kid so they adopted Caleb when he was seven.” My gaze drops to the floor. “Probably sharing a bit too much there. I drink and the word vomit commences.”
“No, you’re totally fine. I like it. I feel like shit for being judgmental though. I would’ve never guessed he was adopted. He looks just like you guys.”
“Don’t feel bad. How are you supposed to know? Anyway, I have my next question for you, mister.”
Xander clears his throat dramatically. “I think you mean last question, lady. And that’s disregarding your three-part first question,” he says with a laugh.
“Ugh, fine! Last question.”
“Shoot.”
“Friends or The Office.”
“That’s a terrible question. How the hell am I supposed to choose?” He stands and tips the stool against the bar.
“You’re going to have to,” I tell him.
“No, what I have to do is piss. You’ll have to wait for your answer.” He winks and makes his way to the bathroom.
Upon exiting the bathroom, I notice another guy—presumably Ethan—has taken up a stool right next to Paige.
Before taking my seat, I extend a hand to him. “I guess you’re Ethan. How’re you doing? I’m Xander.”
He takes my hand, limp wristed, and then quickly lets go. “Yeah, I know who you are. Brandi can’t stop frickin’ talking about you.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You’d think you piss gold or something.”
“Damn Ethan, you on your period, buddy?” Paige says with a playful laugh. He’s not as impressed as I am by her joke.
“No, no, just giving Xander a bit of shit. A little rookie hazing, no?” He looks at me with an odd smile and I nod, though I have no idea what he’s talking about. “How have the Watsons been treating you, my man?” Ethan asks, pushing his oversized glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He has mechanic’s hands, oiled and rough, and they fidget constantly. That being said, this guy didn’t look like any mechanic I’ve ever met.
“I have no complaints,” I say. “Mrs. Watson is quite the cook. She’s been fattening me up.”
“Yes, yes she is quite the cook. I’ve spent a lot of time at that house. I’ve known the Watsons since I was just a kid. I think Teresa would likely adopt me if she could!” He looks to Paige excitedly, almost manically. “Right?”
“Well, she sure does miss you helping out in the kitchen. She doesn’t get much help from her own kids,” Paige says, forcing an awkward laugh and then she calls for Brandi to bring more drinks for the two of us.
Ethan scoffs and snaps his fingers at Brandi, indicating he wants another drink as well, though his is still three-quarters full. She ignores him. Rolling his eyes, he huffs and turns to face me. “I suppose you’ll be at the wine festival this weekend?”
“Yeah, everyone keeps talking about it. I guess I’d better,”
“Yes, you’d better.” He smiles again, his crooked teeth peeking from behind chapped lips. This guy is into Paige, and he makes no attempt at hiding it. It’s almost amusing the way he interacts with her. At first I thought maybe he was gay, but the way he looks at her…I don’t know. It’s creepy.
“By the way, Paige,” I say, trying my best to shut this dude up. He’s already starting to annoy me. “I’ve decided it’s a question that cannot be answered.”
She shakes her head as I take a new beer from Brandi and lift it in appreciation. Ethan looks to me, confused.
“I said you have to answer it.” She smirks. “Rules are rules.”
“Answer what?” Ethan asks.
“Better show, The Office or Friends,” Paige says, her eyes still on me. “So, Xander?”
“That’s easy, they both suck,” Ethan interjects.
“That’s not an option, Ethan. Xander, go.”
“If you’re holding a gun to my head, then… I guess… The Office.” Paige throws two thumbs down and boos.
“This is a shit conversation.” Ethan’s haughty voice is grating on my nerves.
“So let’s talk about you then, Ethan. What do you do?” I ask before chugging my beer. I tried to mask my annoyance, but it’s not something I’m very good at. Especially after I’ve been drinking. The rate at which it’s going down now is scary. We are about to enter Xander drunk territory, as my buddies who serve would say, which never turns out very well for me.
“I’m a mechanic at my dad’s shop. Not my dream job, but it pays,” Ethan says.
“So what is your dream job?”
“Hell if I know. Not a goddamn mechanic, that’s for sure.”
“Hey, I know the feeling. I’ve done everything from electrical installation to construction and roofing. Now, I’m picking grapes. God knows where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing a year from now, but none of it’s ever what I imagined I’d be doing.” I look at the empty shot glasses. “Hey Ethan, you want a shot? Paige, I don’t know about you. You gotta drive.”
“Wait, wait, wait. I want one!” Paige whines. “I’m sure as shit not driving after all the shots I’ve had. Are you crazy? We can just have Brandi take us home after the bar closes. She spends the night pretty much every night anyways.”
“Okay, cool, and Ethan?” I ask.
“Yeah, I guess, but what are you having? I don’t do the strong stuff.”
“Nah, we’re just doing Fireball.”
“That is the strong stuff.” I try my best not to laugh, but it tears from my mouth regardless. Paige starts laughing too, and Ethan’s face turns bright red.
“Fuck you guys,” he says, flicking his hand our way effeminately.
My laughing stops abruptly. Any other man saying those words to me would’ve been beaten senseless. I stow the feeling away, not wanting to ruin the evening. Instead, I motion for Brandi to grab three more. She starts to fill four. So much for our DD.
She brings the shots, balancing them against each other as only a seasoned bartender can, and sets them in front of us. Ethan grimaces when he lifts his. I want to laugh again, but I refrain. It takes everything I have not to ridicule him.
“Cheers!” I say and we take the shots. Three of them stay down. One comes right back up in a trail leading to the bathroom, our laughter a soundtrack behind Ethan as he scurries away. Paige and I laugh for a go
od five minutes as Brandi bitches about how she “won’t be cleaning that shit up”.
Ethan comes back with a stick up his ass and barely speaks I’m too drunk to give a shit, though I can promise you I wouldn’t care stone cold sober either. This dude is a fucking creep. And right now, he’s lucky he’s Paige’s friend.
Ethan leaves soon after his Smirnoff Ice is finished with a hug for Paige and a cold shoulder for me. We spend an hour or so more at the bar watching ESPN, talking sports and dropping a few more shots. After Brandi gets off work, Paige and I settle in the back of her Honda Civic.
By the time the engine starts, she and I are already leaning together in a drunken heap, eyes closed and borderline passed out. I can hear Brandi huffing in the front seat, complaining about having to drive or something like that. I don’t really care though. Right now, the smell of Paige’s hair has my drunken senses in overdrive. Her soft hair falls onto my chest, her head resting against my shoulder. I prop my head against hers, and with each bump, my chin brushes against her forehead. Each time, she giggles and swats at her face before nuzzling back in.
The ride could’ve lasted forever and it would’ve been alright with me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. I feel the car come to a stop and open my eyes. Paige does too. Before we can shake the sleepiness off, Brandi has one leg already out the door.
“I’ll see you in your room, Paige. Hurry your ass up. I’m tired.” Her look of annoyance passes from Paige to me, but then it softens a bit. “I’ll see you in the morning, Xander.”
She slams the car door and makes her way into the house. Paige’s eyes follow her all the way to the door, then she slowly turns to me, a look of confusion on her face. Out of nowhere, she bursts into laughter, holding two hands to her mouth. I start laughing too—the drunken kind of laugh brought on by just about anything…and everything. Paige puts a hand to my chest, trying to catch her breath. She squeezes and it sends sensations to places they shouldn’t go. She squeezes my chest again.
“Jesus, how often do you work out? Like every day?”
“I try to. I actually was going to ask you where I can go around here.”
“The Truman Valley Community Complex is your only option. Seriously though, these pecs.”
“Yours aren’t so bad either.” I give her the cheesiest wink in the entire world. I can feel it. How fucking corny am I?
She removes her hand, but she still has a smile stretched from ear to ear. “Xander Evans, I want to know you.”
“You already know more than most… and it’s only been two days,” I say. It’s the truth, after all.
“I wanna know more.”
“Why?” Fuck, I really don’t even care why. I want to know more about this girl too.
“I don’t know.” She slips her bottom lip into her mouth, nervously darting her eyes around the driveway.
“You have to have a valid reason before I share anything.” I smile my biggest smile, trying my best to keep her right where she is, but as she yawns, I know our night is coming to an end.
Paige opens her door and gets out, and I reluctantly follow. She comes around to my side, just a foot in front of me, and pokes a finger into the same pec she was squeezing just moments ago.
“I don’t need a reason. You, sir, will tell me because I’m adorable and because I asked nicely.” She blows me a kiss, and turning on her heel, she makes her way to the house. I can’t help but watch her as she walks away, her beautiful ass firm and teasing me from beneath short jean shorts. I wish she’d turn around, no matter the trouble it would inevitably cause.
She doesn’t.
I stagger to the guesthouse, and as I reach the top of the steps, I stop in my tracks. A rustling in the vineyard draws my focus. Shaded by the darkness, it looks as if there’s a figure among the rows of grapevines, the moon reflecting off what could be eyes…maybe glasses?
Hell, I’m drunk off my ass. I rub a stiff palm across each eye and look again.
Nothing… Damn Fireball.
I manage to avoid Paige for the better part of the week. I get the feeling she’s avoiding me too. We both know nothing good can come of this. I would never disrespect this man in his own home, and I wouldn’t ruin the good thing I have here—or the good money I’m making, for that matter.
But damn. When I’m around her, she’s got every last bit of my attention.
I guess it helps that Jack keeps me in the vineyard most of the day. It’s not terribly difficult work, but they are some long hours under the sun. I enjoy his company though. He can bullshit with the best of them, and if there’s one thing you learn to appreciate in a man after hanging out with military guys, it’s a good bullshitter.
He pours a bottle of water over his head, holding out another for me.
“No, I’m fine, Jack.”
“I think I’m just getting old,” he says, grunting loudly and tossing the water bottle into a wheelbarrow.
“Pretty sure you’ve been old for quite some time.” I keep my face as straight as I can, but it’s moments from cracking. He takes the sweat soaked rag from around his neck and flings it directly at my head. I dodge it easily and pick it up, preparing my own throw.
“Dude, you even throw like an old man!” I toss it at him lightly, and it falls to his feet.
“Don’t let the diminishing arm speed fool you, kid. I still got old man strength, which means I can still kick your ass.” He sticks a forefinger into my chest and brushes past me, laughing his ass off.
“I’m not so sure that whole old man strength thing is real, Jack. The science just doesn’t add up.” He laughs heartily again, making his way toward the house. Before he enters, he turns back around. “C’mon in for a second. I need you to run an errand for me.”
I follow him inside, where he grabs his wallet from the counter and pulls out two twenties.
“The ladies have made their demands. Can you stop over at Whittaker’s”—he grabs a small piece of paper from the counter and hands it to me—“and pick up some lunch? I guess they’re tied up.”
“No problem at all.” I take the cash from him and start out the door.
“Grab something for yourself too. I don’t need any change.”
I look back, a slanted smile on my face.
“Who said you were getting any change back?” I wink at him and he laughs, brushing me off with his hand.
“Get the fuck outta here, you turd.”
“Turd? You’re really showing your age there, old man. Nobody says turd anymore.”
Watson Metalworks takes up an entire block in downtown Truman Valley. The huge welded metal sign sets itself drastically apart from the rest of Main Street in a way that draws the eye almost immediately. Large windows cover the entire face of the building, and inside I can see it’s broken up into two sections: a display room with different metal sculptures lining shelves on the walls and in display cases scattered throughout the room. In the other, larger room, I can see Teresa busy at work on a sculpture. It looks like a dragon, or maybe a bird, I can’t quite tell.
I open the front door and enter the display area. A delicate tone sounds as the door swings shut behind me. Almost immediately, Paige’s head pops around the corner. Her eyes go wide when she sees the greasy bag in my hand.
“Yesssssss!” she says. “Meatball sub!”
She walks around the corner, the Watson Metalworks polo delicately clinging to her beautiful curves. I laugh as she skips toward me and snatches the bag from my hands.
“Took you long enough, stranger. Hmmph!” She turns, swinging her hair enough to whip me in the face with it, and she prances to the studio
I follow close behind, almost as if I’m on a leash. Shame on you, Xander.
“Xander!” Teresa calls as she sees me. “I was about to send out a search party.”
“Sorry, ma’am, Brandi’s working.” Both Teresa and Paige look at each other, knowing full well what I mean.
“Oh well, then I’m shocked you made it at all!” She g
rabs the bag from Paige and digs out her Caesar salad in a hurry. “And didn’t I talk to you about calling me ‘ma’am’ already?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t believe you did.” I crack a smile.
“Well, it’s Teresa from now on, you got it? We’re gonna break you of that eventually.” She squints her eyes, attempting to look tough.
“Yes, ma’am.” This time it’s completely out of habit, but they burst out laughing anyway.
“You’re a mischievous one!” Teresa starts to dig into her salad, and I notice Paige is already halfway through her meatball sub. She hasn’t even bothered sitting down.
“Did you get anything for yourself?” Teresa asks.
“Yeah, but I was starving so I ate my burger while Brandi talked my ear off.”
I take a seat while inspecting the different projects in front of me. “So what are you guys working on?”
“Well, the real question is, what are we not working on?” Teresa says. Her eyes scan the dozen or so metal sculptures scattered on the table, eventually landing on the one right in front of her. “At some point this is going to be Falkor from the—”
“No way!” I cut her off without thinking. “The NeverEnding Story. I love that movie.”
“Me too!” Paige is wide-eyed, presumably excited I’ve seen the movie too. “I tell her every day that I’m stealing this thing before it ever gets to a customer. That, or she’s making one for me after this.”
“I don’t think I ever want to attempt this again. Absolutely the hardest project I’ve ever done, and I regret ever agreeing to do it.”
“Well, I’m blown away by the ingenuity it would take to do something like this.”
Teresa turns red, looking to Paige and then back to me. “Can I keep you?” she says, and Paige giggles.
“That can be arranged,” I say with a smile. “So how did you even get started with this?”
“Well, my daddy was a welder. About the only good memory I have with him was learning the trade.” Teresa spoke so freely, without altering her tone or expression. I respect a person’s ability to be so open. It makes me want to be open too.
