by T. J. Klune
“Free weights and an underserved sense of accomplishment?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly and walked around his bike until he was standing two feet in front of me. I tried to cover up my traitorous dick with my coffee cup, but I don’t think it worked too well. It wasn’t that big of a coffee cup, even if I didn’t have a huge dong. “Showers that no one uses,” he said in a low voice. “Ever.” He took another step toward me, until I could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Hot, sweaty manly man waves.
“Oh?” I managed to say, trying to force myself to take a step back, but unable to do so.
Biker Vince nodded, eyes glinting. “Except….” He bit his bottom lip, then let it go. “Except for me. I use them.” He took another step, until his chest brushed against mine. He leaned in and I could feel his breath on my face and my lips parted and—
“Kelly Clarkson,” I said.
He stopped, mere inches from my face. “What?” he asked, that adorable look of confusion on his face yet again.
“Don’t need no man,” I whispered. “She told me to be independent.”
Must… resist… bike shorts….
“Who’s Kelly Clarkson?” he asked, leaning back a little and frowning. “Is she a friend of yours? If you want, I can talk to her for you. Put her at ease.”
“Nocturnal emissions are wet dreams!” I shouted at him and then ran around him and back up the stairs. I tripped, but that’s cool. I meant to do it because it added more drama to my exit.
I didn’t look back.
I TRIED to hide from him for the rest of the day. Supply closets are great places to try this out. I got bored after two minutes and started taking an unofficial inventory. We had 262 highlighters. That’s a lot of highlighters. We were running out of envelopes. Someone really should have gotten on that.
Tad came in to the supply closet at some point midmorning, claiming he needed paper clips. I glared at him the whole time, wishing silently that he’d get herpes on his face, right on his perfectly plump lips. I wondered briefly if that was very wrong of me to think, but then he gave me this knowing little smirk and said, “Oh, heyyyyy, Vince,” really loudly when he left the closet, so I didn’t feel so bad about it. As a matter of fact, I also included in my wishes for him to have a burning sensation when he peed. And to get eaten by a shark while being set on fire on the surface of the sun.
Sandy found me sometime in the afternoon. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed at me, shutting the door behind him. “Are you trying to get fired? I’ve been covering for you all day! I’ve had to tell management you have explosive bowel issues from eating Los Betos!”
“Don’t you speak badly about Los Betos,” I said with a scowl. “And why did you have to say it was explosive? Can’t it just be normal?”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “Makes it sound more believable.”
“Yeah, but people are going to be looking at me weird now.”
“As opposed to when they find out you’re hiding in here with Post-it Notes?”
“We need to order more of those. Almost out.”
“Why are you in here?”
“Bike shorts,” I muttered, my brain shorting again at the memory. “Ass in bike shorts.”
His eyes widened slightly. “What? Who?”
Shut up, mouth, shut up, mouth! “Vince.” Dammit!
Sandy grinned the biggest shit-eating grin in the history of the world. “Really?” he said gleefully. “That good?”
“The ass to end all asses,” I said, unable to stop myself. “The Holy Grail of asses. If we lived in a world with fairies and elves, there would be epic quests to go get that ass. I wanted to bite it.” And that’s not something I can unsay. Yeesh.
Sandy started laughing so hard I thought he was going to pop a few blood vessels. He started to choke on his tongue, so I patted his back carefully a few times because I didn’t think my employer would be appreciative of a dead drag queen in the supply closet. That has a tendency to look bad on a company.
Sandy got himself under control (sort of), wiping the tears from his eyes. “You’re going to cave,” he told me, still giving these wet-sounding chuckles. “You’re so going to cave.”
“I am not!” I crossed my arms, trying to look indignant, but probably looking petrified instead.
“Well, you have”—he looked down at his watch—“twenty-eight more hours before I do it for you. But it looks like you’re making some headway.”
“I don’t want to be friends anymore,” I told him seriously.
He sidled up to me, all slinky-like, bringing out some Helena in the roll of his hips. I tried to move away, but he backed me into the shelves against the wall. I was cornered. “Oh, sugar,” he purred, dropping his chin on my shoulder, watching me with those big eyes, curling his hand into my hair. His breath felt hot on my ear. “You should know by now that you’re stuck with me. For life. There’s no way, come hell or high water, that you’re ever going to escape me. I’ve got my claws in you, and I don’t plan on letting go.” He fisted my hair and gave it a little jerk.
I shivered lightly.
Then, when I knew things couldn’t get any worse, things got worse.
The supply closet door opened and Vince walked in. And, of course, I knew immediately how it looked, me pressed up against the shelves, Sandy all but wrapped around me like he was getting ready to eat me whole. If I walked in on something like that, I’d have assumed the two people were about to play a game of Dick Up The Butt.
You could tell it took him a moment to take in what he was seeing. There was a blank look, then surprise, then recognition. Then came that scowl again, just like the one he’d given me yesterday when he’d asked if Sandy was my boyfriend.
Sandy knew exactly what was happening too, and pressed himself against me just a tiny bit closer, his gaze never leaving Vince. He curled his fingers through my hair again, pulling me toward him, giving me a lingering kiss on my cheek. I felt my face grow hot, but I didn’t say a damn thing for fear of squeaking. I don’t know of anyone who thinks squeaking is cool.
After what felt like a decade, Sandy (or was it Helena?) finally uncoiled himself from me with an evil smirk and sauntered his way slowly past Vince, whose scowl had only become more pronounced. He reached up and dragged his finger along Vince’s shoulder, just a light touch, but noticeable. He moved past him and turned and glanced down at his ass, giving a low whistle.
“You weren’t kidding, Paul,” he said in that throaty Helena voice of his that almost drove me up the fucking wall. “Remember, you have until five tomorrow.” Then he moved out the door, closing it behind him.
I could feel Vince’s gaze on me, but I couldn’t look at him for some reason. “What happens at five tomorrow?” he finally said, his voice neutral.
“The end of the Mayan calendar,” I muttered.
“Isn’t that supposed to be when the world ends?”
“Yeah.”
“So the world might end tomorrow?”
Oh good Lord. “It’s always possible.” Because it could. For all I knew, right now, somewhere in space, a group of ragtag oil workers were trying to stop an asteroid from hitting and destroying the earth by drilling deep to place a nuke inside. They could fail. We could all die.
Damn you, Michael Bay!
“And he’s not your boyfriend?” Vince asked, his voice tight.
I was getting whiplash again. “No.”
“Good. Then he won’t be pissed when I do this.”
I was about to ask, Do what? But before I could, that fucker had moved quicker than I had seen anyone move before. One second he was near the door and the next he was standing right in front of me, his fingers going to the back of my head, his thumbs on my cheeks, and then his mouth was on mine. There was a bright flash and a brzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzaaaaaap! as all the electrical charges in my brain went off at once. But then he started to move his lips over mine and my eyes started to flutter closed like I was some kind of g
oddamn teenage girl. And even though my synapses had fired off all at once, I was able to think, I can’t believe this is happening and this is not even a real thing and this. Is. Awesome! Then it became even more awesome when he touched his tongue to my lips and I sighed, opening my mouth without even thinking about it. He was the cause, I was the effect. Action, reaction. And fuck if he wasn’t getting a reaction out of me. He tasted me gently, gripping me tightly, and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I either wanted to bring my hands up to grab him or push him away, I wasn’t too sure.
And then it was over. That first kiss. That tentative moment when there’s a connection like a gold thread stretching between two people, tenuous but hopeful. And it was done. Gone. Snapped. Nothing more than a memory.
Until he leaned in and did it again. And then stopped. And then kissed my forehead. For some reason, that put a lump in my throat.
“I told you,” he whispered against my skin, “I get what I want. You better be ready, Paul.”
And then he stepped away, winked at me, and walked out of the supply closet.
I stood there for a time, muttering to myself. “That’s just… well, I never. I don’t even… who does he think he is? Tasting like coffee and… bastard… this is my work… running out of Post-its and shit. I’ll show you until five o’clock on Wednesday. I don’t need no man. Fucking Kelly Clarkson. She ruins everything. It’s not going to happen, Paul. Not going to happen.”
But.
But….
Even I could not ignore that little teeny-tiny light that seemed to ignite within me like some kind of misplaced hope, a small ray of sunshine on an otherwise stormy day that maybe, just maybe—
“Oh sweat balls,” I told the supply closet, close to panicking.
The highlighters did not reply.
“WHAT the hell am I going to do!” I cried at Wheels that night as we sat on the couch. Man v. Food was on again, but even Adam Richman eating the world’s biggest hot dog didn’t do anything for me (to be fair, it was a repeat; I remember watching that episode for the first time thinking, Yeah, you take it. Take it all. I might be a bit of a perv).
Wheels snorted, cocking his head at me from his spot on my thigh.
“That’s all you have to say about it?” I scolded him. “That bastard kissed me! He wasn’t supposed to do that! I could have gotten fired.”
Wheels barked once, a soft sound followed by a guttural growl. He laid his head back on my thigh, his eyes never leaving me, calling me a fucking idiot in that way he did so well.
“I am not,” I said, sulking slightly. “You don’t understand. Why would he do something like that? Why is he trying to get my hopes up? Is this just some kind of fucking game to him?”
Wheels huffed and tried to roll on his side, away from me, so obviously disgusted with me that he didn’t even want to look at me anymore. His wheels were too bulky for him to be able to lie comfortably on his side on the couch. I undid the harness that kept his little cart attached and removed it carefully. Once this was done, he huffed at me again as if to reiterate his point and rolled over, curling his front two paws up underneath him, his ear stretched out on my thigh.
“Oh, now you’re going to ignore me?” I snapped at him. “What, gonna give me until five o’clock tomorrow to do whatever you say? You’re just a fucking jerk too, you half dog.”
He sighed.
I felt bad. “I didn’t mean that,” I said quietly. “I just don’t think any of this is real.” His bottom wiggled a bit, wagging his imaginary tail. I often wondered if dogs were like human amputees who could still feel ghosts of their limbs long after they’d been amputated. It always made me a little depressed to think about, because I couldn’t stand the thought of Wheels being uncomfortable in any way. “You forgive me?” I asked, scratching his head.
He rolled over and licked my hand just once, then grabbed ahold of it in his teeth. He applied a bit of pressure and shook his head back and forth once each way. Don’t be a fucking idiot, you fucker, he was telling me (in my head, Wheels cursed with the best of them). Fucking man up before your balls fall off and you and the Period Ghost have something in common. I don’t need two wailing chicks in my house, so man the fuck up.
“Dammit,” I whispered.
I hated tomorrow already.
Chapter 6
Performing CPR Is Just One Tongue Away From Making Out
MY ALARM went off, but I was already awake. I hadn’t slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I would remember that kiss, the feel of his hands on my face, the shine in his eyes that made me feel warm even though I was sure it was all a fluke. Even the talking-to Wheels had given me the night before seemed somewhat of a distant memory and my resolve seemed a weaker.
I tried to get determined in the shower.
I tried to get determined in front of the mirror.
I tried (and almost succeeded) to get determined while brushing my teeth.
I tried (and failed spectacularly) to get determined while getting dressed.
I knew that Sandy wasn’t just fucking around when he said he would give me until the end of the day or he’d do it for me. There are times when I think he’s pulling my leg, but this was not one of them. I knew because of the gleam in his eye, the way Helena peeked out from inside. When Helena tells you she’s going to do something, you can be sure as shit that it’s going to get done. Helena doesn’t believe in wasting time by just saying she’ll do things. She likes to grab life (and muscle men) by the balls. And if there was ever a ball-grabbing moment for her, this was it.
I figured I’d have the rest of the day to work up my courage before five o’clock hit, so I had plenty of time. I stared at myself at the bathroom mirror for the sixteenth time. “You’re cool,” I told my reflection. Wheels barked at my feet in what had to be complete agreement. “You’re hip. You’re a badass. You don’t take no prisoners. You’re a go-getter. You see something you want? You go get it. Be suave. Be smooooth. Practice. Practice.” I cocked my eyebrow at my reflection. “Hey, Vince,” I said, dropping my voice a bit. “Let’s go get physical. Oh fuck. Olivia Newton-John? Really, Paul? That’s the first thing you go to? Don’t be such a homo! Try it again.” I smiled at myself, trying to put a sexy curve to it. It looked like I was smelling something awful. “Hey, Vince,” I said again. “You and I should go get some coffee.” I tried to lick my lips seductively as I finished: “I like mine with extra cream.” I ended up looking like I was licking my own face off.
Wheels howled quietly, then barked once, saying, Yooooooooooouuuuuu suck!
“Okay, I can do this. It’s not like I’ve never asked out a guy before. Okay, I haven’t, but I’m not even asking him out. He already asked me out, and even though I said no, I’m allowed to say yes now!” I glared at myself in the mirror. “Don’t be such a pansy,” I growled at Pansy Paul. I gave a sort of regular smile. “Hey, Vince. Fancy seeing you here. Oh goddammit! We work together, for Christ’s sake! Hey, Vince, I decided to take you up on your offer of dinner. You’re welcome. Ew. God, that sounded smarmy.” I sucked in my stomach and puffed out my chest, lowering my voice. “Hey, Vince. Let’s go work out and run on a treadmill for eighteen miles because that’s so much fun to do.” I gasped in air. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. “Do I have a double chin?” I asked Wheels, frowning at my reflection. It didn’t look like I did until I lowered my chin to my chest. Look up, single chin. Look down, double chin. Look up, single chin. Okay, so always look up. Suck in the gut a little. Your ass looks pretty good. Not great, but not bad either. Maybe you should try some lunges. And lunge! And lunge! And—ow, my fucking thigh! Goddammit. Okay bring it on in. Bring it on in. And… pose! Not too shabby, Auster. Not too shabby indeed. Except for the fact that you are already sweating and your face is red and you always look down because you’re shy, so you will always have a motherfucking double chin!
My reflection stared sadly at me, shaking his head. Judgmental bastard.
There wa
s nothing else I could do, I knew. Well, there was; I could have always gotten into my car and driven down to Mexico and changed my name to Esteban Mendez and opened up my own dusty bar in the tiny town of Xonoca. I look pretty good in a poncho, and I could have gotten a big sombrero and grown a sweet mustache and spent my days saying things like Sí and Toda la cerveza se ha acabado, pero puede comerse algunos de estos tacos que hice. ¿Qué le pasó al Sr. Rodríguez? No ha sido el mismo hace que su esposa él dejó. He oído que ella era una puta bastante grande. (Translated: I am all out of beer, but you might have some of these tacos I just made. What is up with Mr. Rodriguez? He hasn’t been the same since his wife left. I heard she was quite the whore).
But I didn’t. I didn’t drive down to Xonoca to open my bar called Taco’s Bell. I decided against that whole life because I had to go to work and face my motherfucking fears. To prove the point to myself, I turned on the stereo again and put in Celine Dion’s cover of “All By Myself” and sat at the stop light, waiting for it to turn green. “Allllll byyyyyyyy myyyyyyyyyysellllllllllllf,” I sang forlornly. “Don’t wanna be, allllllll byyyyy—” And then I realized my windows were down again and the same woman from yesterday was sitting next to me. Except this time, she wasn’t singing along, but rather staring at me with tears streaming down her face, her nose running. She looked positively wrecked.
“I don’t want you to be all by yourself!” she cried at me when she saw me watching her. “You go get yourself a man! You deserve it so much!”
“I’m trying!” I shouted back, above Celine. “The motherfucker kissed me yesterday!” It felt good to share that.
“Where?” she called back.
“In the supply closet!”
“No! I meant where on your body?”
“What?”
“Did! He! Kiss! Your! Penis!” she screamed as she sobbed.
