by Kayt Miller
I march back to his office. The door is closed, of course, so I knock loudly and wait. When he says nothing, I knock again. Still nothing. I jiggle the knob and notice it’s unlocked. I turn it and push it open and what I see will be forever burned in my brain. I’ll never be able to unsee it. Hell, I’d rather see dead people than that!
“Virginia! What the fuck? Get out of my office,” he says scrambling to zip up his pants. “I said, get the fuck out!”
“No. I won’t get out. I need help out here. I’m not doing this alone again.”
“Do not tell me…”
“And, if you don't start pulling your weight around here, I’m calling Don about that!” I say pointing to his crotch. Don is the actual owner of the store. He’s never around. He spends his time and money in sunny, warm locales.
“He’ll never believe you.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Try me.”
“I could just fire you.”
I raise one eyebrow and throw my hip out to the side. “I’ll sue.”
“On what grounds?”
“I saw your dick. An employee should never see her manager’s dick. It’s technically sexual harassment. You made me feel uncomfortable.” I could keep going, but he’s squirming in his seat.
“You just barged into my office.”
“I needed help. You didn’t answer. The door was unlocked.” I don’t need more than that, but I say one more thing. “Maybe I should call the police before I call Don.”
“Jesus. Fine.” He mutters. As I turn to leave I hear it, “Bitch.”
I whip my body back around and glare, “What did you just call me?”
“Huh?” he asks surprised I heard him. “Nothing.”
“That’s it! I’m out of here. I’m calling Don on my way home. You’d better hope he’s having a good time in Puerto Wherever he is so he cuts you some slack.” Asshole.
“No! Stop. I’m sorry.”
“Too late. No one calls me that name and gets away with it.” I look out to the front and see a long line. “You’d better get out there. The line is getting longer.”
I pull off my apron, clock out, and grab my bag. I’m out of here.
Chapter 17
Virginia
I wasn’t kidding; I called Don on my way home from the coffee shop. I’d like to tell you he was shocked and mortified, but he wasn’t. When I told Don that Kip was rubbing one out in the office at six thirty in the morning, he just sighed. I’m not sure what to make of it, and honestly, I’m not sure where I stand at The Coffee Bean. He said he’d take care of it, so I guess I’ve got to let him do what he needs to do and see how it all plays out. After that, I’ll decide my next step.
In the meantime, I’ve got work to do. My next person of interest is Mr. Punk Rocker. To get his attention, I’ll need to make a few changes to my hair and wardrobe. Phase one is to make an appointment at the hairdresser to have a dark temporary dye put in my hair and to add some color like blue to the ends. I think those changes will make me look a little more progressive.
I’ll shop for some darker clothing too; perhaps something that’s ripped and torn. I don’t know much about the Punk Rock scene, but I Google’d it and made a note of the clothing. When Mr. Punk Rocker came to the interview, he was wearing torn black jeans, combat boots, and a super old Ramones concert tee. There were tears and rips all over the thing. So much so I got a glimpse of his chest beneath.
Kelvin Lewis, or Mr. Punk Rocker to you, is tall and thin. Not super skinny but he’s no Baker Stark. He’s over six feet tall with dark eyes, and shaggy, jet black hair. Parts of his hair hit his collar, and other parts stick straight up.
At the time of our one-on-on interview, he looked like he’d gotten out of bed and ran his hand through his hair, which was sort of adorable. He had a piercing on his lip and a gauge in his ear that was probably a half-inch wide. I don’t get those things. What’s the point in stretching your ear out until it’s so big you could put your fist through it? I guess it’s just a popular thing right now, like tattoos. I don’t know if Kelvin has any tattoos. I couldn’t see any, but he may be hiding some.
No matter, I liked Kelvin. He was very blunt during the interview but not rude. He just leaned back with his arm thrown over the back of the chair and told me all about his sex life. He’s had numerous sexual partners, has tried all kinds of positions, likes a little bit of the BDSM but not to the point of weird. I’m not sure what he meant by any of that so I nodded and pretended to agree with him.
As soon as I made it back to the apartment after my drama at work, I change out of my standard uniform of black pants and a white button-down shirt and into sweats and an old tee. With my body in my cozy clothes, I make my way to the kitchen to pour myself some coffee.
When I step into the kitchen, I see Peach. “Oh, hey,” I say as I pretend to search for my favorite coffee mug in the cupboard. It’s a plain blue-gray color on the outside and white on the inside. What makes it funny is the bottom of the inside, which says, “You’ve been poisoned.” It makes me giggle every time I finish a cup of coffee.
“Virginia?”
“Yeah?” I say digging my dirty cup out of the sink. I quickly put a drop of soap into the mug and wash it then rinse it.
“I’m sorry.”
Turning to face her, I say, “I know. I’m sorry too. I overreacted. I’m happy for you, Peach. I hope he’s nice to you.”
“He is. You’ll like him. He’s hilarious and so good in bed. He’s huge and…”
I hold my hand out in that motion that says ‘Stop’. “Not another word, Peach. I don’t want to know about his body parts and his prowess in the sack.” Maybe someday when I know what the hell the big deal is. Maybe.
“Fine. But, let me just tell you. He’s a stallion.”
I nearly spit out my coffee, “A stallion?”
“Definitely. He’s a stud-muffin.”
I crack up laughing again. “Peach, you’re such a dork.”
“I know. So, spill. Why are you home already?”
“Oh, jeez. One word. Kip.”
Peach groans as she sips her coffee. “What’d he do now?”
“The usual. He wouldn’t help me get the place restocked, and when I went in to get him to help with customers, I opened the door, and he has his penis in his hand.”
“Penis? Who says penis? Oh, and ooh, gross.”
I nod. “Well, if you’d seen it, you’d call it that too. It was, or I think it was small. I mean, I’ve seen two penises in person, and I’ve touched one. Both of those were penises. I’ve never met a c-o-c-k. I consider those adult sized.”
I look over and see Peach bent over at the waist. “Oh, my God. You’re so hilarious, Virginia.”
“I wasn’t kidding.”
“I know! That’s why it was so funny.” She walks over to me and wraps her arms around me. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long until you’re introduced to the wonderful world of c-o-c-k.”
“I hope so!” I shout.
“So, did you quit or what?”
“Not yet. I called Don. He said he’d take care of it. I’m just going to wait and see.”
“Good plan. Now, go put on shopping clothes. We’ve got a few hours. We need to find you something for you to wear for your next date. It’s the musician, right?”
“You remembered?” I’m not surprised she remembered. I think she’s almost as invested in this thing as I am.
“Of course. I also remembered you promised to tell me how the date with Mr. Free Spirit crashed and burned.”
I moan into my coffee. “Don’t remind me. It was the worst.”
“Go get dressed. You can tell me on the way to the mall.”
“Fine.” I need to let Peach work her magic on me––and it is magic.
Chapter 18
Virginia
“So, what’s your name?”
“Gin.”
“Gin? Like the drink?”
It’s taken several days,
but I’ve finally got the clothes and the hair that is appealing to my second participant. “Uh, sure.”
“That’s cool.” Mr. Punk Rocker or I guess I should call him Kelvin says standing next to a display of guitars. “So, what can I help you with today?”
“I’m thinking about learning to play an instrument. I’ve always wanted to play something.”
“You wanna play something?” he says as he leans in close to my ear.
Damn, the guy doesn’t waste any time. Peach told me to prepare myself––she said that this guy was going to be much more aggressive than Levi could ever be. I know she’s right. I interviewed him. I know he’s super experienced. It’s just… no matter how prepared I think I am; I’m not sure I’m ready for the Kelvin’s of the world. Courage, damn it! I suck in a lung full of air, push my shoulders back and look directly into his deep blue eyes I say, “Yeah. I wanna play something.” I did it! Yay me!
Chuckling in a deep rumble, Kelvin walks me over to the Ukuleles. “This would be a good instrument for a beginner. You can pretty much learn how to play it by watching YouTube videos.”
I place my hand on my torn black jean covered hip and shift it dramatically, “Well, what if I want personal lessons?”
He steps closer to me, right into my personal space. “You want personal lessons?”
Having no idea where this confidence is coming from I step toward him and rest my hand on his chest, “Yeah,” I whisper. “I want very personal lessons.”
“Nice.” He nods as he raises a hand up to stroke a purple strand of hair that’s resting on my shoulder. “Bring Out Your Dead is playing at Smith’s tonight.”
Smith’s is a local bar that is known for its eclectic live music. They’ll play anything from country to whatever the hell Bring Out Your Dead plays. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Be there. Ten-thirty.”
Ten-thirty? That’s bedtime on a school night, and he’s just going out? I’ll need a nap today to make that happen. “Maybe.”
Chuckling again, Kelvin steps back. “Cool. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“Cool. Now, can I buy one of those Ukulele’s?”
“Sure. What color?”
They come in a range of colors. I want the pink one, but I’m supposed to be punk. Boo. “The black one.”
“Great choice. Be right back. It’ll be fifty bucks plus tax.”
“Cool.” I nod as I start to grab my debit card. I think better of it and grab cash since my actual name is imprinted on the debit card. I’m sort of excited about the Ukulele. The truth is, I’ve always wanted to learn how to play an instrument. I might as well start here.
Kelvin rings me up, and as I’m walking out the door, he yells, “See you tonight, Gin.”
“Sure. Maybe.” I look back giving him a small smile. I don’t want to sound too excited about my date tonight. I’m supposed to be cool.
Walking quickly down the block to Peach’s car, I slide into the passenger seat clutching the Ukulele sized box. “Wait. You bought an instrument?”
“Sure. Why not? I’ve always wanted to learn.”
“So, you’re going to learn now? While we’re living together? In the same apartment?”
I giggle, “Yeah. I’ll be quiet. It’s just a tiny guitar.” I wait for a response, but all I get is a dirty look and a growl. “He wants me to meet him at Smith’s tonight.”
Her mood suddenly lifts as she squeals with delight. “Sweet! You’re getting so good at this flirting shit, Virginia.”
“It’s Gin.”
“Oh, right, Gin. You’ve landed two out of two.”
“I attribute it to the new look.”
“That’s true. Your make up looks amazing; if I do say so myself.”
She’s got me looking very Goth with an extra light shade of foundation and powder, a dramatic cat eye with liquid eyeliner, and some mascara that’s called ‘Better Than Sex’ mascara. I’ll have to take their word for that. I’ve got on a dark purple lipstick that looks surprisingly perfect with the purple strands of hair my hairdresser gave me. She used temporary dye to make my hair a shade darker than my mousey brown then she added purple to several sections. It looks pretty cool.
“Guess what that means?”
“I know. Shopping,” I deadpan.
“Exactly!”
Chapter 19
Virginia
At precisely eleven o’clock, I pull open the door to Smith’s and nearly fall on my ass from the sheer volume of the music. This isn’t my cup of tea. Give me some Meghan Trainor or some Charlie Puth any day. Ooh, or some Shawn Mendes. He’s adorable. This loud, banging screaming stuff hurts my brain.
I make my way into Smith’s through the sea of people all dressed exactly alike. I shouldn’t judge since I’m dressed like everyone else too. Peach talked me into wearing a torn white T-shirt, a leather-like mini skirt, fishnet tights, and some old Doc Martin’s she had in her closet. My makeup is the same as earlier today only more dramatic. I fit in. Yay?
I stop at the bar first. The bartender looks a little intimidating with his neck tattoos, bald head, and scowl, “What do you want?” he asks angrily.
“Uh, um, can I have a margarita?” I love me some margaritas. Strawberry and peach are my favorites. Instead of answering me, he just stares. I take that as a no. “So, what about wine?” More stares. “Fine. I’ll have a beer.”
He doesn’t ask me what kind of beer, he just pours me whatever he’s got coming out of the tap and slams it on the bar top. “Seven bucks,” he growls.
“Seven bucks?” That’s outrageous! But instead of arguing, I pull out a ten and lay it on the counter. He grabs the bill and stuffs it into his pocket and moves on to the next customer. I guess they don’t give change.
“You overpaid, Virginia,” says a deep voice next to me. “Beer is only a buck tonight.”
I turn until I'm face-to-abdomen with him. “Baker? What are you doing here?” How did he recognize me? I look completely different.
Moving in a little closer, Baker has me blocked between the bar and his big body. “I’m here with some of the guys from the team,” he says as he checks me out from head to toe. “What’s with this look? Is it Halloween or something?”
“Ha ha! Very funny. As a matter of face, I’m meeting a date here.”
“A date? You’re on another date? Not the same guy…”
“Yeah, no. Not the same guy. Not that it’s any of your business,” I say defiantly putting a fist on my hip. “Can you please move out of my way? I need to find Mr. P…; I mean Kelvin.”
“Kelvin? Kelvin Lewis?”
Great. He knows Kelvin. “How do you know Kelvin?”
“Everybody knows Kelvin. He’s a douche and a player.”
“He’s nice.” I haven’t seen him be the least bit douchey. “Please step aside, Baker.”
He slowly shifts his body just enough to allow me to escape his cocoon. Weaving in and out of the crowd I’m bumped and jostled so much that by the time I spot Kelvin; my beer has spilled all over my white tee. “Great.” You can see the lace of my white bra thanks to the wetness.
I step up to Kelvin who’s bouncing up and down to the beat of the music in the middle of a group doing the same thing. When he sees me, he smiles. “Gin!” he yells. “You made it!”
I nod as I pretend to drink from my empty cup. He weaves away from his little dance party and makes it to me. Leaning down, he kisses me on the mouth. It wasn’t a quick peck either. Nope, it was tongue and everything. I wasn’t ready for that or the slobbery wetness he left behind.
Discreetly wiping my mouth, I yell, “Great show!”
“It’s fuckin’ awesome!” He throws his arms into the air as he bounces back out to his circle. Waving his arm at me to follow, I do so reluctantly. I’m not a good dancer, and I don’t see myself being any better at bouncing.
When I get close, he grabs my hand and pulls me in front of him wrapping his long arms around me to rest on my sto
mach. I don’t like it. My stomach is not my best feature. It’s my worst feature, I feel. It’s soft and round and, and… I can’t think about what else it is because Kelvin’s hand just slid into the waistband of my pleather skirt. Seriously? I just got here, and he’s already got his hand down my pants, er, skirt?
I freeze where I am and place my hand over his. “No?” he asks confused.
I shake my head. “Not here.”
“Whatever,” he spits pulling away from me. “I’m gettin’ a beer.” I watch him stomp off toward the bar.
“Sure, I’ll take another one,” I mutter to myself as I step off the dance floor. God, what is it with guys? Chivalry is most definitely d-e-a-d.
I wait for almost ten minutes before I give up and go in search of Kelvin. When I find him, he’s making out with another girl. “She’s not punk,” I mutter. She’s the opposite of punk. I’d say she’s way more Malibu Barbie than a punk with her long blonde hair, pink mini skirt, and lace top. “She’s got on four-inch bejeweled stilettos, for God’s sake,” I mutter.
“Another one bites the dust, eh?” Baker says smugly.
“Shut up, Baker.” I throw my hands in the air in the universal ‘I give up’ motion. “Men suck,” I growl.
“We don’t all suck.”
I spin around so fast I make myself dizzy. “You’re the worse of all, Baker Stark.”
“Me?” he says looking hurt. “I’m one of the good guys.”
Scoffing, I turn back and make my way toward the door. There’s no reason to stay in this godforsaken place any longer. I need quiet. I push my way through the throng and out the front door into the chilly autumn night. Stomping down the sidewalk, I realize my feet hurt. The damn Doc Marten’s I’m wearing are a size too small. “The things I do for research.”
As I stroll, I hear a car behind me, but I ignore it. When it doesn’t pass and seems to stay right behind me, I turn and see a black Nissan. “Great! That’s all I need. The kissing bandit.”
