by R. D. Berg
“Yeah, yeah… work your magic so I can snag me a serial killer.”
“Oh, yeah. If you’re into that whole tie me up and cut me into a million pieces thing. Just doesn’t do it for me.” We simultaneously burst out laughing as she begins to apply the cool gooey color to my roots.
“Since I’m a terroristic vamp, I think I can handle a little crazed killer. The only thing I have to do is sink my teeth into him.” I bare my teeth and click them together.
She pauses from applying the goo to my hair. “Oh my God—speaking of cray cray. I forgot to tell you about Levi the sexy Leo.”
“Y’all going out?”
“Oh, hell to the no. Little Levi got all weird on me and asked if he could wash my underwear.”
“Eww, seriously?” Even though she can’t see my face, my nose scrunches up in disgust. “Is that what I have to look forward too?”
She laughs to herself as she resumes her application of the color. “You have to weed out the nuts to get some good ones, I find it rather entertaining.”
My eyes close and I sink into the comfortable chair. There is something about people working on my hair that is relaxing. “What did you tell him?”
“That I have a sharting disorder, and he would have to wash shit stains from my panties.”
My eyes pop open, as I nearly choke on a giggle. “What the hell? What did he say?”
“Nothing, he unmatched me a few seconds later.”
“Well, serves him right, nasty ass.”
“Anyway, Lundy you’ll be fine. Especially with this killer hair you’re about to unleash on these men.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as Harlow continues her miracle work. For some reason talking about Swipe Right sends my thoughts to Maverick and how this app will serve as the perfect weapon against him. Am I being a little childish? Maybe, but hey, he started it.
Lying back onto my bed in nothing but my towel, I try to focus on when things changed for us…
It was the summer before I started sophomore year of high school and she was about to be a freshman. My sister and I came back from our family vacation, and the Lundyn we left behind is not who greeted us when we returned home.
This Lundyn had the same doe-like blue eyes that lit up as bright as the first day of summer, but she didn't look the same. Her beauty slammed into me like a speeding car running off of a bridge— fast and unexpected.
When did those curves show up? My dick stirred, and my chest ached. This feeling had to resolve itself because this was not okay. You don’t feel this way about your little sister’s best friend. You. Just. Don’t.
Something changed in her eyes that day too. I saw it in the way she glared at me with pursed lips, and her icy blue eyes were filled with distaste. I don't know what I could've done to deserve it, but seeing her had wreaked havoc on my mind and body, and her hate was welcomed with open arms.
Her hair is different than it was this morning. Teal and black mixed together— like oil floating on top of the ocean— framing her face.
It fits. Just like her to be toxic.
And now, after I just washed clean, she has become toxic to my mind as well.
Now, that pinching feeling is back with a vengeance. I don’t think I ever forgot the feeling, but over the last year, it finally dulled to a gentle tug when her name was mentioned. Lundyn smiles back at me from the dating app, and it pisses me off. There she is, looking so perfect with a slight side tilt of her head, those clear blue eyes bright and hopeful staring into the camera lens that is aimed at her from a soft angle.
What kind of douchebags is she allowing in her life? All this app is for is hooking up. Is she meeting with guys like Finn? My pulse quickens with that thought, and I jerk upright. Don’t get me wrong, Finn’s my best friend, but he’s a man-whore. It’d take a strong woman to make that man fall in love. More power to her.
ME: Lundyn Spence is on Swipe Right.
Goose: Oh, shit. You gonna match with her? That’d have to make for some hot sex… think about it…
Oh, I’ve thought about it. As a matter of fact, about ten minutes ago while I was in the shower.
ME: Sister’s best friend, man. Plus, we kinda hate each other.
Goose: And there’s that. Hate translates to freak in the sheets, just so you’re aware.
ME: Never gonna happen.
Goose: You could, Strong Arm her… with your dick.
ME: Good one.
Goose: Wanna meet up at The Brew Crew?
ME: Be there in thirty.
Standing up, I remove the towel from my waist and toss on a pair of black boxer briefs, worn blue jeans and a fitted faded red tee. The Brew Crew is a place one of our buddies opened shortly after high school, and where I worked until I decided to get my shit together and finally become a cop. It’s also what we call our group of friends.
Don’t even ask what you have to do to become initiated.
I immediately spot Finn sitting at the bar talking with Mitch—the owner and bartender— when I walk in. With a head tilt, they acknowledge me, and I slide up next to my best friend.
“Shiner?” Mitch fills the frosted mug full of the dark amber goodness before sliding it over to me.
“Thanks, man.”
“How’s it feel to be two of Lansing’s finest?” Finn and I completed our training officially about six months ago, but Mitch always likes to give us shit for becoming cops, and it’s for a good reason. After those crazy house party years of high school and giving all the authority figures in our life a run for their money, Finn and I majored in Criminal Justice. He wanted to go into the police force. I, however, was leaning more toward a Probation Officer. On a whim, I applied to the PD with Finn and was accepted; now I can’t imagine doing anything else.
“It’s hard, you know, to be two of the finest men in Lansing protecting the innocent.” I grin, before allowing the ice cold brew to slide past my lips.
“I give you shit, but I’m still proud of you both. Never would I have thought it, but proud none-the-less.” He swipes a rag over the bar top.
“You get the cops called one too many times for house parties and allegedly tipping cows and freeing chickens and all of a sudden, you can’t be trusted anymore,” Finn chuckles while throwing his hands in the air.
“Allegedly,” I emphasize.
“Of course, there’s no other way,” Finn adds.
Mitch shakes his head with a smile, “I do believe you boys always had accomplices.” He tosses the rag over his shoulder, leaning his hand down on the bar with mischief in his eyes, “Where are those crazy girls? I heard Lundyn was back in town.” Did I mention Mitch dated Lundyn? It was my junior year, her sophomore, and immediately after everything had changed between us. “Bound to get interesting around here again. I’ll never forget the end of Junior year.” He laughs and slams his palm against the bar. “You two battling it out in the middle of the hallway.”
“Oh, shit, yeah!” Finn grins and looks at me. I’m not finding the memory as humorous they are. “Oh, dude, you’re not still butthurt are you?”
I set my beer down over the coaster and raise my brows, “She fucking got us both expelled for three days with that stunt— and I was innocent!”
“Locking her in the janitor’s closet for three class periods and not expecting her to find a way out is not innocent.” Mitch continues, “She came out on a mission and blew you up, man.” He shakes his head at me.
My fingers grasp my neck, “I swear I can still feel her squeezing.” Lundyn, like an animal stalking its prey, waited for me to come out of our fourth period class, and then clung to me, like a rabid Koala bear— cute and deadly. She screamed accusations of me locking her away and damn near choked the life out of me. “She went down with me, so it was worth it.” I shrug, and besides, she shouldn’t have started the whole thing by telling Mrs. Watters that I was cheating on my history homework. I wasn’t, I was just flirting with Tiffany, not her test answers.
Finn
and I clink our glasses together. “Good times, man. Remember that time—” but I can’t finish my sentence because my oxygen seems to be stuck between my lungs and voice box. The glass touches my lips, but no beer flows.
Finn turns to see what’s in my line of sight. “If that douche doesn’t scream ‘My dad’s a lawyer,’ his shorts sure do,” Finn jokes.
Some dude who shouts money is sitting across the bar with Lundyn. They appear to be on a date. Why would someone like him, bring her to a place like this? Doesn’t he have a rule of suit and tie only dining?
“She must be getting lucky on Swipe Right.” I try to hide the grinding of my teeth, but I’m sure Finn heard it.
The guy says something douchey to make her smile, and then she flips her hair over her left shoulder. When she does—bam! Our energy connects and reacts like a magnet— attracted to each other, she sees me and is unable to look away.
“Damn, speaking of the devil herself, is that Lundyn? She’s looking good.” Mitch’s voice filters in through and breaks our staring contest, bringing me back to reality.
Glancing back toward Mitch I say, “You have the devil part right.” And take another sip from the cold brew in my hand allowing the cool liquid to travel down my throat, hoping it will cool the flame she’s lit inside me. What I need to figure out is if it’s being fueled by hate or lust… or fuck – jealousy.
Bewilderment. That’s the best word to describe Maverick Strong’s face right now. Even though I’m looking down at the menu with a triumphant smile, I can feel his glacial stare boring a hole into my forehead. I flip my hair over my shoulder, the strands tickling my bare back, that’s exposed from the low back dip of my blouse. Inhaling deeply, I take in the wonderful aroma that makes up The Brew Crew; beer, barbecue and grease. A fusion of smells that always reminds me of home.
“So what’s good here Lundyn?” Eric, my Swipe Right date asks from across the table as he scans the greasy paper menu.
“There hasn’t been anything on this menu that I have tried and haven’t liked, but I would definitely recommend the sliced brisket and chips basket.” He immediately sets down his menu and gently slaps his hands against the wood table.
“Then that’s what I am going to have.” His face lights up and the smile that was so cute on the app is so much cuter in person. I return his smile, clasping my hands together as I rest them gently on the table.
Eric is cute in an old school, Brad Pitt kind of way. You know, Legends of the Fall Brad Pitt. He is also a man who has an innate talent of talking non-stop. From what I have gathered in the twenty minutes we’ve been together, he just moved to Milborn, Texas— a major city outside of Lansing— for a paid internship in a prestigious law firm. Originally from New Hampshire, he grew up playing rugby and lacrosse. He graduated from Penn State Summa Cum Laude and attended the most sought after Law School. After this internship, he’s going to partner with his dad at his law firm. They are going to rebrand the firm and name it ‘Urle and Urle, Attorneys at Law.’ He laughed as he told me this, because to him it was the funniest thing on earth— I thought it was dumb. Eric Urle Attorney at Law also wants to settle down, but only after he finishes his internship and gets three years under his belt at Urle and Urle. He would prefer to have two kids, hopefully, a boy and girl so that there isn’t a third attempt for either a girl or boy. I feel pity for these children as they would have to bear the names of Eunice (after his grandmother), and Ulysses (because somewhere in his family lineage he’s related to Ulysses S. Grant).
Yes, I’ve learned a mouthful, and must I remind you this was in the first twenty minutes of our meeting. It took every ounce of self-control not to roll my eyes, or make gagging noises as his verbal diarrhea flowed freely from his mouth. After learning of his children preferences, I wanted to ask him to turn the car around and drive to Harlow’s shop so I could punch her in the face for recommending this stupid app.
A perky waitress wearing the usual Brew Crew attire— a too tight button up white shirt and a pair of jean shorts that could pass as panties— smiles sweetly at us as she approaches the table. She blows a bubble covering up most of her face until she pops it with her bright orange nails. Our mouths hang open as we watch her gather the excess gum with her tongue until it’s all collected her mouth. She giggles, giving us a fun shrug. “What can I get you guys?”
Eric clears his throat and speaks first, total shocker there. “Well…” For a moment I think he is drawn to our waitress’s boobs because he’s squinting at them, but then I see he’s just reading her name tag. “Lizzie, my gorgeous date has recommended I get the brisket and chips basket, so we will go with two of those and two cokes.” He smiles sweetly at her, her eyes go soft, and somehow she’s emerged herself in Eric’s web. Oh no, poor girl, abort your mission, it’s all a façade; that smile is just a precursor to useless life stories.
“Umm actually, I’d like to have the fried catfish basket with fries instead of chips,” I tell Lizzie with a clipped tone. The nerve of him, who the hell told him to order for me. I try and hide my frustration as Lizzie scribbles out Eric’s request and rewrites my preferred order. Out of my peripheral vision, I notice Maverick has full on turned around and is staring directly at me. He isn’t even trying to hide it as he takes a long drag of his beer. Well, if you want a show Maverick Strong, you’re about to get one.
Casually, I reach across the table and grab one of Eric’s unusually small hands. Mavericks face turns a crimson red, and although the restaurant is buzzing, I can still hear the clank of his glass as he slams it down on the bar.
Eric shuffles in his seat a bit and squeezes my hands. He’s a good 6’2”, so they do seem a bit disproportioned. I laugh out thinking about what Harlow would say, ‘You know small hands indicates a small package.’
“What’s the joke I want to know?” Eric asks bemused as he starts to rub small circles with the pads of his thumbs on the top of my hands. There’s a certain urge to jerk them out of his grasp as his warm, soft, sweat-laced palms engulf mine.
“Oh, umm, nothing, just thinking of something my friend Harlow said.” I casually slide my saturated hands from his, wiping the excess moisture onto my jeans.
I praise the silence Gods as an awkward silence settles between us. My heart plunges with dread as I see his mouth begin to open. Karma must be on my side because Lizzie drops off our drinks. He grabs his rubbing the condensation off with a napkin first before turning his attention to me. Trying not to engage in needless chatter I immediately take a long sip.
“Wow someone’s a little thirsty. I don’t usually drink Coke since I found it takes acid off of a car battery. I discovered that little trick when I was on my way to lacrosse camp in high school. Me and a buddy…”
To the passerby, it would look as if I am fully engaged in what Eric is saying. But in reality I haven’t heard a word he said after “buddy.” I just nod from time to time and offer an “Oh really,” or “Yeah,” and smile sweetly. Inside I am screaming, “Shut the fuck up!”
Needing a break from the vocabulary volcano erupting from Eric’s mouth, I excuse myself and go to the restroom.
Once there, I spend one minute lightly banging my head against the stall door and then exit to spend another two staring at myself absentmindedly in the dirty mirror as I blow my cheeks out like a blowfish. I dare not text Harlow about how bad this date is going because she would just tell me I am a Ridiculous Rhonda or some shit. Before I exit, I grab a paper towel and use it to open the door. I thrust my foot out when it swings open to hold it there while I discard the paper towel. The boisterous restaurant grows louder as I emerge down the dimly lit narrow hallway until I am halted by a wall of steel. A wall of steel that smells of vanilla with just a hint of pine.
“Well, if you wanted a hug Lundy, all you had to do was ask,” Maverick says as he smiles down at me with his perfect teeth, and equally perfect twinkling set of hazel eyes. He blows out a small breath, and I catch a whiff of the beer he’s been drinking.
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“Ugggh Maverick, don’t you have someone to arrest or something?” My eyes shift attempting not to get sucked into his orbit. It’s like he’s a male Medusa, if I look I might turn to stone.
“My day off, and why would I want to leave the show you’re putting on for us?” His brows bounce twice.
My eyes roll to the ceiling as I cross my arms over my chest. “What show Maverick?” I breathe out unamused by his banter.
He jerks his head back and to the left. “That disastrous date you’re on with that pussy sitting out there.” Apparently, this statement tickles his small mind, and he chuckles to himself. He has a point, but I would never agree with him.
“He’s not a pussy, Maverick. You might actually learn some manners from him.”
“HA! Lundy, now I’m no gynecologist, but I know a pussy when I see one.” His nose wrinkles causing his mouth resembles a bunny as he begins to sniff the air.
“What are you doing?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Yep, I smell his pussy-ness from here.” A shit eating grin gradually appears on his face.
I tuck my lips tuck between my teeth as my head shakes with disappointment at Maverick. Seriously, this dude isn’t right in the head, and I if I stay around his crazy much longer I might become equally insane. “I’m done with this conversation.” I take one step to the right, and Maverick moves to block me.
“What the fuck, Maverick? Move.” I step to the left, and he blocks me again. This time stretching his hands out to grab the door frame, displaying his solid mass of human perfection. The t-shirt he is wearing hugs every tensed, perfectly sculpted muscle for dear life.
He waggles his brows and his mouth pulled into an amused smile. “Nope, as an officer of the law I cannot allow you to subject yourself to any more of that guy’s pussy-ness today.”
“You’re incorrigible you know that?”
He shrugs, his face falling unreadable as he contemplates his answer. “I’ve been called worse.”
