Trashed: An Eastside Brewery Novel

by Mia Hopkins

  “Wait. What?”

  Sal, Vanessa, and Carmen made a date for a meeting and didn’t tell me? I was the one who brought them together, and they didn’t think it was important for me to know about the meeting? I’m annoyed. It’s an ugly feeling.

  “So did you set up an appointment?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Tomorrow. Sal and Vanessa are coming to my house.”

  “Why didn’t you guys call me?”

  It’s a dumb thing to ask and both of us know it. Carmen looks at me with a puzzled expression on her face. “You know, if it goes through, the contract would be between your brother, his girlfriend, and my parents, right?”

  We get closer to the front of the line. My emotions sag again, like helium balloons losing their air. A part of me wishes I had no feelings at all—especially today. Sal and Vanessa left me out of their meeting, and I feel like an outsider.

  Carmen is studying my face. “For what it’s worth,” she says, “all I did was set up the meeting. I’m not part of the decision-making process either. My parents send me to take care of their business but when there are any real choices to be made, they take it right out of my hands. Like I can’t be trusted. Like I didn’t run one of the best kitchens in the entire city for three years. That means nothing to them.”

  Before I can say anything, it’s our turn to order. When I ask for a plain French dip, Carmen looks at me funny and says, “I’ll have two beef double dips with Swiss cheese. Side of coleslaw. Side of macaroni salad. A Coke, and a slice of blueberry pie.”

  The server in her old-fashioned uniform makes the sandwiches and packs them up to go. I’m mesmerized by her hands flying over the food as she prepares it for us. I hand over my portion of the bill and Carmen pays for the rest with her debit card.

  We get back in the car and find a quiet side street in an industrial area of downtown. All the warehouses here are closed, so the sidewalks are empty. Carmen turns off the engine and turns up the radio again.

  We get our grub on. That first bite is so good I chew it slowly to make the sandwich last.

  “Good?” she asks.

  “Better than sex,” I say. I pause. “I mean, sex with other women. Not sex with you. It’s not better than that. Not that I…have sex with other women. I mean, I have, but not recently.”

  She rolls her eyes again.

  Time to change the subject again. “So. Chefs like this stuff?”

  “I’m a chef, and I love it.” She examines her French dip like a jeweler looking at a diamond. “A good sandwich is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

  I smile. “Tell me something. Why did you want to go off and become a chef anyway? Your parents had a business for you. Why didn’t you just do that? Why didn’t you just run the bakery?”

  “I worked with them. I lived with them. I’m an only child, so they put a lot of pressure on me to take over. I love my parents, but I just got restless. I wanted to see the world, to see what else was possible.” She takes a bite of her double dip. “I used to watch the Food Network when I was a kid. I’ve always wanted to be a chef, to have my own place.”

  This makes me smile. “Your own restaurant? Really? Would it be a fancy one, like Giacomo’s?”

  She grins back. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Mexican comfort food,” she says. “I love to make family-style stuff. Stews, big pots that bubble away on the stove at home, smelling good.” Her eyes get this happy, faraway look. “And after all this time, even though I was in denial, I still love to bake bread. Everything about it. The kneading, the rise, the magic. I love the way bread dough feels in my hands.” She takes a drink of Coke and rubs her tummy. “You know what? I ordered too much. Can you finish this for me?” She offers me her sandwich. She’s only taken two bites.

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  I take it and dig in. “Have you told your parents about this? Your dream to have your own restaurant?”

  She shrugs. “When I was a kid. They didn’t take me seriously.”

  “But how about now?”

  “I don’t really bring it up. They have a lot on their minds right now.” She looks away from me, as if I’ve gotten too close to a sore spot. I watch as she takes a bite of her coleslaw and pushes the container across the dashboard to me. “Oh man. My eyes are too big for my stomach. Can you finish this too? I don’t want to throw it away.”

  I look at the coleslaw and back at her. She’s sweet—much sweeter than she lets on. “You think you’re so slick, don’t you?” I say.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Buying all this food you weren’t planning to eat.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’s smiling. “Just eat. Let’s not waste it.”

  I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Tell me something. If you wanted to see the world, why did you move back home after you graduated?”

  “Financial reasons. I wanted to pay off my student loans as quickly as I could—culinary school wasn’t cheap. By saving on rent, and working in Los Angeles where wages are a little higher, I paid off as much as I could. Still have a ways to go, though. That’s when I can think about starting my own business.” She takes another sip of the Coke. “Living at home—it’s not an ideal situation. But my parents have been generous enough to let me stay.”

  I take this opportunity to dive deeper. “What about a social life?” I ask. “What about…boyfriends?” I try not to sound creepy. I fail. I totally sound creepy.

  Carmen plays with the ring on her Coke can. “I’ve had a couple since I got back. Didn’t work out.”

  “Were they assholes?” I ask hopefully.

  “Not really.”

  “Did you break up with them because you’re married to your job?”

  “Ew, no. It was never like that.” She makes a face at me. “I work a lot, sure, but for the right guy, I can make time.”

  Like a starving man, I polish off all of the food. I gather up the trash, then walk it out to the trash can by an empty bus stop. I return to the car, feeling full and happy. We’re still alone on the street.

  “Do you have to get home?” I ask. “Sneak back in?”

  She shakes her head. “They’re asleep now.”

  We put the seats back. Carmen turns off the dome light and opens the sunroof. Even though it’s cold and there are no stars to see tonight, it feels good to look up. The sky is big, dark, and endless.

  After a long time, I say, “You said for the right guy, you could make time.”

  “Yeah. I could—I can.”

  I’m hot and cold. I hold my breath and shoot my shot. “How about me? Can you make time for me?”

  When Carmen doesn’t answer me, I look over at her. She’s staring up at the sky.

  Goddamn.

  She’s beautiful.

  I used to be angry at fate. When I was younger, fate piled problem after problem on me until I thought my life was some kind of practical joke. I responded with recklessness. I just stopped caring what happened to me. If the universe didn’t care about me, why should I?

  But things have changed.

  I’m not angry at fate right now. Fate brought Carmen into my life right after I got out of prison. Fate brought her back to me. Like lightning struck me twice.

  Not only has Carmen fed me without making a big deal of it, she’s snuck out of her parents’ house for me. Me—an ex-con with absolutely nothing to offer her. Nothing to give.

  “Tell me something,” I say. “You have your shit together. You’re a good girl. School, career, big dreams. Why are you fucking around with me?”

  “I told you. When I saw you in the garden, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.”

  “There’s more to it than that. You were upset that morning. You still haven’t told me why.”

  She snaps the ring off the empty Coke can and drops it inside like a coin in a piggy bank.

  “You can tell me,” I say. />
  “The morning you got out,” she says slowly, “was the morning after my dad got beat up.”

  I blink. Shit. That makes sense.

  “I’d been at the hospital all night with my mom,” Carmen says. “She made me go to work. She said it would be good for my head. So I did. I went on the produce run. I stopped at Rafa’s garden. I was a wreck, just trying to pull myself together. That’s when I spotted you.”

  “Did you recognize me?” I ask.

  She snorts. “I don’t forget a face. Unlike you.”

  I smile. “So, I wasn’t a stranger to you.”

  “No,” she says. “Your brother was back in the neighborhood. The chismosas were gossiping about how you would be out soon too.” She looks at me. “You weren’t—you aren’t—a stranger to me, Eddie. I know who you are.”

  I put my hand on hers. I trace her long, hard fingers and the faint burn marks on the back of her hand—the scars of a chef.

  “I was an emotional mess that morning,” she says. “I was tired. I was angry. And you were the perfect distraction. That’s all there is to it.”

  “A distraction? That’s all I was to you?”

  She starts to pull her hand away. “Every time I think about that garden—”

  “Forget the garden for a second,” I say, holding her hand tight. “Now. Why are you here right now?”

  She’s quiet for a long time.

  “I’m not sure,” she says at last.

  What do I want—what do I need—to hear from her?

  Let’s be real. I have no right to desire anything. I’m lucky to be in her company. My heart is so hungry for nice words that I forget for a moment, just a moment, what the rest of me is hungry for.

  On the radio, “Tell It Like It Is” by Aaron Neville rises up, slow and sexy.

  She’s not sure why she’s here with me.

  Time to make her sure.

  Gently, I take off her ball cap and throw it into the back seat. I lean over the center console, put my hands lightly on her cheeks, and stroke her smooth skin. I look at her face in the dark. I imagine the shape of her beautiful eyes, the shape of her nose. I can feel her warm, soft breath on my hand as I touch her.

  “Is this okay?” I ask.

  She whispers, “Yes.”

  I lower my lips until there’s a millimeter between us, the thickness of a piece of paper. I’m as close to her as I can get without actually kissing her. Tremors of anticipation run through me, turning my spine into a fault line.

  “Put your seat down as far as it will go,” I whisper.

  She pulls the lever and slides back. I lower the zipper of her hoodie. She’s trying to stay calm, but her chest is rising and falling like she’s running a race. My lips stay close to hers, but we’re still not touching. I slide my hand under her T-shirt. She’s not wearing a bra.

  We’re in a desolate part of the city. No one will sneak up on us here. The street lamps above us don’t work—broken by hoodlums or burnt out from neglect.

  In the dark, I can feel Carmen’s beautiful eyes staring at me. I imagine her pupils are huge, trying to drink in as much light as they can.

  “Lift up your hips,” I whisper.

  She does it. Gently, I pull down her pajama pants and panties until they’re down around her shins. I don’t take them off all the way—we need to get dressed in a flash if someone sees us.

  In the darkness, as slowly as I can, I slide my hand over her hip, along the side of her torso, and around the curve of her right breast. When I cup her in my hand, she whimpers. I massage her, and her skin burns like fire beneath my fingers. I brush the sensitive tip with my thumb. Her nipple hardens.

  “Eddie.”

  At last, I kiss her lips. She tastes sweet, like her Coke. Kissing her feels like taking a hit of a strong narcotic. She enters my bloodstream. Pure pleasure flows from her, slides into my body, and takes hold. We kiss until the kissing takes over. We kiss until we’re nothing but two drowning people pulling at each other’s clothes, gasping for air.

  “Do you want me?” I whisper against her lips.

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Is that why you came out to see me tonight? Because you wanted me?”

  “No, I came out because I was worried about you.”

  “I’m a hardass, Carmen. I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t think you’re as hard as you pretend you are.”

  If there is anything left inside me that can be called a gentleman, it leaves at this very moment. It flies out the window back over the river where I'll catch up with it again later, after Carmen and I do the kind of shit you don’t even confess to your priest.

  “Baby girl, I’m not pretending.” I take her hand and rest it on my dick.

  Fifteen

  She undoes my belt and zipper and slides her hand into my underwear. When she curls her long fingers around my cock, I melt into the seat.

  Suddenly, a little light fills the car. I look up. Above, I see the moon. It’s shaped like a strange round teardrop, and it lights the broken leftovers of clouds beneath it. The clouds look like fingerprints on glass.

  The clouds—that’s where I’m floating while Carmen strokes me.

  I touch her dark hair. It’s so soft. “The last time we played this game, we both got in a lot of trouble for it.”

  “Don't talk about that right now,” she says.

  “Why not? It’s true.” I smile in the dark. “The last time, you went down on me so good, I almost came in your mouth. Right there, at your job.” I pause, trying to slow down my breathing. “Why? Why would you break all the rules to do that with someone like me?”

  “Because,” she says, “you’re different. The rules don’t apply.”

  Okay, now fate is fucking with me.

  I take my heart and shove it behind my rib cage. My chest tightens. I know exactly what’s happening—my emotions are gearing up to do something extremely stupid, like fall in love. I blink. To distract myself from this line of thought, I turn toward her and say something raunchy.

  “Are you wet, baby girl?”

  Carmen likes dirty talk. I know this because she whispers, “Yes.”

  I slide my chair back. “Come here,” I tell her. “Face the windshield.”

  Carefully, she climbs over the gear shift and sits on my lap in reverse cowgirl. I reach under her T-shirt and stroke her smooth, hot back with my fingertips.

  “Bend forward,” I say.

  As she balances there, I pull the condom out of the pocket of my backpack, rip it open, and slide it on. When I’m fully covered, I take my shaft in my hand and swipe the head of my cock against the crack of her ass, back and forth. I press against her pussy. Soft. Hot. Her head rolls forward and she moans, so I do it again and again until she’s so wet, I can feel her dripping down over my fingers like hot wax from a candle.

  “Do you even know how sexy you are?” I sit up. “Use me, Carmen. Use my dick to get off.”

  She reaches between her legs and takes my dick. She works it gently into her pussy. In the shadows, the fit is tight and perfect. Her muscles stretch around the crown. When she squeezes, we hear her slick muscles tighten, and we both moan, turned on by the sound.

  In the tiny space, she balances by holding on to the “oh shit” handle above the passenger side door. One hand grips the handle and the other balances on my hip. She slides up and down my dick, jacking me off with her tight pussy until I can hardly breathe. Still, I hold back. When she sinks down lower, I groan.

  “Do you like this?” she whispers. “Do you like fucking me in the car?”

  I kiss the back of her shoulder. “Yes, baby girl. You’re doing so good.”

  I reach forward and slide my fingers through the wetness that’s pooled at the base of my cock. This girl is driving me crazy. She’s gorgeous and eager and as horny as I am. I didn’t think women like her existed, much less wanted anything to do with me.

  When my fingers are lubed up, I reach for her clit
. It’s swollen and hungry for attention.

  With the softest touch, I glide the tip of my middle finger in a tiny circle where her clit rises to meet me. Carmen freezes, then clenches up, crushing my dick. My balls tighten. I take two hard breaths and get myself under control again.

  “It’s too much,” she whimpers. “I’m too sensitive.”

  I know she doesn’t want me to baby her. “Ride me,” I say. “Make that hungry little pussy come.”

  She balances her hands flat on the dashboard and slides herself down my dick a little more. She pulls herself up and glides down again, resting deeper and deeper each time. Soon my fingers are swimming, and her slick little clit swells like a tiny stone against my fingers.

  “You’re too big.”

  “Fuck yeah. Say that again.”

  “You’re too big. I can’t take all of you.”

  “We both know you can.”

  As if all she needed was encouragement, she slams down hard, taking every last thick inch inside her. Fever blazes inside me, lighting up every nerve in my body. Sweat drips down my temples. She’s sweating too. Her skin is slick.

  Each time Carmen slams down on me, I have to fight back. Warm come swirls in my balls. I force it to stay down. I want this girl to come, and I want her to come hard. I want to see her shaking, her mind blown from how good it feels to be with me. I want her to feel about me the way I feel about her—amazed.

  She arches her back. Her moans turn to grunts. Her thighs slap mine and now she’s taking us home, both of us, at a hard gallop. I stroke her faster and she whimpers as I build the orgasm inside her, teasing it out, torturing her.

  “Baby girl, do you like this?” I gasp. “Tell the truth.”

  “Yes.”

  “You like being bad, don’t you? You like breaking the rules with me. It turns you on.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you like this, Carmen? Why do you have to be bad to come so hard?”

  With my other hand, I give her tight little ass cheek a quick spank, grab the flesh in my hand, and squeeze. Between her legs, she’s drenched. Gently, I slide my thumb over the tiny, slick star of her ass. She clenches me even harder. While she grinds down, I stroke her clit and her ass at the same time. Even though I’m barely touching her, my gentleness is pulling out the wildness in her. It’s driving her crazy, the way I can control her body like this. The way I hold her climax just out of her reach.