Page 6

I can’t stop laughing, throwing myself into the booth by the window as I shovel a spoon of ice cream dripping with chocolate sauce past my lips. My free hand drums on the table to the beat of a made-up song in my head, probably one of the ones I put on the jukebox back at Tumbleweeds. I’m on such a crazy high right now after showing that guy up— twice . First with a drink on his crotch. Next by besting him at a music territory war.

I played his nerves like fiddle strings.

And I hate fiddles.

But I sure love them tonight.

“He was awful handsome,” sings Juni, dancing in the aisle by the booth despite the cheap soft rock music playing here at T&S’s Sweet Shoppe, lost in her own loony world, her hair undone from however she fixed it before and flapping all over the place.

My next spoonful stops halfway to my mouth. “Who?”

“He looked like military, if I had to guess.”

“You mean Cody? You saw him with his husband? He’s a vet, married to Trey, the reverend of Spruce. You know them.”

“No, no, the other one,” she says, then suddenly drops onto the seat across from me, her dancing plug pulled, wide eyes reeling. “The guy you were playing with at the jukebox.”

“Huh?” My plastic spoon drops to the floor. “Playing with?”

“His shoulders were so broad and strong.” She sinks into the booth, nearly falling beneath the table as she hugs herself. “I think he’s military. He has such a … a masculine … a … such a strong and masculine … or like … like a masculine …”

“I wasn’t playing with him.”

“He was really masculine,” she decides to finish, apparently incapable of finding another word. “Oh, and disciplined!” she then adds, coming up with it. “I bet he wakes up at the same time every single day. I bet he has a workout regimen and … drinks shakes …”

“Why are you obsessing over that guy?”

“What guy?” she asks, confused suddenly, then sits up at once to pluck the cherry out of my ice cream and pop it in her mouth.

“Juni-cat, he’s the big bag a’ crazy who tried to get me fired,” I remind her, blinking, then wonder if I ever connected the dots for her in the first place. Conversations on our nights out are always a blur. “He sprayed me with gasoline like it was a joke.”

“I’d like him to spray me with something,” she hums, closing her eyes as she chews the cherry like it’s making love to her.

I huff, annoyed, then slide off the booth and head up to the counter. “Hey, Angie.” I flag down the girl working. “Can I get one more spoon? Or two? Dropped mine like a klutz.” She doesn’t look my way, busy taking someone’s order. “Hey, where’s TJ? He scoops the ice cream different. Does this … this cool-ass swirl on top, too. Sometimes gives me extra toppings without charging me. Oh, shit, don’t mention that last part to Mr. Billy, he’ll have a conniption.”

“Already gone,” she answers through a grunt as she reaches in to scoop deep into the cookies and cream, “back on campus for the fall.”

“Oh, bummer. Tell him I miss him.”

“Tell him yourself,” she says right back, “assumin’ his mama wasn’t serious about bannin’ you from speakin’ to her son after his big pool bash last month, considering what you did.”

I blink. “Did what now?”

She sighs. “Leave me alone, Anthony, I’m workin’.”

“What’d I do? Gimme a hint.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone in this town needs remindin’ what happens when you’re invited to a party, least of all yourself. Take a peek in a mirror for a damned hint.” She eyes him. “Will you step back from the counter? You’re breathin’ on everything.”

I just now notice the customer awaiting his ice cream is the general manager at the Spruce Cinema 5 where I used to work a few years ago. “Hey there, Mr. Lemon,” I greet him. “Droppin’ by for a late night treat before closin’ up the theater?”

He gives me a sulky sort of stare, the kind that says right away how annoyed my mere presence makes him. He only says, “Good evening, Mr. Myers,” and doesn’t answer my question.

Is he really holding a grudge about the fight I started at the movie theater that got me fired? I figured four years later he’d be over it. Or did I do something else more recently the last time I went there? Throw popcorn? Talk in the back row? Dance naked in the aisle? I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I did any of that.

I think .

“And it’s Angela,” she says after handing Mr. Lemon his order, which he accepts with a faint thank-you before ducking out, “which you’d know if you could read .” She taps her nametag.

“Angie’s cuter,” I sass back distractedly, watching Mr. Lemon walk sourly past the front glass window outside, still wondering about the movie theater thing.

“Only lowlifes tryin’ to get in my pants call me Angie. Or my late Granny Lucy, God rest her soul. And seeing as you’re neither.” She wipes down the counter.

I smirk. “Aww, I’m flattered you don’t think I’m a lowlife.”

“You’re lower than a lowlife.” My lips flatten. “What you need is Jesus, and he can be freely yours tomorrow mornin’ at Reverend Trey’s sermon, God help you, Anthony Myers.”

Thinking of Trey pulls my mind right back to the bar—and our reverend’s unexpected company tonight. “I’m not a lowlife tryin’ to get in your pants, jeez, what the hell?”

“Oh, I know I won’t have to sic my man on you when he gets here to pick me up in ten minutes when my shift ends. You’re all talk, no walk.” Then she lets out the world’s longest sigh. “Why don’t you just go home, Anthony? Haven’t you made enough of an ass of yourself in front of the whole town at that talent show? I’ve gotta close this place up soon.”

“It was a bachelor pageant!” I call at her back as she goes into the storage room, ignoring me. “My talent would’ve been amazing had it gone like it was supposed to! They didn’t have the budget! Hey, Angie!— Sorry —Angela! Can’t I get my girl a sundae?”

“I’m good,” says Juni from the table.

“No, you need a sundae , a sundae with extra cherries . It’s our Saturday night thing before this place closes. Angie!— la . Angela!”

“I don’t really feel like cherries n’ all that. The one was—” Juni hiccups. “—enough for me. So am I your girlfriend now?”

I turn from the counter. Juni has put one of her legs up on the table, like she’s trying to air out under her dress or something. Her hair is a complete mess. She still somehow looks beautiful, and I can’t explain that. “Huh? Say what?”

“You called me your girl in front of the military hunk.”

“I did?”

“I thought it was funny. Then I thought you were serious. And then I wondered why. I thought we’re just friends.”

“We are.”

“Your ice cream’s melting.”

I reach over the counter to grab a couple of spoons out of the bin, nearly tipping it over in the process, then return to our table and jab one spoon into the ice cream for Juni. “Well help me eat this, then.” I start at the other side, scooping up a mouthful.

“I shouldn’t. I’ll be gassy all night.”

“Juni, gross.”

She eats some anyway, then pokes at the corner of her lips where a dot of chocolate sticks, guiding it daintily to her mouth. “He didn’t seem like a bad guy,” she says. “Even called me ma’am.”

I suppress a growl of frustration. “Juni, he’s fuckin’ crazy.”

“So am I.”

“And he’s a snob. You see how he just waltzed right up to that jukebox and … and changed our music like he owned the place? I should’ve stood my ground right away and not let him. You were playing your favorite song.”

“I was looking for ABBA.”

“We’ll play you all of the ABBA you want next time, all of it,” I promise her through a mouthful of ice cream, “every dang song in the world if you want.”

“Do you think something’s wrong with you, too?”

I lower my spoon. “What do you mean?”

“That Angela lady didn’t seem to like you very much. Is she an ex-girlfriend of yours?”

“Ex-girl—?” I nearly spit out my ice cream in laughter at that. “My only serious ex doesn’t even live here anymore. Jazzy was her name. And we weren’t even all that serious, back in high school. Became my prom date after dumping someone else, it was this … this big stupid thing.” I rub my head. “I need a haircut. Should hit up Cale & Edison’s one of these days.”

“You don’t have a lot of friends here.”

I snort. “There are a few good ones here. Cole and his special guy. Dean … though he’s movin’ to Austin any day now to be with his gal.”

“Those were the other guys in the bachelor thingy?”

“Yep. Some fine men, they are. But I can’t keep goin’ over to Cole’s place just to cuddle his doggy Porridge. He n’ his boyfriend are probably sick of me. I don’t blame ‘em. Few good guys I know here, they’ve already got special people in their lives. No room for me.” I stare down at the ice cream, spoon clutched in my fist, lost in thought. “Doubt they think about me much at all.”

“That sounds sad.”

“Nah. I’m happy for ‘em.”

“But where’s your special person, Anthony?”

I look up from the ice cream at her. “Where’s yours?”

She blinks her huge lashes, like she forgot she exists at all. Her face goes funny. Then she smiles. “Maybe we should go back to the Tumbler place. The military man might still be there.”

There’s no use with her. Once she’s fixated on her newest hot guy in town, she won’t shake from him. It just so happens that her latest fix is a jerk I can’t stand. I wish I could get her mind back onto Tanner Strong, the man she thought was the “hunkiest hunk of hotness she’s ever seen” in her precise words when he dropped in here a couple of Saturdays ago to pick up an order for his mom, the mayor. It didn’t seem to faze Juni that Tanner has a husband, the two of them being the men who own this ice cream place. T&S stands for their combined last names—Tucker-Strong.

“We’re not goin’ back to Tumbleweeds,” I say, “and I think it’s best you get that man outta your mind. He’ll be gone soon anyway. Just passin’ through, he said so himself. I bet he’s outta here first thing after Reverend Trey’s sermon in the mornin’.”

“My daddy always said God’s for wiping away Saturday night’s sins and not much else.”

I smirk. “Guess we’d better sin some more before morning’s here, huh?”

She laughs. “You’re so funny.” But her eyes drift toward the window, as if her dad’s standing right outside, staring at her with disapproval. I’ve never seen him before, so I just imagine what he looks like: grumpy and terrible, undeserving of a single dollar she won in that lottery. From what I understand, Juniper comes from next to nothing—a lot like me. She doesn’t know what to do with money. It’s like a cat toy falling from the sky—or a million and a half toys, more like—and she’s already bored of batting at them.

I guess neither of us are up for more sinning tonight, because barely twenty minutes later, we’re already back at her place. She’s crashed next to me on her king size bed, all the lights left on, not even bothering to get under the sheets, her fluffy pink comforter swallowing us both up in its squishy silkiness.

One of her fuzzy pink throw pillows is wedged under my neck, and despite my own demand of her to get that military man outta her head, I can’t seem to get him out of mine.

No matter how good showing him up felt.

No matter how satisfying it was to see his face go red.

All I feel when I think about that uptight man is frustration. I don’t know what I expected, either. Was he supposed to apologize to me? Tell me he felt bad about the gas station thing? Kneel and beg for my forgiveness?

I doubt any of that would’ve made me feel better.

Probably would’ve just made me angrier.

“What would you do if some random buff military dude came barging into your life one day making your life hell?” I ask, phone slapped to my ear after I relocate to the living room to watch TV, unable to sleep. “Wouldn’t you wanna kiss his ass?”

“Kiss his—?” Cole sighs. “Anthony, it’s … wow, it’s almost 2 in the morning, and I—”

“Kick,” I grunt, correcting myself. “Sorry, been a long night. I mean, just picture him. He’s built like a … a runway model. Or like a G.I. Joe come to life. Everyone keeps lookin’ at him, even your … your best friend, and you can’t stand it. Wouldn’t it piss you off?”

“You sound in love.”

“Fuck that,” I say through a laugh. Cole doesn’t laugh back. “I know it’s late, but—but I just wanted your opinion on, like—”

“You were out drinking again?”

“I won’t be hungover for church,” I tell him, “so don’t you go worryin’ about me. I just need some moral support or whatever.”

“About a hypothetical G.I. Joe runway model you can’t stand? Is this a real person?”

“No, why would you think that?”

Cole sighs through the phone. “Look, I was in the middle of a really nice dream, and Noah had trouble sleeping last night ‘cause of the dog yapping at a possum in the back yard …”

“Porridge? How’s Porridge doing? How’s my cute Porridge?” I lean back on the couch, grinning. “I love that dog.”

“You can drop by and give Porridge all your usual snuggles n’ cuddles after church if you want.”

“Shit, can’t. Got a thing I promised Mrs. Tucker I’d do in the afternoon. Gotta make a buck where I can. Speakin’ of, did you—?”

“There’s no openings at the Strong Fitness Zone, I checked, sorry, man. Yes, I’m coming back to bed, babe ,” he says, I guess to his boyfriend in the background.

I sigh. “I really need more gigs. Or something that isn’t just every Sunday night or every other weekend. Or whenever so-and-so literally can’t find anyone else on earth and I feel like their last damned resort. Why am I everyone’s last damned resort?”

“Look for a job, a real job. Jobs are the money, not these little gigs and favors. What about your father’s pest control business?”

“What about it?” I reply with a scoff.

“Anthony …” Cole sighs. “I really wanna help you, I do. But if you’re serious about cleaning yourself up, you’ve got to stop these late night benders.”

“You’re such a poop party,” I mumble, annoyed. A scream on the TV jolts me up. I forgot I left a horror movie on. I hate horror movies. They’re all stupid. Everyone’s death is preventable. They all die anyway and are always so shocked about it. “And you still haven’t told me what I should do about the G.I. Joe.”

“Your hypothetical nonexistent G.I. Joe? I’ll tell you what you do. You leave him alone at 2 AM so he can sleep, that’s what you do.” Through the phone, I hear more barking. “Shoot, Porridge is at it again. This is not my night.”

“Hey, give her a pat from me.” There’s silence. “Hey? Cole?” I pull the phone away from my ear and realize he hung up. I fling it aside, annoyed, then lie back down and cuddle one of Juni’s cat pillows on the couch. When my eyes close on the horror movie on TV—and the next idiot who could easily avoid the killer but keeps making brainless choices—the other horror appears in my mind: a man whose name I don’t know.

But whose arrogant face I can’t forget.

Leave him alone so he can sleep, Cole suggests. Screw that. I’d rather be the barking dog that keeps his ass up all night.

You’re lower than a lowlife —Angela’s voice echoes.

He didn’t seem like a bad guy —Juni’s voice echoes.

What the fuck is your problem? —that asshole’s voice echoes.

“ You are ,” I growl back at him, clutching the cat pillow like I’m wrestling with it—and accidentally roll myself right off the couch, crashing to the floor with a grunt. Lick a dick .

Haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in years.

Seems like tonight’s gonna be no different.

Another scream from the TV, and another avoidable murder I can’t see from the floor. “You probably deserved it,” I mumble at the ceiling, “investigating weird noises in your house wearing just your underwear … idiot.”

Then my mind drifts right back to G.I. Joe, to his wet clothes, to his mad eyes as he fought over control of the jukebox with me. And the look of his pompous, perfectly-sculpted tight ass in those pants each time he walked away, thinking himself the winner.

I wonder if he’d be stupid enough to investigate weird noises wearing just his underwear.

Somehow, I doubt it.