Page 30 of Sweet Pea

Callie

Sweet Pea didn’t look happy.

“Hey, Callie, this isn’t really a good time. We’re in the middle of something—”

“You did say to come by today, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I—”

“Good. I was a little nervous that maybe you didn’t really mean everything you said last night.”

By ‘nervous,’ what I really meant was I’d had four complete nervous breakdowns since my eyes sprang open at five o’clock this morning. I tried, unsuccessfully to go back to sleep, but everything I’d said and done kept replaying over and over in my mind. Whatever was left of my mind, anyway. By six forty-five, I gave up, got dressed, and hit my favorite bakery for some sanity pastries. While I was at the bakery, I got the bright idea to grab a couple dozen goodies to bring with me. Sweet Pea did say the Burning Saints had church this morning, and although I was fairly sure their version of church differed greatly from mine, who didn’t like pastries? Now I was holding a bright pink box while standing at the gate of a biker gang compound like a total goober.

I couldn’t believe I’d slept with Sweet Pea, but even more shocking was how bad I wanted to do it again now that he was standing in front of me. I was self-aware enough to know this fling with the big, bad, biker was probably nothing more than a distraction from dealing with the dumpster fire that was my career, but a big part of me simply didn’t care. I told Sweet Pea I would be here and so I’d arrived, on time, pastries in hand.

“No, Callie, that’s not it. Last night was great.”

“Good, then let me in. My arms are getting tired.”

“It’s really not a good time,” he said, glancing behind him.

“So, you’re definitely blowing me off.”

“When I invited you to stop by, I thought we’d be done with church by now. I’m not sure I was thinking too clearly last night, to tell you the truth.”

“The truth would be nice,” I replied.

“Look, I’m being straight with you, it’s just that...” Sweet Pea stopped, momentarily distracted by Socks in the guard tower, who was looking intently down at us. He stared at us silently, chewing his pastry as if he were watching his favorite soap opera.

“Mind your own fuckin’ business,” Sweet Pea snapped up at him before turning back to me. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I never said it was my fault and fortunately this whole mix-up can easily be rectified by you opening this gate and letting me in,” I said.

Before Sweet Pea could respond, a voice called out from behind him.

“You hired an attorney, huh? You gonna sue the doctor that botched your penis enlargement surgery?”

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