Page 59 of The Kings of Kearny

She grinned. It wasn’t a friendly look. “He must not like you very much.”

I sighed. “Why don’t we cut through the bullshit, and you just tell me what you’re hoping to get out of this conversation?”

She reached out and shoved my shoulder.

“Oh, you want to fight?” I asked. “I’ve seen you in the bar before. I’m six inches taller than you and outweigh you by about thirty pounds of muscle. I’m also stone-cold sober, and you’re not. It won’t end well for you.”

She tried to shove me again, but Emily grabbed her. “Stop it, Amanda. You’re drunk.” She turned to me. “I’m really sorry. She’s not usually like this.”

“It’s fine,” I told her. I looked at Amanda. “Did Jakob get you off?”

She blinked. “What?”

“When you were with him, did Jakob get you off?”

She sat back. “How is that any of your business?”

I shrugged. “It’s not, but humor me.”

“Yes, he got me off.” Her smile was cutting. “Sometimes two or three times when we fucked.”

I perked up at that. “Well, that gives me something to look forward to.”

She frowned. Clearly that wasn’t the response she’d anticipated.

“Look,” I said. “How about instead of getting into an argument that leaves both of us looking petty and jealous, we congratulate ourselves for choosing to sleep with a man who knows where a clit is?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, but she didn’t look like she was glaring; she looked like she was trying to process my words. I didn’t envy her. Thinking around a heavy buzz wasn’t easy. I’d done some stupid shit myself and acted out of character when I was drunk, and I was willing to cut her a lot of slack because of that.

“Come on,” Emily said to her. “Krista’s never been anything but nice to you. And you don’t even like Jakob anymore.”

Amanda glanced up at her friend.

Emily rubbed her back. “It’s okay.”

Amanda looked about ready to cry. “Fuck. You’re right.” She turned back to me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Why did you have a bad day?”

She glanced to her left at a group of men gathered around a picnic table. “My boyfriend doesn’t know where a clit is.”

~*~

ONCE THE TENSION BETWEENAmanda and me broke, I got along with the two women pretty well. We sat and talked for a solid hour. Emily was a King, which meant she was a veteran. She was Army, like Jakob, and as deep night set in and the party seethed around us, we sat in a little bubble by the fire and traded war stories.

Amanda switched to water after our little argument and was starting to sober up. She told me she was born and raised in Kearny. Her parents owned the bakery in town, went to church every Sunday, and were deeply involved with Kearny’s various boards and clubs, which meant that she had all the best gossip. Her boyfriend did actually know where a clit was, but she’d been so upset earlier because he’d been an asshole to her lately, to the point that she was planning to break up with him.

“What about you?” I asked Emily. “You seeing anyone here?”

In answer, she held up her left hand, displaying a wedding ring. “He works on an oil rig off Corpus Christi.”

“How are his shifts?” I asked. I’d met a few rig workers since moving closer to the coast, and the hours could be brutal from what I’d heard.

“He’s gone for two weeks at a time,” she said. “When he’s out there, he works seven days a week, twelve hours a day. But then he comes home for two weeks and has that whole time off, so it’s not that bad.”

Amanda glanced from Emily to me. “Don’t let her fool you. She worries the whole time he’s gone.”

Emily shrugged. “The fact that any mistake could lead to a massive explosion and a horrific oil leak might have something to do with that.”

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