Page 13 of Fast and Dirty

“Chey, I’ll take the Night Howler,” I say, straightening back up, referring to my go-to IPA. “And how about a Bushy-Tail Ale for Kira?” I ask and look to Kira for approval which she gives with a small smile. “Don’t worry, if you don’t like it, I’ll drink the rest.” I give Kira a playful elbow nudge as Cheyenne wanders off to fill our order.

“Beer was unheard of in my family circle. You were considereda heathen if you didn’t drink top shelf wine or liquor. But when in Rome, right?” She gives a carefree shrug.

“Right.” I give a sharp nod while reaching for a toothpick.

But lo and behold, my offer went unneeded. Kira knocked back the shot of Jack like a pro and immediately reached for the beer that’d been placed in a large schooner in front of her - and pounded it like it had diamonds at the bottom.

It’s half gone by the time she comes up for air and sets it down, licking her lips.

Cheyenne and I look between each other stunned as Kira points to the half-empty glass.

“Wow. That’sgood,” she says, before picking the glass back up and chugging the rest.

“This iswhy we can’t have nice … flings! Choc …late! Because you bake them, like a cake then and throw them awaaaaay!” Kira sings out from down by my ass.

“You know, I don’t even know what song you’re singing, but I’m pretty sure those aren’t the lyrics, I smirk as I shift her on my shoulder a little bit.

“Cause I’ve got a spank bank baby! And I have no shame!” is what she responds with, as I try to keep a steady arm wrapped around her legs and unlock the door that leads up to my apartment with the other hand.

The trudge up the stairs with Kira over my shoulder burns my quads just a little, and I let out a breath when I get to the bed and unload her onto the edge of the mattress. She reclines while I pull off her sandals one at a time.

Heading to the kitchen, I dispense a glass of water and stop by the bathroom to grab some aspirin. When I return to the bedroom, she’s shimmied her way up the bed and issnuggled up with one of my pillows, her bare feet curled under her, but she hasn’t gotten under the covers.

“Your pillows smell good,” she mumbles from beyond her drunken slumber.

The sight of her on my bed and in my shirt has my dick standing tall and trying to raise the roof inside my pants, and in the interest of not being a creeper, I turn away, only to be faced with another sight for sore libidos: her wedding dress draped over the chair at my table, in all it’s smudged-up tattered glory.

Complicit with the idea I won’t be getting any sleep tonight, I decide it’s time for that shower. Shrugging out of my jacket, I head towards the bathroom, intent on painting the shower tiles.

6

KIRA

Ugh. Did I get in a fight with a coyote last night?

My head is throbbing, my mouth tastes like dried up whiskey and despair, and my teeth hurt -. Seriously, what the hell is up with my teeth hurting?

Wait… no, it was a dream. I dreamed that a freaky, cartoon coyote bitched me out for slaughtering Taylor Swift lyrics and drinking all his beer, pulled on pink boxing gloves and punched me in the face. But good God, how hard did he hit me? All I know is he was a die-hard fan in hisLoverT-shirt and friendship bracelets up to his elbows. Then he threw on my beat-to-shit, nicely fucked-in wedding dress and ran away.

I peel my eyelids open to be greeted by a bright new morning, and I swear to God the sun is mocking me. I swear it’s looking at me and thinkingOh that’s cute, sweetie. You look like a zombie raccoon who hit the trashcans too hard last night, and I know there’s a swamp monster growling in the deepest depths of your stomach right now, but you’re not gonna dull my shine!

So harsh. If only it were possible to tell the sun to fuck off, so I can lay here in peace, trying not to die.

Where am I anyway? Am I on a boat? Tell me I didn’t get wasted on Vanessa Kensington’s yacht again.

I close my eyes and try to fall into a meditative state, but the boat lurches to the side, and I fall, taking a navy blue blanket with me, and I greet a hardwood floor with a hard thwump.

Ow.

Oh dear God, that didn’t do my stomach any favors, and the swamp monster at the bottom of my stomach takes that as his cue to rev his engine and come careening up my esophagus, giving me very little warning.

I scramble and claw my way across the floor in search of the nearest receptacle. Feeling with my hands because my eyes are mere slits revealing only blurred surroundings, I find a something round-ish with a thin edge about the size of a small waste can.

Good enough.

Letting Coyote Ugly take the wheel, I close my eyes and succumb to the demon, allowing him to exorcise himself from my body. Releasing a wrenching noise that could easily be mistaken for a garbage disposal, followed by a meager groan, I lower myself to the floor, allowing the cool hardwood against my cheek to soothe me for a few minutes. When I feel I have the strength, I sit up, panting out a few breaths before allowing myself to lift my eyelids.

Oh yeah. That’s right. I had epic mechanic sex, followed by some amazing beer, disgracing Taylor Swift and crashing in said mechanic’s apartment.

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