Rebel
To stress about what to wear or not, that was the real question. Do I care anymore? I shouldn’t get my head down after only one craptastic date, but my mood soured from the memories. Yeah, I’d laugh about it years from now, but my mood already sucked from Carl, and now a weirdo with sloppy, slobbery kisses only increased my disappointment.
While I consistently discarded dresses, my phone lit up with notifications. My buddy Nadège Richards blew up my Facebook with memes a plenty. The newest one showed a meme of a man wiping the sweat from his face, titled, “Trying to avoid posting a meme for five minutes.” If that wasn’t our relationship, I didn’t know what is. Our friendship is lit.
As I scrolled through the ones she tagged me in, tears of absolute amusement ran down my cheeks. Time literally flew by.
Stacy walked in, “Dude, you only have thirty minutes to get there, and you aren’t even dressed!”
“Well, shit, ‘Dège tagged me in—,”
“Oh! Let me see!”
Best fucking friend in the world.
“I’m thinking this one.” Grabbing the poodle skirt that I never got the chance to wear, I showed her. I went through phases, eighties, nineties, flapper girl, disco, and so much more. This was one of those phases.
“That’s adorbs!”
“Right? Douchetaco wouldn’t let me wear it.” My nose crinkled at the realization that nothing went well with my ex.
She jumped up, screaming, “Then do it now!”
It fit even better than the day I bought it. The skirt wasn’t a traditional one. It had been made modern and fun. The collared V-neck blouse that I bought for this very occasion was the perfect style. I dressed and did my dramatic winged eyeliner like a pro. Tonight, I’d be late as fuck to my date, and yes, that was an actual measurement. It went zero to fuck on my holy shit tacos scale. Don’t question my sanity. It’d be fruitless.
Blane wanted coffee, and I groaned, knowing what that actually meant. He settled with a dinner date instead. His profile picture was of a meme, and that was a dead giveaway to give him a chance. I needed some humor in my life as if I didn’t get that shit on the daily from my friends.
“I’ve got to go, Stace. I’ll let you know how HubbaHubba—uh.” I cleared my throat, “Blane is.”
“Oh, sweet Christmas, try to refrain from using that while he’s around, especially if you want your penis flytrap fed.
If her deadpanned expression was supposed to give way to her joke, I couldn’t decipher it.
“Seriously! The shit that comes out of that mouth of yours!” Heat burned my cheeks.
She really had no filter. Sometimes, I believed that it was singlehandedly my favorite part.
Nerves hit me. Confidence wasn’t my strong suit or even in my vocabulary, and my brain’s thesaurus is vast.
“Likewise, babe! Now go have some fun!”
“What if this one goes bad?”
“Chuck it in the fuck-it-bucket and move on!”
After feeling like a total bitch, I IM’ed Blane to let him know I’d be late and that I was terribly sorry. We were meeting at the Cock-in-a-Tub, a fried chicken restaurant two towns over. As the food lover in me would say, “I want all the cock I can get.”
Chicken would be my downfall, and I was perfectly okay with that. I mean, who wouldn’t want to go down with a cock in their mouth?
“Blane,” he said through his brand new lip balm-like, perfect, kissable lips. He was definitely HubbaHubba worthy, and Stace would get a kick out of that.
For some odd reason, I couldn’t remember my name. I was stuck in an awkward, “You are so handsome” face and cannot form the words.
“R-Rebel,” I stuttered.
When the hell did I catch a stutter? His face was smug and charismatic in a way that begged me to reveal all my secrets.
“You look beautiful tonight, Rebel.” His voice rolled my name out. The way it sounded was the equivalent of butter on bread. Delicious. Blane was dressed in a long-sleeved plaid button up with a white v-neck underneath. His five-o-clock shadow invited me in, begging me to brush my fingertips over the coarse texture.
“Handsome,” I squeaked, sounding like a fool. “You are handsome,” I added to quickly recovered from the awkwardness. You’d think I’d be used to being around hot men, but no, I was a silly girl meeting her first crush every new date.
His chuckle brought the warmest feeling to my insides, warming my girl bits up a tad, and I couldn’t say it was the worst feeling.
Taking me by the hand, he escorted us to a booth near the bar. At Cock’s, you could sit anywhere and be greeted within five minutes, or your food was free.
“So, you are a writer?” he asked, blushing hardcore.
Blushing and smiling in return, I could feel it coming a mile away. Any time I got the chance to speak about my writing, I felt overwhelmed with pride. “Yes, I’m what they call a vicious porn writer.”
Had to thank Golden Czermak, a fellow author and photog for that gem.
His cheeks were as red as cinnamon candy, and his teeth weren’t perfect like the last guys. His hand rubbed his chin. Hm, he must feel uncomfortable. “That’s something you don’t hear every day.”
“No, I guess not. People tend to label us because we write steamy romances.”
“That makes me want to read something you’ve written. Maybe it’ll give me tips on how to pick up a beautiful woman.”
There was that word again. Beautiful. When Carl would call me that, it was almost a requirement. Like when I was a child, my mother and father would say that to make me feel better about myself, but Blane appeared to mean it. I mentally wrote it down for notes to give to Stace.
“If I could keep a straight face, I’d offer you some tips. Alas, I would cry from laughing so hard.”
“I can see it.”
This guy. Butterflies do exist, and they were flapping their wings in my stomach as he smiled at me.
“Don’t get your hopes up, lover boy.”
Well, Jesus on a popsicle. Why do I say the weirdest shit around people?
His chortle brought me out of my millionth WTF moment, and I join in. Blane had this deep throaty laugh, and it did stuff to my cave of wonders. Not often did I think of doing the dirty, but if he wanted it, I’d be happy to oblige.
The chicken was delicious, the spices and secret sauce burst across my tongue. I sure as hell didn’t show my skinny side for his benefit either. I ate that cock like my life depended on it. In a sense it did, right? Food was sustenance.
“Thank you for the amazing food.”
“Ha, you think we are finished? I’ve got a few more things up my sleeve.”
Oh, I bet you do.
“What are you thinking?”
“A ball with three holes.” He nearly buckled under his own joke.
“A coconut you carved? How blasé of you,” I teased.
“Bowling, you silly woman.”
His smirk did me in. For some reason, I began leaning in for a kiss. I wasn’t one for going the entire way, so I stopped midway, hoping he wouldn’t leave me hanging.
His brushed mine. There wasn’t a spark, but his lips must’ve done some type of aerobics because they were working mine like a yoga mat.