Meet Up

The rest of the afternoon was slow, waiting for Pete to get off. I spent some time in the arcade, racking up some points on my card. Riley and I have been saving up to try and win the popcorn machine for our dorm room.

I browse the shelves at Nook’s Books, until I find a steamy romance featuring a girl stuck in a love triangle with her rival at work, he’s up for the same promotion at work, and her new neighbor, she paints at night with loud music that keeps Ellen up at night. I buy the book and find a bench to sit and read.

Victor passed by a few times, his eyes hungrily gazing over my legs. During one pass I even caught a glimpse of canary yellow fabric poking out of his pocket.

Ellen and Dom were **** to work together on a late night project. Putting their feud for the promotion aside for the night. Their hands brush and Dom leaned in and kissed Ellen! She stood in a flurry and Dom immediately started apologizing. With her bags packed she asked if he could finish the rest himself and left.

Her mind raced lying in bed. What did it mean? Why did she like it? Was it all some ploy to win the promotion? After hours of trying to shut off her brain and fall asleep, her eyes were finally growing heavy on the verge of sleep. When the music started pumping next door. Ellen stormed out the backdoor, crossing into Kynthia’s yard and to her detached garage, banging on the door.

No answer, the music drowning out the knocking. Ellen being fed up, opened the door ready to take her anger towards Dom out on her neighbor. But she froze when Kynthia turned and smiled, giving a friendly wave and greeting all the while topless. Her bronzed Greek skin glowed under the soft light of the garage. And then, ping my phone buzzed.

I was tempted to keep reading, to see what happened next but it was Pete. I had successfully spent my day in waiting and now it was time for another apology tour. I dogeared the page and threw it in my purse.

[Meet me at the west exit in 5.]

I gathered my things, and made my way there. Victor waved as I passed him on my way out. “There you are,” Pete said as I approached, “I’m parked at the back of the lot.” She took my hand in hers and led us through the mostly empty parking lot. The sun starting to set, turned the sky a stunning mix of orange and pink. “The chariot awaits,” she said gesturing to a beat up red pickup. The paint faded to a dull salmon, dents all along the side and front. I move to go to the passenger side, when Pete pulls me her way, “That door doesn’t open.”

The door creaks open and I slide across the cracked leather benchseat, the passenger floorboard littered with empty beer cans. “My dad’s truck, and his drinking problem, I’m sober no worries,” she said climbing in next to me.

She cranked the keys, the engine struggling to kick to life. The radio buzzed to life with the sounds of country music, “I figured you’d be into some punk alt rock or something.”

“Why cause of the lip ring?” Pete asked, using the long rod sticking from the floorboard to shift into gear.

“I mean, kind of?”

“Well, you’re right, it’s on 4, but we don’t interrupt Miranda when she’s singing,” Pete said, twisting the volume up and singing along. The windows were down, so I found a hair tie in my purse to keep it from blowing everywhere. Pete’s hand rested on my thigh, squeezing and caressing my leg.

She drove through the city, and out of city limits. Houses growing less common, until stretches of land passed by until Pete turned off onto a side road that quickly turned to gravel. The sun got lower and lower with each passing mile.

“So are you really going around apologizing like this for your mom?” Pete asked her hand slipping between my thighs.

“It’s this new thing I’ve been trying.”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Whatever floats your boat I guess. Seems a little Freudian to let your mom have that much control over your sex life.” My mouth hung open at the punch to the gut. “At least tell me I’m the hottest.”

I smirked taking my chance to get back at her for the Freud comment, “Hmm, I don’t know our gardener is pretty hot.”

“Your gardener? Damn, you are bougee. You probably got a nanny too, and going off to some fancy private school.”

“I don’t have a nanny,” I skirted the truth, Delja was technically our housekeeper but for years that mostly entailed nanny-esque duties, “and Vicinage isn’t that fancy.”

“Vicinage, I knew it. I’m working my way through Local Community College, so yes Vicinage is fancy as fuck.” She pulled into a driveway, and climbed out of the truck with me right behind her.

Dogs swarmed us, and I did my best to pet each of them as Pete guided us through the sea of fur. Instead of going to the house she led us to a 4-wheeler, “This is my parent’s place, I live just down the way.”

After a quick ride, we arrived at a trailer with a lesbian pride flag flying off the porch. “Home sweet home,” she said unlocking the door and pushing her way inside.

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