Chapter 19
NINETEEN
MAGICAL PLACE
Knox might need to gradually increase his activity.
But the next morning, I fucked him instead of him fucking me.
He was semi-kinda back at work that day, and even though, for the most part, he’d be sitting in a chair and watching screens, I wanted him to have enough energy to keep his concentration up.
Also, I liked the top.
The only thing better than having your man under you, his chest and ab muscles flexing and popping, his fingers digging into your thighs, his face dark, his pupils blown, and his cock moving inside you, was having your man on top of you with all these things.
I mean, honestly, I’d give up my orgasm in order to watch the journey to his.
Fortunately, Knox never played it that way, so when things started to get heated (or more heated), he slid his hand up my thigh so he could use his thumb on my clit.
Naturally, I went faster, then faster, and faster, and I came in time to be down enough to get the full beauty of watching Knox get his.
I dropped to his chest so I could feel it rise and fall under me, and he wrapped his arms around me.
“Gonna get you a cowboy hat,” he muttered. “You earned it.”
I smiled against his skin.
He felt it, I knew, because he squeezed me with his arms.
“Jacques is being good,” he eventually said. “But one of us has to take him out.”
Yeah.
We got busy before Jacques got to go outside.
I lifted my head. “You did it yesterday, I’ll do it today.”
“I’ll do coffee and puppy breakfast.”
We touched lips. I climbed off him (alas).
And we got up to face the day.
* * *
“Did you hear?” Harlow asked after she bopped to me by the bar at The Surf Club a little after noon.
“Hear what?” I asked back.
“The Red Bear is a fancy restaurant.” She bounced. “We get to dress up!”
Well, that was so much of a little bit of all right, I bounced too.
But…
Oh no.
Dilemma.
“Wait, do you think I should wear my black one-shoulder caftan-like thingy with the big orange flower on it or my all-lace tiered dress?” I asked.
She wrinkled her nose as she considered this, then said, “I think the lace one is pretty, but it’s more summery than wintery.”
“I agree. So it’s the one-shoulder one,” I replied.
However, she was no longer listening to confirm our choice. She was looking beyond me.
I turned to look too, and saw a guy in faded, beat-up but not dirty jeans and a well-worn Phish T-shirt.
He’d wandered into The Surf Club like the kids with the golden tickets wandered into Willy Wonka’s factory. His eyes were round. His mouth was agape. And he seemed to want to take in everything all at once.
He stopped smack in the middle between a couple of tables, and the people at those tables, as well as others, not to mention Harlow and I watched him make a slow turn to take it all in.
Once he’d done that, he shouted to the general populace, “Groovintude!”
This did not surprise either Harlow or me because we’d met this guy in Denver. He was a friend to the Rock Chicks. His name was Kevin, but he went by “The Kevster.”
I already explained his outfit, and his exclamation, so I didn’t have to explain his monicker.
When he caught sight of us, he moseyed to Harlow and me.
“Angels!” he cried before he gave me a big hug and then one to Harlow.
He jumped back and exclaimed, “This place is what dreams are made of. Coffee. Booze. Food. Copious plants. The occasional beanbag. Free Wi-Fi. And a kickass mural. If I didn’t love my job, I’d want a job here.”
“It is pretty rad,” I corroborated.
“What are you doing in town?” Harlow asked.
“I’m the manager of Head Southwest. We open next month. I need to hire staff and get the lay of the land.”
For The Kevster, that meant settling on his favorite dispensary and finding a place to lay his head.
“Jetted down yesterday with Tod and Stevie,” he went on. “And by jetted down, I mean I brought them in my van so they could bring all the wedding stuff.”
Tod and Stevie, by the by, were the other half of the Oasis Square wedding planning committee, though they lived in Denver (another long story).
“But…if you’re moving down here, wouldn’t you need all the room in the van for your stuff?” Harlow asked.
He looked down at his tatty Converse, his faded, frayed jeans, his tee and swiped back the mop of his hair that might not have been combed since 2007, and then he stared at Harlow, baffled.
I fought laughing.
Allow me to explain.
The Kevster was Rock Chick adjacent. He was one of their friends.
Another one of their friends was Annette, who’d come to Phoenix and fallen in love.
She was also a head shop mogul (as in, she had two of them, and the opening of Head Southwest was going to make it three).
As soon as she got a load of our weather, our mountains and our proximity to Sedona, she decided to add to her empire.
Annette was free-spirited, fun-loving, and on the hippie scale, she settled somewhere between my vegetarian, charity-working, Grateful Dead-loving parents and my vegan sister, who thought everyone should live her way, didn’t mind sharing that, and had whole outfits made of hemp.
I didn’t know where The Kevster sat on that scale, except I knew he was almost always some level of high, and his lip sync version of “MacArthur Park” might make you weep.
(An aside: karaoke wasn’t my thing, but I was hell on wheels in a lip sync battle—my signature song was “Don’t Tell Me” by Madonna. I could even do some of the dance moves from her video. Hold up, maybe I was a cowgirl.)
To end, The Kevster probably had the clothes on his back, a collection of bongs, a Jefferson Airplane poster and a subscription to every music streaming service that existed, and as such, didn’t need a lot of room in his van (and I’d lay down money that van was a VW) to move himself to a totally different state.
At this juncture, for some reason known only to God, Marjorie stomped up to our group.
Yes, Marjorie, the office manager of the Phoenix branch of NI therefore, she didn’t need to verbalize that disagreement. So she didn’t.
The Kevster didn’t miss it, but he also took no offense to it.
Marjorie finally spoke.
“I do not know you,” she proclaimed.
“I’m an honorary Rock Chick,” he proclaimed right back.
“Oh,” she mumbled, looked him up and down, then said, “So you know these men have many skills. Common sense when it comes to aches, pains and gunshot wounds is not one of them.”
“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” The Kevster took his life in his hands to say.
And he wasn’t done. “I’m a man. I hope I never get shot.
But if I did, I’d take that opportunity to load up on my favorite strains and work my way through a Coen Brothers, then David Lynch, then Roberto Rodriguez, then Kevin Smith, then Richard Linklater, then—”
“We get you,” I said so that record would skip to the next track.
“—movie marathon,” The Kevster hit the next track. “But I’m not a Hot Bunch dude.”
I butted in. “Knox told me Mace said it’s only for a few hours a day.”
She whirled on me. “He is not medically cleared to go back to work.”
“Yes, but he’s only two days away from being that and he isn’t working full shifts.”
She slammed her hands on her ample hips and leaned scarily toward me. “And he’s doing that not medically cleared for work.”
I didn’t know what to do.
I looked at Harlow, but since her man had never been shot (luckily), she had nothing for me.
Raye was picking up food from the food window (and Cap had never been shot either).
And Jessie was shaking a cocktail (and I didn’t think Eric had ever been shot, but he hadn’t been since he was with Jessie).
I didn’t know where Shanti was, but she didn’t have a Hottie Squad guy (yet?). Therefore, no help there either.
As such, I did the only thing I could do.
I located my phone in my server apron, pulled it out and called Knox.
I did all of this under the eagle eye of Marjorie (and the not-so-eagle eyes of Harlow and The Kevster, but they were both watching).
“Hey, honey,” he answered.
“Marjorie’s here,” I said.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“I think you should probably go home and rest,” I said.
“Is she standing right there?”
“Yes.”
“Is this performative?”
“Totally.”
He chuckled.
“It’s only two days until the all-clear,” I said (yes, still performing).
“Do you have any fuckin’ clue how hot you are riding my dick?”
My nipples rose to attention.
Oh my God!
He wasn’t playing fair!
“Knox!” I snapped.
“I almost blew about five times this morning before I got you there.”
That got a clit tingle between my legs.
“This isn’t cool,” I clipped.
“Yeah, but it makes you look like you’re frustrated with me, which will make Marjorie think you did your best, I refused to fold, but it isn’t your fault I’m not gonna leave work because she has the employee handbook memorized.”
More proof he was a diabolical genius.
However…
Curious.
“Is there a post-gunshot-wound section in the NI&S employee handbook?” I asked.
“No clue. I haven’t read it.”
“Knox, you can get in trouble for things like that.”
“Relax, baby. None of the guys have read it. We didn’t even have one until Marjorie came on board. And Mace didn’t ask her to write one. I think Mace has even torn pages out of his when he needed scrap paper to write something down.”
In the face of Marjorie, I couldn’t laugh.
I really couldn’t laugh.
I didn’t laugh.
I went back to playing my role. “Well, don’t turn to me when you get in trouble with your doctors.”
“I won’t. By the way, that appointment is Thursday at two. You’re working. Since she’s there, can you ask Marjorie if she’ll take me?”
“Heck no,” I retorted. “I’ll talk to Tito, get the time off.” I glanced at Marjorie and finished, “I want to hear what the medical professionals have to say with my own ears.”
She sniffed in approval.
“Okay, baby. Love you,” Knox said in my ear.
That didn’t affect my nipples or other.
That warmed my heart, melted my belly and made my toes curl.
“Love you too.”
“And I love you two together,” Harlow squeaked when I hung up.
I shot her a smile then told Marjorie, “He isn’t listening to me either.”
“I should have known,” Marjorie groused.
“But, while you’re here, can we get you a coffee? Or Lucia’s special today is Vietnamese egg roll burritos. And they’re fantastic,” I offered.
“Vietnamese egg roll burritos?” Marjorie asked.
“She’s all about the fusion,” I explained.
“Noodles…in a burrito?” she asked.
“Trust me, it works,” I answered.
“I haven’t had lunch yet,” she said.
“I’ll put your order in,” I told her.
“Make that a double,” The Kevster said.
“They have pork in them,” I shared. “Or you could go shrimp.”
“Can I have one of each?”
So, not vegetarian.
That skewed him to my parents’ end of the hippie spectrum.
“You guys gonna stay or take out?” I asked.
The Kevster threw his arms wide. “And miss soaking in more of this awesome vibe? I’m staying.” He looked to Marjorie. “Wanna join me?”
The way she gave him a once-over, I thought she’d dis him.
But she shocked me by saying, “I’d be honored.”
Like a knight of old, The Kevster offered his arm, she took it, and he escorted her to an open table.
Harlow and I watched them go.
If that wasn’t an unholy coupling, there wasn’t one.
We turned to each other.
“This is a magical place,” she whispered.
It sure was.
We grinned at each other.
Then I went to the register to punch in their order.