Chapter 5 – Kira #2
After shutting off all the lights and letting her out through the office door ahead of me, I marvel at how there seems to be zero awkwardness between us. It’s not like either of us is pretending our sexcapade never happened, but it doesn’t seem to be hindering our interactions, either.
“Whoa,” her head snaps in the direction of small parking area. “Did Godzilla use your trash can as a chew toy?” She asks, remarking at the battered and dented condition of one of the drums I keep outside the shop.
“Ah…” I chuckle. “Long story.”
We enjoy a comfortable silence as we walk up three blocks, but when we turn onto Main Street, I hear her gasp beside me.
“Hey,” she points in the direction of the town’s oldest building.
“I thought you said there weren’t any hotels here.
What’s that?” She questions, not seemingly in accusation, but in wonder, as she takes in the chipped white paint and battered black shutters of the Emerson Inn, or as the rest of us here in town call it, ‘The Old Inn’.
“I wasn’t lying, I promise,” I chuckle. “That’s the Old Inn, it hasn’t been open since before anyone can remember,” I tell her.
“That’s a shame,” she murmurs, her gaze lingering on it, even as I put a hand on her back and guide her across the street to the bar’s entrance.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the handsome grease monkey, and”—Cheyenne narrows her eyes at Kira as she leans both arms on the bartop—“a visitor?” She tilts her head between the two of us, and Kira shimmies onto one of the leather barstools, paying no mind to Cheyenne’s smarmy demeanor.
“Hello,” she greets the blonde bartender, dodging her question.
Cheyenne sighs with a slow blink as she wanders to where Kira is parked and places a cocktail napkin down in front of her. “What’ll it be? A skinny margarita?” She says smartly, and I give her a pointed look as I take a seat next to Kira.
Cheyenne doesn’t cozy up to new people very well. In fact, she’s kind of a bitch. I’ve learned that she shows decency to the people that throw it back at her, almost as if she craves interactions that keep her in line.
“Actually, I’ll take two fingers of Macallen and a splash of grenadine,” Kira asks, politely, folding her hands on the bar and looking down and around her at the floor and stools. It’s like she’s never bellied up to a bar before.
“Oh…,” Cheyenne locks her elbows as she leans back, her hands on the edge of the bar and tilting her head. “Sorry honey. We are but humble, small-town folk and don’t carry that kind of high-class liquor,” she informs her mockingly.
“Okaaay…” Kira drums her fingers and scans the shelves behind Cheyenne, again, taking no notice of her shitty customer service.
“What would you recommend then for a”—she looks to me for a moment, her eyes taking me in and a smile trying to pull at the corner of her mouth before looking back to Cheyenne—“ mostly shitty day?” She finishes and the blonde scoffs out a chuckle.
“Okay,” she nods with a humble smirk that surprises me. The look on her face is one that says she’s on the level with Kira. “In that case, I would suggest a shot of Jack with a beer chaser. Pick your poison,” she cuts her hand neatly through the air over the tap selection.
Kira looks at the taps, blankly, and I lean in.
“I take it you’re not a beer drinker,” I whisper, only taking minor delight in Cheyenne’s sour expression.
“I’ve never tried it,” Kira whispers back. “What would you suggest?”
“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 considered a 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’s good ,” she says, before picking the glass back up and chugging the rest.
“ This is why 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 is snuggled 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.