5
Living History Illinois Flockify, Famous People Channel
AlCaponesGhost2 Friday 11:47 PM
I believe Sir Cumference was responsible for the round table.
SingerQueen Saturday 08:29 AM
Took you a while, but I’ll allow it. *winky face emoji*
AlCaponesGhost2 Saturday 10:17 AM
Believe it or not, I do have other responsibilities.
SingerQueen Saturday 11:40 AM
What could possibly be more important?
AlCaponesGhost2 Saturday 01:33 PM
Fair point. Henceforth, riddles it is. New career, here I come!
SingerQueen Saturday 01:4 PM
Who says “henceforth”? Wait, are you actually an old-timey ghost?
AlCaponesGhost2 Saturday 02:02 PM
*zips lips*
SingerQueen Saturday at 02:10 PM
*shocked face emoji*
W e’re going out tonight,” Jaz announces when Micki and I get home from work Saturday. “I finished another scene for my play this morning so it’s celebration time!”
I share a look with Micki that tells me she, too, wants to argue with this logic, but then again, why shouldn’t we let loose a little? O’Connor’s on Main Street has six-dollar pints until seven on the weekends, something even I can afford.
We get ready, elbow to elbow in the small bathroom, while Jaz explains the scene she wrote and why it’s necessary for the story. This play has changed directions more times than I can count, but she’s fired up today until Micki asks for clarification on a plot point, and she struggles to give one.
“Shoot. I’ll need to figure that out tomorrow,” she says. “Oh well.”
And so the story goes with her. At least she doesn’t allow the challenges to weigh her down. I should be more like that. Be the duck with the water down its back or what have you.
I apply my reddest lipstick and fluff my hair in the mirror.
“I wish I could pull off color like you do,” Jaz says, pulling her ash-brown waves into a high ponytail before leaning forward to tweak her signature cat-eye liner in the mirror.
Both she and Micki are in black jeans and dark tops, while I’m wearing my high-waisted red jeans and a long-sleeved yellow crop top. If I had a dollar for every time someone’s described my style as quirky or boho , Happy Paws wouldn’t be in such dire straits.
“There’s nothing to it. You simply look at your black clothes and say ‘no thank you.’” I wink at her, and she tightens her lips around a smile that’s reminiscent of her sister’s. They don’t share many family traits, but this one they do.
“You ready?” Micki asks, reaching for her purse. “I could kill for some fish and chips right about now.”
“Ready.” I pull on my boots and open the door. “Let’s go. No manslaughter tonight, please.”
O’Connor’s is your average suburban Irish pub complete with dark wood paneling, framed pictures of the Emerald Isle on the walls, shamrocks on the bathroom doors, two dart boards in the corner, and an endless supply of beer in thick glasses. It fills up nightly, but especially on weekends, and the only reason we snag a table is because another party decides to move to the bar.
We order two rounds of drinks and a sharable plate of food for the table. Jaz is on her phone, typing frenetically. Micki and I ignore her while we stuff ourselves with beer-battered cod, but all of a sudden, Jaz lets out a loud “Well that’s fucking great!” and slams the phone down onto the table.
Micki jumps at the outburst, lager splashing onto her chin. She wipes it off with the back of her hand.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I got fired.” Jaz pouts.
“You had a job?” Micki asks.
“Yeah.” Jaz tips her head back and sighs. “Well, sort of. I was helping out at Javier’s café part-time.”
“Javier who you just broke up with?” Micki takes another, more careful, sip from her glass.
“Right. And now he says I don’t have to bother coming back.”
“Well, yeah…” Micki looks at her sister like she’s an alien. “Because you broke up with him.”
“I can still do the job.”
Micki faces me. “I swear, sometimes I have no idea how we’re related.”
“Come on.” I tut. “Sorry about that,” I tell Jaz. “But it’s probably for the best. Clean break, etcetera.”
“I guess.”
“Hey, didn’t you say Leo needs help in his store?” Micki asks me.
I give her a death stare in response.
Jaz grabs a handful of fries and shoves them in her mouth. “He does?”
“I’m joking, sis. Although…” Micki gets something calculating in her features. “In a way, wouldn’t it be… Hmm…”
I toss a burnt fry at her. “Finish the sentence, please.”
Micki leans in over the table and lowers her voice, so Jaz and I are forced to do the same. “Say that you wanted to get a leg up on him—wouldn’t it be sort of helpful to have a woman on the inside so to speak?”
“Ooh, that’s not a bad idea,” Jaz agrees.
They both turn their attention to me, and as much as I don’t want anything to do with Canine King, I must admit that Micki might be onto something here. “Did you see the A-frame he put out today?” I ask. “ Talk to me about how I can fulfill your unmet canine needs. ” My tongue curls around the words he’d written in blocky chalk lettering. “Happy Paws is literally right across the street. There are no unmet needs here. So basically, he’s not just rude. He’s rude and presumptuous.”
I have a sip of beer and go to continue my rant when the front door opens to let in a few more patrons. Among them, a familiar blond head stands out. “Speak of the devil,” I mumble.
“Where?” Micki and Jaz turn as one, and right then, Leo looks our way.
I can only imagine how we must appear—three deer in headlights ogling him. Of course, he’s here. Invading all my spaces.
“That’s him?” Micki asks.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’ll take the job,” Jaz says, still staring.
Micki slaps her on the arm. “Repeat after me: we do not get involved with our friends’ enemies.” She spins my way. “That said, you never told me he was hot. Like…” She bites her lip and nods in approval. “And isn’t it interesting that you chose to leave that detail out while you’ve been bitching about him?”
“Hot people can be asses.”
“Hot people have fine asses,” she counters, eyes twinkling. “Why is your face turning red?”
It isn’t, but her saying so makes me flush hot. She’s infuriating.
“Leave Cora alone, Mick,” Jaz says, before addressing me. “But seriously, I’ll apply if you want me to. And I’ll tell you any secrets I find out.”
Leo and his friend have made it to the bar now. There’s a lot of back slapping and laughter. I vaguely recognize the other guy from high school, too. His face and gut are fuller than I remember, but it must be Marcus Kapperling. He and Leo were the hottest commodity jocks back then. Good buds. Bros.
“Blech.” I wrinkle my nose.
“What’s that now?” Micki asks.
“Is this what it’s going to be like from now on? Everywhere I go, he’ll be there, ruining things?”
“You want to know what I think?” Jaz asks. “I think you should let him know you can’t be messed with. This is your pub. It doesn’t bother you that he’s here because you don’t care. He means nothing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I look Leo’s way again. Who wears a button-down and a sport coat to a pub? It’s probably tailored to better fit those wide shoulders, too. His friend, who hasn’t aged half as gracefully, is in a flannel and blue jeans. My attention returns to Leo, but this time he’s watching me. He raises his beer in greeting and nods.
“Fuck.” I sink lower in my seat and pretend to be searching for something in my purse, but then I stop. Jaz is right. If I back down now, he’s already won.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, draining the rest of my glass.
Leo is facing the bar when I reach him. I tap him on the shoulder and clear my throat.
“Oh. Hey,” he says.
“Why are you here?” I ask, not bothering with a greeting.
“Cora, was it? This is Marcus. Marcus, Cora.”
Somewhere beneath the scruffy chin and receding hairline is the former captain of the lacrosse team. He regards me with interest. “With the dogs, right? I’ve seen you around. Moved here a couple of years ago?”
“Yes to the dogs, but I grew up here.”
“Are you sure?”
“I was a year under you in high school.”
He squints, looking me up and down. “Nah, I would have remembered you being under me.”
Gross. I pretend I don’t hear him and turn back to Leo, who to his credit mutters, “What the fuck, man?” and slaps Marcus on the shoulder.
“There are literally thousands of other places you could have chosen for Canine King,” I say. “Why here?”
Leo crosses his arms. “We did our research. It’s the best location for foot traffic in the fastest growing area. Plus there was an available apartment right above it.”
“And what did your research say about there already being a pet store on the block? That can’t be great for you.”
Marcus is unable to take a hint and tilts his head forward. “Seriously, I can’t place you at all. What did you say your name was?”
“Cora,” Leo and I say together.
“Give us a minute,” Leo tells him. Then he takes a few steps sideways toward the passage leading to the restrooms, indicating for me to follow. “Sorry about him.”
“It’s fine. I know how to handle myself.”
“I never said you didn’t.”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
“Look,” Leo says after a while, “it’s not personal, it’s business. And it’s not like our target customers are the same.”
“People with pets?”
“Canine King is exclusively for dogs. And unlike you guys, we curate the store for a specific clientele that—”
“Oh my God, do you even hear yourself?”
His expression hardens. “My point is our researchers didn’t consider your little mom-and-pop shop an obstacle to Canine King’s success. Either they’ll both make it or they won’t, but I expect Canine King will come out on top either way. Serious dog people want a serious retailer. I will carry the organic brands they seek, the right supplements, designer bowls and beds, and locally sourced treats. In my store, they will be able to get in and out, efficiently finding what they need—everything has its place and there’s no superfluous clutter.”
This must be what a kettle feels like at boiling. My neck is steaming beneath my hair. “And I suppose that’s all that matters. You coming out on top. High school all over again, basically. Marcus is still the douchey flirt who can’t hold his liquor, and you’re still the entitled sportsball star–slash–homecoming king who never has to bother with common courtesies like thinking about other people because it’s always always about what’s in it for you.” I’m sucking in a breath, relishing some slight satisfaction at the surprise on Leo’s face when Micki grabs my elbow from behind and leans in close.
“Red alert. Sweaty Lips just entered the building.”
“No.” I look left and right, and then I spot him. We went on one blind date two years ago, where he called his mother to check in every half hour. And as if that wasn’t enough, the image of his sloppy open mouth coming at me in the car after he drove me home is forever ingrained on my brain—hence the nickname. Unfortunately, he did not see the date for the failure it was and has pursued a second one with some regularity since, but now it’s been over six months since I last saw him. I’d been so sure he moved. “Damn it,” I mutter.
“What is it?” Leo scans the room.
“Hi, I’m Micki.” She sticks her hand out to him.
“Um, Leo.” He shakes her hand. “Something going on?”
“Just someone she’d rather not see,” Micki volunteers.
I elbow her to silence. Leo doesn’t need to know that. When I look again, Sweaty Lips has spotted me and is making his way through the crowd. “Shit, he’s coming over. What do I do?”
“I’ll stall him.” Micki sets off.
Is there a place to hide? Bathrooms? Behind the bar? I look up at Leo and make a split-second decision. Good idea or not, I grab his arm. “Quick, act like you’re into me.” I step into his space, the crisp, clean scent of aftershave wafting around me.
He stills. “What?”
“Prove me wrong—that you can do something unselfish. Pretend we’re on a date. You can’t get enough of me.” I let one hand slide inside his sport coat and around his waist. Taut muscle greets my palm. So that’s what the proper surface is hiding. I allow myself a moment to be impressed.
“Um… okay.” He remains immobile, staring down at me.
I sigh. “Put your hands on my ass. Pretend to whisper something in my ear.” I nudge his sleeves to make him move. “You know—make believe.”
Now he gets it.
Large palms settle on my hips, tentatively at first, then with more confidence. He bends down close to my neck. A pause and then a whisper: “Is this what you had in mind?” His breath is warm and humid against my ear, making the fine hairs on my arms rise.
“Yeah, that’s good.” I shift and tilt my head.
“You want me to tell you a joke?”
The giggle that bubbles up my chest is equal parts acting and a knee-jerk surprise at the ball of heat suddenly present at my core. His breath smells like malt and mint.
I twist a little to locate Sweaty Lips, and Leo’s fingertips dig more firmly into my flesh. I shiver.
“He’s to my left,” he whispers. “He’s watching.” He straightens and pushes a strand of my hair back as if he’s done it a million times before.
I take a deep breath and let my hands run up Leo’s chest. He’s still keeping tabs on the guy, so I grip his lapels. We have to make this convincing. Sweaty Lips’s pursuit ends here. “Look at me,” I mumble.
He does.
In the golden light from the bar, Leo’s blue eyes turn the turquoise of tropical waters. They’re bottomless, vibrant, and locked on me. I flinch when he lifts his hand and runs the back of his fingers along my jaw. It takes effort to keep my eyelids from fluttering closed.
This is very convincing. Was he in the school play back in high school?
Leo glances one more time to his left, and then he hooks his arm behind my waist and pulls me closer. From chest to knee, my skin tingles at the contact. My hips want to press harder even, but I’d never. Not for a million bucks. Especially not when I spot the glint of a challenge in his heavy-lidded gaze. He’s enjoying this now. He thinks he has the upper hand. Well, two can play at that game.
“Is he still there?” I ask on a breath, slowly sliding one hand up to his neck and into his hair. It’s soft and thick. God, what a waste on a man.
“Behind you. Moving. Ohh…” The last noise escapes him when I tug, ever so gently, on his strands. His gaze flashes hot to mine.
“Everything okay?” I say as innocently as I can. “Did he leave?” I turn to look, still in Leo’s arms.
He inhales deeply before he lets go of me with a pinched, “Yeah.”
“Did you just smell my hair?”
Micki waves to me from the door and shows a thumbs-up. Good. Be gone, Sweaty Lips.
“No.”
“Huh. Could have sworn you did.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” He scoffs. “Just because you were in my face while I was breathing. Normally,” he adds. He runs a finger beneath the collar of his shirt and straightens his sport coat.
“Okay, okay. No need to get your tighty-whities in a bunch.” The noise level around us has risen, and the bar is two people deep now. I should get back to the table.
“So, did I do it?” Leo asks.
“Do what?”
“Prove you wrong. Unselfish deeds and all that. You’re welcome by the way.”
I press my lips together into a pout and pretend to think about it. “I do appreciate your service,” I say, finally. “But I’m not sure about unselfish—that would imply you got nothing out of it.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
I nod slowly, my gaze trailing down his torso to his crotch and back up. “Oh yeah?” I say. Then I turn and walk away.
Cora vs. Leo, 1–0.