14. Splash Down #2
“That’s enough.” Tilting his head back he bellows, “Security!”
But my adrenaline is back in full force, pulsing through my system. This isn’t about Black Friday, feminism, questionable fashion choices, or even principles anymore.
I just absolutely refuse to go down like this.
One hand still on my boob, I reach out with the other and grab the first thing I find, hurling it past Vance’s head and hitting the woman square in the face.
With my llama pillow.
Whelp. That’s embarrassing.
A few people in the crowd snicker.
The woman doesn’t even flinch. She lurches forward on attack, but this time Vance counters her, standing in the way. Vance may be taller, but honestly, I’m concerned for his safety. Everyone in Texas knows you don’t send out your QB against a linebacker.
“Um, Vance. You might want to?—”
The woman kicks out her socked and Croc-ed foot and nails him in his tender bits.
Vance goes down, sounding like a wounded water buffalo.
Sympathetic moans erupt from the crowd.
“Serves you right,” Croc Woman says to him as he curls into a fetal position, then she picks up the headset beside him.
Righteous anger dissolves, and I drop down to Vance’s side. “Vance?”
He moans.
“Sweetie.” I push his hair back off his forehead. “You okay?”
He opens his mouth, whether to moan again or answer me I don’t know, because his voice is drowned out by the Croc Woman. “You dirty spic.”
I black out. Or something. Because while the crowd gasps at her racial slur, my vision darkens, and a rage that I’ve never felt before surges through my body.
“He’s Native American, you racist asshole!” someone shouts, then lets loose a war cry worthy of Geronimo himself. That someone is me.
The next thing I know, I’m airborne.
The next several seconds are a battle of leverage and suffocation as the woman holds me to her chest, forcing me to motorboat her hefty bosom until I feel myself about to pass out from lack of oxygen.
I do the only thing I can—bite.
Howling, Croc Woman rears back. I jump up in an attempt to mount her like my stripper pole so I can subdue her with a scissor pike.
My ab muscles protest, and my scissor pike morphs into some kind of bear hug. When she regains her momentum, I’m riding her like a bride-to-be on a mechanical bull during her bachelorette party.
Hashtag fail. Hashtag major fail.
“Ladies, ladies!”
In a blur of color as Croc Woman moves left and right, trying to dislodge me, I make out two people in blue running toward us.
Sanity returns.
I loosen my grip, but I can’t jump off while she’s moving back and forth. “Stop spinning!”
Not surprisingly, Croc Woman doesn’t listen. Instead, she reaches back, grabbing me by my top-knot, pulling me forward like she’s trying to flip me over her shoulder.
And that’s when it hits me.
Nausea. Serious, gut-wrenching nausea.
The next time she pulls my hair, I hurl. I hurl hard . All down the front of Croc Woman’s shirt.
The crowd gasps.
Croc Woman screams, arms out and leaning back as if trying to dodge my puke. But there is no dodging this puke. It is all over her.
With her arms out and her weight unbalanced, I’m unseated, landing hard on my feet. A shot of pain shoots up my ankle. My only thought: Oatmeal, maple syrup, and brown sugar don’t taste nearly as good the second time around.
Croc woman twirls around to face me, puke flying off her shirt in an arc, splattering the phone cases. The crowd dives to avoid the unfriendly vomit fire.
Vance is still curled up, hands between his legs.
“Did you…” The woman looks down at herself, taking in the river of vomit dripping down her T-shirt. Her nostrils flare. Then she gags. Once. Twice. On the third, she hurls.
Apparently, Croc Woman is a sympathy puker.
Other sympathetic people in the crowd gag and stumble away. Others stare, horrified. The security guards try to slow their run but end up sliding in the upchuck.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and vow then and there never to shop on Black Friday again.
Vance
“What the hell were you thinking?” I pace the small security office. Or rather, I try to pace as best I can with the bag of frozen peas held to my junk.
Rose is on a fold-out chair with her head between her legs. “I was?—”
“You could’ve been arrested. Or hurt.” The shock has worn off, replaced by worry. I change directions, causing a twinge in my balls. “Fuck.”
Rose lifts her eyes from the ground. “I know, but?—"
“And what is your brother going to say?”
“My brother?” She sits up, her eyes narrowing. “What the hell does he have to do with it? I’m not a child you need to tell on.” She rubs her boob. “And in case you forgot, I was assaulted. I was tit punched, for God’s sake!” She rubs harder. “It’s still sore.”
I gesture to my pea bag-covered dick.
She snorts. “Okay, well, you might win the most grievously injured contest.”
“Miss West? Mr. Bodaway?” Mr. Rodriguez, the store manager who we met earlier, enters the room followed by a security officer. One who didn’t slip in vomit.
I stop pacing, and Rose smiles at the manager. “Yes?”
Mr. Rodriguez’s soft eyes match his tone as he talks to Rose. “You’re free to go, Miss West.”
My shoulders drop in shock. “Just like that?”
He spares me a glance. “Just like that.” He looks back to Rose. “How are you feeling?” He smiles at her like she didn’t just cause a major incident in his store on one of the busiest days of the year.
“I’m fine.” Rose reaches out and takes his hand in both of hers. “I really appreciate all your help with this situation, Mr. Rodriguez.”
He smiles, adding his other hand to hers. “Jorge, please.”
Rose smiles brighter. “Only if you call me Rose, Jorge.”
They share a moment. If Mr. Rodriguez wasn’t in his late fifties and somewhat portly, with a large gold wedding band on his left ring finger, I’d be jealous.
Hell, I think I am, anyway.
“You must be very proud, Mr. Bodaway,” the manager says to me, still holding Rose’s hand.
“Why’s that?”
“We have several witnesses who came forward explaining how Rose only retaliated when the offender spat a racial slur at you.” He shakes his head in disgust. “In Texas, that’s considered a hate crime, and we take that very seriously.”
“Oh, ah, yes.” I have no idea what he’s talking about.
He must see my confusion. “After you were assaulted, the woman currently in custody called you a ‘spic.’”
My mouth drops open. Unfortunately having people comment on my darker skin isn’t new to me, but I’m surprised I didn’t hear it. My balls throb. Then again, maybe I’m not surprised.
“Your girlfriend here was nice enough to correct the woman on your Native American heritage and come to your defense in a very, uh”—he struggles to find the word—“ unusual way.”
Rose grimaces, and the store manager laughs.
He drops her hand to hold it out to me. “You may not be a fellow Hispanic like me, but I won’t tolerate any racial slurs against my customers.”
I shake his hand. “Thank you.”
“Speaking of customers.” Rose reaches into her bra, pulling out a black credit card. “I’d like to pay for the current purchases of everyone in the store.”
He stares at her, his mouth open for a minute before clearing his throat. “That is very thoughtful of you, Rose, but it may cause a bit of a riot with everyone trying to get to the cashiers.”
“Oh.” Rose looks downcast for a moment before brightening again. “Then how about free coffee all day?” She thinks for a moment. “No riot, just happy, energized customers.”
Mr. Rodriguez beams. “Wonderful idea.” He turns to me, his eyes dimming as if he’s not all that impressed with what he’s seen of me thus far. “You have a very caring and smart woman here.”
I toss the bag of peas in the trash. “Yeah.” I feel weighed, measured, and severely lacking.
“Oh, we’re just friends,” Rose says.
Mr. Rodriguez’s eyes light up. “ Really ? Well in that case, I have a handsome son about your age.”
“No.” Rose points to the shopping bag I just grabbed from my 4Runner. “Leave those.”
After Rose politely thwarted Mr. Rodriguez’s matchmaking attempts, and I apologized to her for yelling, I drove Rose to Flynn’s house.
I glance down at the shopping bag with the headsets and back massager in my hand. “Why?”
“Because I have to take those home and wrap them. They’re for your family.”
“What?”
“I guess I got a bit excited when your nephews mentioned Christmas.” She laughs, but it doesn’t sound natural. “Silly, right?”
“I...”
“When I saw all the Christmas decorations in the store and people running around throwing things in their carts that were probably gifts for people, I got a little ahead of myself.” A look of panic flashes across her face, and she holds out the hand not grasping the llama pillow.
“I mean, I know we’re not like that, but still, your family was really welcoming to me yesterday, and on the off chance that I do see them again…
” She drops her hand and shrugs. “Well, I at least wanted to get them some Christmas presents.”
I stare at the bag I’m holding again, then over my shoulder at the large KitchenAid mixer box still in the back of my SUV.
“Your mom was complaining about her back last pole dance class, so I thought she’d like the massager.
And when Matt went outside to clean up the turkey pot, your sister mentioned to your mom that she needs a mixer but doesn’t know whether to ask for that or the diamond studs she really wants this Christmas. ”
Rose walks over to the SUV and pats the box. “Brit had me download the Pinterest app.”
I snort.
“And I found this tutorial on it that shows you how to glitter-coat stuff. I was thinking I could go a step further and rig up my glitter room to refinish the mixer. Thought Brittany would appreciate the DIY of it.” She takes the bag out of my hands and places it next to the mixer box.
“And these headphones are the same ones I use when gaming. They’re really good.
I thought your nephews and I could exchange usernames and game together. ”
“And the beer brewing kit?”
“For Matt. Thought he could go head to head with Brittany in the DIY department.” She holds up the bag in her hand and shakes it. “The laser tag and llama are for me, but I want to show Jackie.”
I know I should say something, but once again, Rose has me speechless. How could all that have gone through her mind on our short-lived race around the store?
“Ah, this Christmas?—”
“It’s okay, really.” She side-steps me, eyes on the ground. “I get that spending Christmas together isn’t happening.”
“I—"
“It’s just that as great as my brothers are, we’re a house full of billionaires—so the thought of presents has never been that exciting.” She looks up smiling. “Shopping for your family was fun.” She freezes at whatever expression I’m making, then swallows. “That’s all.”
“What do you usually do for Christmas?” is all I can think to ask.
She looks relieved at my question, like she was worried I’d yell at her again.
I have never felt more like an asshole in my life.
“ Die Hard marathon.” Her normal devil-may-care smirk is back in place. “While overeating Holt’s holiday cakes and cookies.”
That pulls me up short. “Your brother bakes?”
“Yeah.” She nods, taking a step closer to Flynn’s front walkway. “His chocolate chips are the best.”
Two long strides of my own have me next to her again. “They’re that good, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” She laughs, her amusement sounding genuine this time. “Just ask Jules. I think my brother’s cookies have turned into some sort of weird mating call for them.” She snorts. “They’re so gross.”
She might say they’re weird and gross, but her expression looks wistful.
“Think he’ll give up the recipe?”
“Doesn’t have to, I already know it. It was my grandmother’s.” She’s back to frowning at me. “Why? You looking to make cookies?”
“Maybe you and I could.” It’s my turn to shrug, a sense of self-consciousness falling over me that I haven’t felt since adolescence. “You know, before we head over to my sister’s for Christmas dinner.”
Her mouth drops open. I take a moment to bask in the pleasure of having shocked Rose West into silence.
“That’s a month away.” She takes a step back. “Are you sure we should make plans that far out?”
I take a step forward. “It’s almost eight months until my flight. Why not make plans for next month?” I tilt my head to the side. “You’re not backing out of our deal already, are you?”
“No?” I’ve never seen her looking so unsure.
She’s adorable.
“Good.” I shift so we can walk up the path side by side. “’Cause one of those friends-with-bennies benefits is gorging on my mom’s Christmas tamales.”
“Tamales?”
“Yeah, she picked it up from her grandmother, who lived in a border town in south Texas before moving to the reservation in New Mexico when Mom was a baby.”
We reach the front step. “Sounds awesome.” Her grin erases all traces of my earlier panic.
“So you’ll come?”
I can tell she’s thinking about it. Though her smile dims, I can tell she wants to say yes.
I wait for the silence to break down her resistance.
She lasts about thirty seconds before sighing. “Okay, fine. I’ll come.” She says it like she’s doing me a favor.
I’m pretty sure she is.
I try not to look too triumphant, but from the look she throws me, I probably fail.
The front door swings open. “Hi guys!” Jackie smiles, planting herself in front of her very annoyed-looking husband.
Rose kisses Jackie’s cheek and throws some sort of gang-looking hand sign at Flynn. “Yo, bro.”
Flynn crosses his arms over his chest. “Where have you been?” He’s talking to Rose but glaring at me.
Rose just rolls her eyes. “Don’t be lame.” She pushes past Jackie and her brother. “I was just with Vance, getting into a public bitch fight and nearly getting arrested.”
Flynn drops his arms, his eyes snapping to his sister. Jackie’s eyebrows shoot over the top of her glasses.
“But don’t worry,” Rose calls over her shoulder as she walks into the house. “I came out victorious once again. No charges filed.”
I brace for impact when Flynn turns my way again. But I’m surprised by his sympathetic expression.
“You poor bastard.” He waves me inside. “Let’s get you a drink.”