3. Parker
PARKER
Do you know if Phoenix is working tonight?
I could have just texted Phoenix directly and asked if he was working, but I sent it to Aspen instead, curious to see if they’d grown close enough that they were to the sharing schedules phase of whatever was going on between them.
Sometimes it was hard to tell if I was going to be stepping on toes if I approached Phoenix about eating out with me sometime, since one day it looked like they were joined at the hip and the next, they hesitated around each other, like something between them wasn’t quite right.
He’s not. He’s off for the rest of the week with a line of stitches across the bridge of his nose and raccoon eyes after getting hit in the face with a blow dryer.
Son of a bitch, when did that happen?
Two nights ago, he’s been crashed on my couch ever since.
I’m glad I thought to text before heading down to the strip club. I was going to take my notebook, sit in a corner, and keep an eye on him while I wrote.
Stalker much? Aspen texted, followed by a laughing emoji.
I thought we agreed to watch his back. In fact, I distinctly remember being elected to park my ass on a stool on the nights he worked.
I know. Just giving you shit. We’ve been taking advantage of his sudden downtime to catch up on movies neither of us has seen yet. You’re welcome to join us, unless you have your heart set on staring at the stripper boys tonight.
I’ll be there in ten, I just need to change clothes. I’d already thrown the rest of my shit in a bag.
Aspen typed back: There are going to be notebooks littering my coffee table tonight, aren’t there?
And an entire colony of pens, just in case I get inspired.
Uh-huh, don’t you mean just in case you need to record the inevitable bullshit Phoenix and I will start yapping about the moment a movie gets boring? Aspen texted.
That too. See you in a few.
Don’t bring that rhyming mess over here.
I replied with a middle finger emoji, stripped out of my club clothes, and pulled on a baggy pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt I’d confiscated from my last boyfriend.
His collection of metal merch had been his only redeeming quality, considering he couldn’t fuck worth a damn and had the table manners of a caveman.
I’d pillaged two Iron Maiden, one Megadeth, one Motley Crüe, and one Metallica t-shirt from his collection before we’d parted ways.
Eddie’s leering face in the mirror made me smile, since out of all of them, this was my fucking favorite.
The six-minute drive between my place and Aspen’s shouldn’t have taken twelve, but someone’s car had overheated in the middle of the avenue, and with traffic funneling into the one open lane to get past it, there was no room for anyone to try and push it out of the way.
I backed up the moment I realized no one would let me into that mess from the side street I was on, pulled into someone’s driveway, turned around, and took another route.
For some reason, downtown was packed this evening, and I spent most of the time stuck in traffic, glancing at the people in the cars around me, making up stories about their lives based on the way they acted and dressed.
One lady, drumming daggers for fingernails on the steering wheel, sneered through her windshield with such hatred it was a wonder she didn’t crack the damned thing.
I imagined her on the way to catch a subordinate slacking off on the job, hell-bent on dressing him down in a grand speech, right before she fired him.
Only traffic was preventing her from getting there, and the person sending her tips was warning her that he’d be headed to his next destination soon.
She was furious, warring with anxiety, with this almost obsessive need to catch him in the act.
Maybe she’d come close before, maybe she even caught a write-up for some rule infraction committed in the course of trying to trap him.
She’s at war with this guy; maybe he doesn’t realize how badly she’s out to get him.
She’s not going to get there in time, so now all she can do is sit and stew.
And that’s when I got it. The plot for my next cozy mystery.
Where the oblivious golden retriever character gets merc’d by a grumpy supervisor, and the rest of the crew has to figure out who was behind it without winding up as dead as their friend.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted their jobs to be.
Courier, delivery driver, there were plenty of options.
I’d jot them down when I reached Aspen’s, if I ever reached Aspen’s, because what the fuck was going on in town today?
Two people were arguing over a fender bender, cars blocking the turning lane I was glad I didn’t need to use.
The lights in town square seemed to take longer than normal when I reached them, but once I was on the other side, there was hardly anyone around.
I cut across town to Aspen’s neighborhood and noticed that most of the traffic was headed for the downtown area.
It dawned on me then that it was Saturday, and the concert in the park series had already been an overwhelming success since Brice Miller had taken over as programming director.
He’d started doing themed nights, bringing in multiple bands, vendors, food trucks, and artisans, turning each event into a fucking festival, with bouncy houses and even those bucking bulls that used to be barroom favorites.
People no longer went just to spread a blanket out on the lawn and sit, waiting for the next performer to go on.
Now they came for the experience, as there were tarot readings and carnival games, like the dunking booth and stalls overflowing with stuffed prizes waiting for winners to pop enough balloons or toss enough rings on bottles to claim them.
“What happened to ten minutes?” Aspen asked when he answered the door.
“I forgot it was concert-in-the-park night,” I grumbled. “There are already a few lanes shut down due to accidents, so be lucky I got here at all.”
“Shit, Jesse Winters was going to play an acoustic set tonight with Dez and Tripp. I heard it was to kickstart the new tour their bands are launching later in the week. I swear, if Wild Child, Bleeding Dawn, and Tattered Angel play anywhere near here, I will fork over a small fortune to be right there in the front row.”
“If you’re willing to loan me a small fortune, I’d be happy to join you,” I teased. “Now scoot the fuck over and let me in. I already had an idea on the way over here.”
“Shocked you didn’t try writing it while you were stuck in traffic,” he said as he stepped aside.
“Meh, I couldn’t reach my bag.”
“Want anything to drink?” he asked as we headed down the hall.
“Yeah. Whatever you have is fine, thanks.”
“No problem, I’ll throw a platter of snacks together too, since it’s time to pick a new movie.”
“Is there a theme for the night?” I asked as we paused in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Disaster movies that do not involve asteroids, aliens, or anything to do with outer space,” he explained.
“Got it,” I said and left him to put together the refreshments.
Phoenix sat up the moment I stepped into the room, hair forming a messy halo around his face.
“Ouch,” I muttered, stepping closer to get a better look at the damage.
“Well, it didn’t tickle,” he grumbled, “I can tell you that much.”
“What did you do to get a blow dryer thrown at your head?” I asked, cupping his cheek so I could gently turn his head and assure myself that I’d already seen the worst of the damage.
“Forgot to duck. It wasn’t aimed for me.”
“Gotcha. How many stitches did they put in?” I asked.
“Thirteen,” he muttered, resistance against my hand a sign that he was trying to shy away, which I refused to let him do.
I wanted to see his eyes when he told me what had put such a sad look in them.
“Another wicked scar for the thrill seekers to gawk at. Makes me look dangerous and badass when I pick them up on my Harley. They get to live out their bad-boy fantasy while I’m fucking them through the bed, and I get to dine out on their dime as they’re showing me off all over the place. I just think they’re ugly.”
“Bullshit,” I grumbled. “You’re just as beautiful now as before you got clocked. Just a tad bruised and puffy.”
“Get bent.”
On one hand, it was good that he could laugh it off where other people might have been traumatized, but the fact that he’d gotten used to violence brought some of my less savory tendencies bubbling to the surface.
I kissed his forehead, then stared him in the eyes for a moment before claiming a spot on the couch across from him.
Was it perhaps a bit anal, the way I arranged the notebooks in a neat pile ordered by size, edges lined up, since I hated the way spiral-bound notebooks got tangled with one another?
I arranged the pens too: blue for writing, red for edits, and a yellow highlighter for notes.
I didn’t want to search for lore or names when I went to create a glossary and character sketches later.
As soon as everything was to my satisfaction, I opened a blank notebook and started jotting down the thoughts I’d had in the car.
“What’s a good name for a crabby witch?” I asked as I lightly tapped the pen against the edge of the page.
“You have to give me more context than that,” Phoenix said. “Like, is this a literal witch we’re talking about, at which point I need to know if you’re going for adorable-angst or utterly terrifying, or is this a shitty human being who deserves to be called Edna?”