8
“Why did you say yes if you’re not interested,”Zara bellows as she walks out of the liquor store carrying the bottle of Famous Grouse Scottish whiskey for Dad’s birthday since I’m not yet 21 years old and ineligible to buy it. She’s colored her short spikey hair jet black and the tips purple and is wearing a lime green tee shirt that reads; I Shot the Sherrif, and then in smaller font, but I didn’t shoot the deputy.
I can’t let on my plans to get close to The Lion and seek out his schedule with the objective of killing him. No one can know because that would make them accomplices, and I must make this between two people: me and the rapist. It’s not anyone else’s business.
“Because he seems nice,” I answer truthfully because Cormac does seem nice, although a little intense. But then ‘intensity’ is part of the territory of elite athlete status. “It’s just a dinner. Don’t read into it.”
She hands me the bottle in a brown paper bag, and I slip it in my bag, then check my shopping list to avoid Zara’s penetrating stare, unique to this 5ft4 terrifying woman. I have never met someone who can kill a man or woman with one single look, but I’m glad we’re on the same side.
“He seems nice? Tell me about him,” she demands as we walk back to my car several rows down in the parking lot.
“He’s probably about 6 feet 4 inches, a swimmer, and wiped green aphid goo off my face,” I explain. My heart flutters a little as I reminisce about how sweet that was, although I’m unconvinced he did that to be lovely but because he didn’t want to be seen with someone with green sludge on their face.
“Congratulations you’ve finally found your Shrek,” she laughs like a witch, “Princess FiOna.”
“I think I’m the ogre in the equation, and he’s the handsome prince. Anyway,” now I’m getting cringey, “he needed a date, so I said yes.”
“And what are you going to do if he…you know,” she points to my vag, “wants to get it on.”
“I don’t want to think that far ahead,” I sigh as the emotions storm into my chest and feast on my heart. “And since when has the word sex been replaced with Marvin Gaye lyrics?”
“Okay. How long has it been since a man sexed you?” she teases as I unlock my old Corolla.
“Two years,” I stall until we climb inside. “I haven’t looked at another man, although I have been asked on dates.”
“You’re afraid of intimacy, so you say no to every offer that comes your way, apart from Shrek. Shrek will be the pioneer to break the cobwebs,” she states, pointing her short, stumpy finger at me. “I had hopes for you and Blake, but he’s,” she waves her hand about searching for the right words, “on the dark side.”
“How dark? I thought he was a mere small-time thief,” I encourage her to offload this particular subject.
“Is he still teaching you how to shoot a gun?” she asks curiously.
“You’re ignoring my question,” I bark hotly. “How dark is Blake, Z?LordVoldemort dark? Ted Bundy dark? Al Capone dark? How dark?” I ask eagerly.
“I can’t talk about his work life because I don’t know the entirety of it. I’ve only worked with him a couple of times,” she explains.
“Really? This is news to me. What jobs did you and Blake do together?” I sound demanding. Where did this come from?
“Come on, Rae. You know I can’t talk about this stuff,” she snarls impatiently. “Now, you answer my question. Is he teaching you to shoot your gun?”
I start the car up. “I thought I would watch a couple of YouTubes or something.”
She shoots me a sharp look. “Rae, don’t be stupid. Call Blake.”
“You just said he’s on the dark side,” I argue, raising my voice.
“You won’t see that side,” she yells back.
“What?”
“He’ll keep his work life separate from his personal,” she clarifies.
“He sold me a handgun, Z. Is that work life or personal life?” I question fervently.
“This is a stupid conversation,” she hits. “And I need toilet paper.”
“What?” my mouth drops open in awe. “Toilet paper?”
“Yeah, aren’t we going grocery shopping next?” she states as I back out of the park. “I just remembered we’re out. And you sound jealous.”
“Of what?” I slam on the brakes, and she propels forward, slamming her hand on the dashboard to stop the motion.
“Are you trying to kill me?” she screeches.
“Yes, I am trying to kill you with my greatest weapon, my two thousand and five model Corolla. This car will eat you alive, sister. Now tell me, how am I jealous?”
She shows me her palm and gives me one of those hawk’s eye looks. “I said…you sound jealous,” she speaks slowly, “because you haven’t managed to shut up about that boy for the last hour. May I remind you that it’s sweet Shrek, the slime remover you’ve got a date with, not The Dark Knight, the gunslinger?”
I scoff. “The Dark Knight. Hardly.”
“That boy is bestowed with more charms than Tinker Bell,” she adds as I start to back out of the car park again, but someone catches my eye in the rear vision mirror, walking past my bumper, and I slam on the brakes again. “What the hell?”
“Oh shit, it’s him,” I gasp, dropping my head down into Z’s lap, so I can’t be seen.
“Who?” she wrenches her head behind her. “Who are they?”
“They?” I ask. I saw only one handsome head in the mirror. “It’s him—Shrek. I mean, Cormac.”
“He’s hot, but who is that Daddy with him?” she crows mischievously.
I bolt upright as if lightning struck me just in time to see the two tall, straight-back men walk past my car towards the stores. “I wonder if that’s…Gabe.”
“Gabe? As in Gabrielle? As in the detective that you know…?” she doesn’t dare mention the actual words ‘rape’ or ‘sexual assault’ because she knows how painful it is for me. So, pretending that it didn’t happen even though my life drastically changed from that moment and will never be the same again. But let’s not go there.
With their backs to me, I can’t see their faces to know if the silver-haired man walking beside Cormac is Det. Gabe. He’s dressed in a white button shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows tucked into black dress pants.
“Men don’t whet my appetite, but even I can see how hot they are. Especially the silver fox,” Z crows, “look at that ass.”
“I can’t see,” I bite because they’ve walked out of my vision range.
“Get out and follow them,” she encourages, getting a massive kick out of this.
“I’m not lowering myself to perving,” I argue. Even though I so want to. I wish I had a pair of binoculars.
“That silver fox walking in those pants,” Z chuckles. “I might need something cold to calm my cheeks down.”
I growl in annoyance, throw the door open, and climb out just in time to see the two striking men step inside the café next to the liquor store.
“I could use an ice-cold Coke right now,” flapping her hands in front of her face, faking a hot flush. This woman thinks Ryan Gosling looks like Kermit the Frog and crushes on Sydney Sweeney so bad that she wouldn’t eat for two days when she got engaged. Men do nothing for her. “Would you mind getting me a Coke, Rae? Looksee, there’s a cafe just over there.”
“Why are you forcing me into the dragon’s den?” I hiss at her.
“Because your bestie is dying of dehydration,” she hits back. “And if you don’t go and get me a Coke right now, I will open your daddy’s Scottish whiskey.”
“You will not,” I scorn.
“Oh, yes, I will. Just watch me,” she threatens, clutching the bottle with her contemptuous hand.
“Fine,” I growl, slamming the door on her smug face. I’m relieved I’m still wearing my grimy garden jeans and a tee shirt, so it won’t look like I’m trying to make an impression as I ‘accidentally’ bump into them. This is so embarrassing.
As I approach the café, I keep my eyes low and stride casually, avoiding searching for them through the window. When I open the door, the scent of coffee and baked goods hits me fast, and I relax a little. There’s a gentle murmur of diners chatting over their meals, and I glance to see if I can spot the men as I approach the counter.
“Two large Cokes to take away,” I order. I prefer something fatty like a milkshake to remedy yesterday’s alcoholic binge, but that will take too long to make.
The server says it’ll take a few minutes for the Cokes to be made as I wait with my back to the diners. With the Cokes finally in my hands, I turn towards the door and do a sweeping scan across the diners. Steely blue eyes connect with mine, and nerves quiver along my thighs.
He’s sitting at a table on the far side of the room facing me, while Cormac sits opposite him with his back to me. His forearms are resting on the table, and a coffee cup is in front of him. In this tiny moment, the walls seem to close in on me.
It’s not the way he looks at me that’s the problem—it’s what he symbolizes. Internal chaos overwhelms my body, and I flee out the door.
I have approximately two minutes’ walk from the café to my car to pull myself together, so Z can’t tell I’m upset. I can do this. I’m strong, yet pathetic, so pathetic.
“And?” Z asks excitedly when I return with her bloody Coke.
I take a therapeutic breath to ease my heart before climbing inside the Corolla so she can’t read my angst.
“It was him, the detective,” I answer, handing her the Coke. “The silver fox.”
“Did you talk?” she asks as I start the engine.
“No, he was too busy talking to…I guess Cormac is his son or nephew or whatever,” I explain. “Cormac had his back to me.”
Z looks confused. “So, you didn’t go up to talk to your Friday date?”
“No,” I sigh. “Can we just drop it?”
“Sure,” she agrees, taking a sip of her Coke through the straw, then mumbles something under her breath that I don’t catch.
I drive out of the parking lot and onto the busy street toward our favorite grocery store, and she’s silent the entire way. It isn’t until I park and turn the engine off that she pipes up with, “You’re not ready to go there, are you?”
“No,” I answer. “Not yet.”