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It’s a personal goal of mine to try every restaurant, or food, my friends tell me is “the best”. If not to prove them wrong, then to enjoy the deliciousness that is food.
I can only imagine what people walking by think of us. We must look like two life-size human Crayola crayons. Me, the cotton candy pink,
“One can only hope to be body slammed by a man like that,” she says, longingly checking him out up and down.
Oh, how I would love to linger and find out how much more of him matches that hardness. But alas, I said I would not ravish him, and by joe, I’m sticking to that.
From the looks of his indifferent and cold expression, I’d say that feat may be nay unachievable. For some reason, that makes me want to try harder.
I wonder if he even knows how to have fun. I doubt it. He probably steals candy from small children and pops balloons tied to unattended strollers. He probably likes kale and granola. Gag.
Fawn’s much nicer and smilier brother brings me a glass of rosé, introducing himself to me as Samson, the “attractive and friendly one”. His words, not mine. I agree, he is definitely the friendly one, but it’s a toss-up on which brother would be considered the attractive one.
Is it possible his facial muscles have atrophied and have forgotten how to move upwards? Perhaps he needs a refresher course.
“You mean that weird concoction with the balls in it?” Is it weird I want to hear him say balls again? Totally isn’t, right? That’s completely normal.
I don’t like how he’s moved on from no expression to one of disgust when discussing the subject matter of my business. This is my livelihood here, and he’s just sneering at it like it’s a smudge of dog shit on his five-hundred-dollar loafers.
“Pinky promise?” Those soft moss green eyes shoot to mine. “Pinky what?” “Promise.” “Like a five-year-old?” “Are you five?” “No, I’m thirty.” “Then like a thirty-year-old.”
“Him,” Shay says again, this time turning her gaze on me and pointing. “Me? I don’t remember agreeing to such a thing,” I argue. “Sure you did. The moment you scared the shit out of Lala, forcing her to throw her pink paradise in my face.”
“I don’t need to try cocaine to know I don’t like it.” “Sure, you do.” “I’m sorry?” I stop dead in my tracks, the sandwich board in one hand, a gallon of milk in the other. “Have you tried cocaine?” “Of course. How else would I know if I liked it or not?”
Two pink ribbon bows with crescent moons at their center are inked right under each full, rounded butt cheek.
“I don’t eat that much sugar. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘my body is a temple’?” “Oh, I’ve heard it. But my body is not a temple. It’s an amusement park. Filled with popcorn, corn dogs, neon lights, and loud music. With creepy clowns and fun houses and roller coasters that make you scream with joy and vomit afterwards.”
Reluctantly, I sip through the enormous pink straw, and one of those silly little bobas shoots right into my mouth. On reflex, I bite down and it explodes, popping juice and sweetening the already sweet milkshake-like drink. The flavor is regrettably—good. Damn it.
My employees know where my priorities lie and my level of tolerance for disobedience. This ranks at a nine on my irritation meter. But when Micaela rounds a bank of desks and is headed straight for me, that nine drops to a four, and is replaced with my arousal meter, clocking in at a hard eight and a half.
Those delectable hips and well-defined thighs sway as she keeps her seductive pace towards me. A few of the employees tilt their heads to get a better view of her ass as she passes, and for some reason that makes me want to fire them all.
“Hello,” says the pink she-devil, staring up at me with false innocence we both know she doesn’t possess.
“I know you want something, Micaela, and I’m pretty sure my sister has something to do with it, so just spit it out.” “Is that what you tell all the girls? Just spit it out? Seems… messy, and you don’t look like a guy that does… messy.”
With all that pink rosiness, she reminds me of Strawberry Shortcake. But in an X-rated way.
Right now, I want to be that blueberry boy and taste the sweetness of her shortcake.
“And what makes you think you’ll be the one to make me smile, Shortcake?”
“Pleeeeaaaasssse.” With a popped bottom lip, she pouts and begs. Damn, I’d like to see that look on her face while she begs for me to give her something more than my smile.
“Yeeesssss!” Her honest enthusiasm is cute. A weird tick tickles my cheek, almost as if it wants to curl up at her joy. That can’t be right.
There’s no way I’m going in there with her. I did not sign up for this. I thought she would take me to the zoo, bowling, or a traveling carnival. I should have known better. That would have been too normal for Micaela.
She’s already halfway to the entrance, completely ignoring my refusal. It’s not a bad view watching her walk away from me. Her ass entices me to follow, and I do, like a God damn puppy dog.
“Do you always read all the fine print?” “Yes. Don’t you? You really should. For all intents and purposes, that’s a binding legal contract. You should treat it as such. Always read the fine print. Never sign something you haven’t read and don’t understand.”
Her happy go lucky attitude on casual binding contracts irks me. No one should sign their name so carelessly. It makes me want to sit her down and go through the do’s and don’ts of adulting.
The first time I bounce on the trampoline, it’s mild and I barely go six inches in the air. The third time I bounce, Micaela is giggling nonstop and decides she wants me to go higher, launching me two feet in the air.
She ponders me while deftly stepping back onto a trampoline to bounce casually, effortlessly, mockingly… seductively.
With one swift arm sweep, she gestures to herself to demonstrate my lack of interest in her as a person. Apparently, she missed the part where I’ve been checking her out since she walked into my office and demanded I leave with her.
“I’ll tell you when you get back on a trampoline and bounce with me.” Her grin is all evil glory, knowing now that I want to know, I’ll do it to get the answer out of her.
When I was about seven years old, my mom took me into Mayfield, the nearest city to ours, to buy a dress for the Corn n’ Cow Festival.” I have to bite my cheek to keep a bark of laughter from bursting out of my mouth. I haven’t wanted to laugh in ages, but hearing her talk about attending a Corn n’ Cow festival like it’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade is just so ludicrous the reaction is almost involuntary.
This woman has so many varying smiles, I’m starting a catalog of them to keep track.
Micaela has a literal rolodex of smiles categorized and saved. I don’t even have one.
This girl doesn’t need anything more in life to be happy than to bounce around on woven polypropylene. No fancy clothes, diamond jewelry, expensive cars, or three Michelin star restaurants where the portions are smaller than easy bake oven cakes. It makes me stop and think.
What in my life gives me even a fraction of the joy she has right now? My job? My generous bank account? The numerous galas and conferences I attend every year? Alone.
“Sure, you do. Once you try it, you’ll enjoy it. Trust me.” For some reason, I do.
“Did you do something?” Her deflated tone has me focusing my attention on her and her frown. I don’t like her frowning. It looks foreign on her face.
“I paid the manager to rent out the entire space for the rest of the day. Told him to quietly direct everyone else to leave… immediately.” “Why would you do that?” She doesn’t look as happy as I thought she would when I originally coerced the manager with my black American Express Card.
“So, you thought; I’ll just throw around money and ruin everyone else’s day, instead?” “I didn’t ruin the manager’s, or the owner’s day. They made out better than they would have on the dozen or so customers they had to escort out.”
Micaela raises an are-you-serious brow at me. “Do you ever think about other people when you do things like that?” “I thought about you.” Both her eyebrows shoot up, and her mouth gapes like a fish a few times before she looks away.
“It’s to test your reflexes. You have to jump or duck to avoid the bars, or get taken out by them.” “Ok, seems easy enough.” And just like that, smiling Micaela is back, laughing, no doubt at my expense. “Sure it is, come on your grace. I’ll go first so you can see how it’s done.”
I give her my best stern glare that would normally force interns to wet themselves. It does nothing to Micaela. Her sweet, pouty bottom lip pops in mock despondency.
Did I just have fun bouncing on trampolines? I think I did.
But what she’s wearing will not allow us to go unnoticed in public. She’s going to draw attention from everyone we pass. That was probably her plan.
Henry’s small talk game is just as good as it was before, which is atrocious. Samson was right, he would have been more fun.
There are very few things or people who can make me feel small and insignificant, but this bubbly brunette somehow manages effortlessly.
She introduces herself as Miranda to Henry and offers her “assistance in any way necessary”. I may have just thrown up in my mouth a little.
