“You two should have showered,” Alex said, wrinkling his nose. “You smell like pussy and dick and butt.”
Megan slammed the car door, situating herself behind Bobby. “Fuck you, asshole, no we don’t,” she fired back.
Alex glared at her, the car rocking from the force of the slam. He looked at Bobby for help, or to chastise Megan and when Bobby only smirked, Alex said, “Well, you look like you smell like it, and that’s worse.”
“Can you buy us some wine?” Bobby asked, directing the conversation elsewhere. After they had showered separately, Megan had said that her mom allowed her to have wine with dinner sometimes, if said wine was so good that Kate raved about it. After that, she would be more lenient for the rest of night, and Megan wanted to get drunk.
“That’s why you called me?” Alex asked and touched his heart.
“Yeah,” Bobby said, “and weed from a dispensary, if you’re up for it.” He held off asking about sleeping pills for Brenda in front of Megan, but he had a suspicion that she wouldn’t mind.
Alex frowned and put the car in gear. “You know that’s illegal, right?”
“Who is this fucking dude, Bobby?” Megan questioned, butting in. “I know people that can get us both, we don’t need this douchebag.”
Bobby laughed as Alex pulled away from the curb. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Alex said, shrugging. “There are risks involved in handing booze over to a couple newborns, and I think I deserve a little compensation.” Alex adjusted the rear-view mirror. “Nothing crazy, just a bottle of Jick Dunnels.”
Megan grumbled, and Bobby couldn’t make out what she said. “That’s fine,” Bobby said, even though he disliked the idea of getting shaken down every time he wanted alcohol. He had the money, and Bobby supposed there was some risk to it. His bank account was a touch over $195,000. Having sex with and finishing inside Megan twice had granted him $120,000 by itself, not including the blowjob she had given him. Interestingly, cumming inside her was more lucrative than the sex by $10,000.
They reached the dispensary first, and to Bobby’s shock, Alex left the car running for them. It was a button start, and as Bobby sat there, he came to the conclusion that there must be some mechanism stopping the car from being stolen.
“How long have you had a bodyguard?” Megan asked, emphasizing the last word in a mocking tone.
Bobby turned to face her, grinning. “You don’t like him?”
“He acts like a frat boy loser,” she said, scoffing. “Doesn’t even know me but feels the need to tell me I stink like sex.”
It had been rude, but Alex was an ass from the beginning. “Maybe he’s jealous that I got to see what’s underneath those clothes,” Bobby said. “That pretty pussy and tight ass. Your dirty fucking mouth. I’d be mad too.”
She suppressed a grin. “Shut up, virgin, what do you know about it?” Megan teased.
“You’re like a shark with that on/off button they have,” he said. “They’re all teeth and danger until you flip them upside down.”
Megan blinked at him. “You think you can handle a shark?” she asked, tinkling laugher escaped her lips. “Turn one upside down and control it?”
Bobby had no response for that. He was in over his head. What the fuck had he been thinking, trying to talk like that. Like he didn’t just cum in record time, back-to-back. Fuck me, he thought and gulped, regaining some of his lack of confidence. I did alright the second time though, he amended.
Alex saved him by opening the car door and climbing in. Thank fucking god, Bobby thought, hoping there wasn’t a word for shark wrangler that Megan could use against him. Alex tossed a box of pre rolls into Bobby’s lap and fished the receipt out of his pocket, handing it to him. There was a ten-dollar bill folded within, and Bobby moved to stuff it in his wallet.
“Hold on,” Megan said seriously. “Turn it upside down and make sure it’s the real thing.”
Alex recoiled, as if she had claimed the car belonged to her now. “Huh?” he grunted, peering in the back seat.
Bobby glared at her but the innocent, dumb look on her face disarmed him. She was making fun of him, sure, but she wasn’t letting Alex in on it as far as he could tell. Pressing his lips into a flat line, Bobby turned the bill over and wracked his brain for something to say. He couldn’t insult her, less it backfire catastrophically, so he opted for the next best thing. “You’re right, Alex does seem shifty but the ten looks fine,” Bobby said, staring at her. “If a little beat up and scratched.”
“You think I walk around with half printed, fake money?” Alex asked, looking at Megan with a scowl on his face.
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Megan said with a lecherous grin and crossed her arms over her chest.
They reached the liquor store ten minutes later. The drive had been quiet, awkward, and Bobby spent most of the ride gorgling the best wines. Prices had surprised him somewhat; Bobby expected them to be in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars each but that wasn’t the case. He screenshotted a handful of bottles and sent the pictures to Alex.
After Alex chose a parking place far away from any other cars, Bobby gave him the nine, one hundred dollar bills he still had. “Can you get at least six bottles?” Bobby asked and leaned over, stuffing his wallet back in his pocket. “Try to get the ones I texted you but if they don’t have that just mix and match with other pricey shit. Maybe ask someone who knows about it.”
Alex nodded. “Do you need a corkscrew?”
Bobby turned, facing Megan and raised his eyebrows. She had a little smirk on her face. “We have corkscrews,” Megan said, tucking a length of hair behind her ear.
“Alright, I’ll be right back,” Alex grunted and gingerly closed the door after getting out.
Bobby scratched his cheek. “What is your mom going to make?” he asked, facing forward and peering out the windshield. A woman was pushing a mini cart with a case of beer and two jugs of vodka. He could hear the wheels rattling as she moved.
“Probably a roast,” Megan said and sighed. “Potatoes, carrots. It takes forever to cook when she makes it, and we probably won’t eat before eleven. Don’t be surprised if she forces us to play a board game while it’s in the oven.”
He liked Jinga and Monop, and he had played Yaksee with Alessio before but that was it. Bobby’s family went their separate ways after dinner, choosing to spend time alone or with Hecky, in Brenda’s case. “What game?” Bobby asked.
“Scrubble, my mom fucking loves it,” Megan said. “Inviting you over for dinner could be her excuse to play doubles.”
“Huh,” he said. Bobby wasn’t a wordsmith to say the least, but it didn’t sound so bad. He knew some big words. Freeing his phone from his pocket, Bobby texted his mom, letting her know about the late dinner Megan’s mom was making. She replied in the positive, asking that he keep in touch. The woman allowed her kids plenty of leeway as long as they weren’t failing any classes, and Bobby had never cashed in the leeway before.
Megan snorted. “You’re such a dork,” she said and kneed him through the seat. “That’s all you have to say? I thought you would be mad; Johny was, Andrew was, even Phil grumbled about it, and he’s a chess player.”
“I don’t need a list of the people you’ve been with,” Bobby muttered.
“Don’t worry, they’re all terrible in bed,” she complained and climbed over the armrest, grabbing the pre rolls in his lap. “Andrew tried rubbing my clit with a knuckle.”
Bobby held back a chuckle; Megan said the last as if he knew what she meant. “I don’t want to hear about that,” he said, wincing.
She laughed and kissed his cheek before sitting. “I didn’t say anything when I found out my sister blew you,” Megan said.
He snickered. “You’re the one who put my dick in her mouth,” Bobby said.
A while later, the trunk snicked open, followed by a thud and the chiming of glass bottles colliding.
*
Megan opened her front door, and Bobby followed her into the house, carrying the wine. They had been placed in a cardboard box with the flaps folded inward and the necks sticking out, taller than the rim. Conversation reached their ears as they headed for the kitchen, Emma must have woken from her nap.
When he turned the corner, Bobby froze. Megan’s mom was trimming a large hunk of meat, and standing next to her, smiling and cutting potatoes, was Mrs. Anderson. “Shit,” he whispered and sent a glare Megan’s way, but she only shrugged innocently.
Kate must have heard him because she lifted her head and said, “Don’t worry, doll. Tricia left her teacher’s cap at home. You won’t mind sharing a table with her, will you, Bobby?” Kate’s cheeks bunched into sweet smile. “I ran into her at the grocery store and couldn’t bear the thought of her eating alone and grading papers all night.”
Bobby’s feet moved of their own accord, walking closer to the marble countertop. “No, of course not,” he answered and cleared his throat, chancing a peek in Mrs. Anderson’s direction. She was staring at him. “Er, hi, Mrs. Anderson.”
Megan’s mother laughed, wiping her brow with the back of her hand; the one holding the knife. “Call her Tricia, sweetness,” Kate said and blew a hair out of her face. “I won’t stand for any titles under my roof.”
Mrs. Anderson protested silently, sneering at the back of Kate’s head. What a fucking shitshow, Bobby thought. Before anyone could respond, Kate said, “Ooh, what do we have here.” She hurried over and eyed the box. “Is this for me, dolly?” Her voice was sugar, and her skin was glittering cinnamon.
Bobby nodded, setting the bottles on the counter. “Yeah, I hope you like them,” he said, awkwardly and caught Mrs. Anderson making another face.
“Alcohol?” Mrs. Anderson asked. “Who bought it for you?” The tattooed woman peered over Kate’s shoulder, leaving the potatoes behind.
“Oh, hush, Trish,” Kate said and set her knife down, freeing her clean hand to grab a bottle. When she read the label, something akin to a moan escaped her throat. “A 97’ Rimshaw Gantcliff. I knew this was going to be a good night.” She gave the bottle to Megan. “Open it for me, will you?”
Megan grinned, striding past the fridge and rifling through a drawer.
“Kate, the damn boy just brought booze into your home,” Mrs. Anderson said, looking none too pleased.
Kate freed another bottle, making that sound again. “They are both adults, and we were far worse at an even younger age,” she said and winked at Bobby before lowering her voice. “Trish and I had fake ids before high school.”
Bobby chuckled, resting a hand on the edge of the counter; he was acutely aware of them and didn’t know where to put the damn things. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner,” he said, feeling Mrs. Anderson’s stare and decided not to comment on their youth.
Kate wasn’t having it. “You should have seen us, sweetleaf, getting drunk before and after class, smoking cigarettes, dancing all night,” she said fondly and raised her arms above her head, languidly moving her body to music only she could hear. She twirled, facing Mrs. Anderson and treating Bobby to eyeful of backside. “Ease up on him, Trish, he’s a damn sight nicer than other boy’s I’ve met.”
Mrs. Anderson’s jaw clenched. Her gaze flicked to Bobby, and he looked away. “Fine, but I better not hear him repeating anything you’ve said,” Mrs. Anderson replied.
A hollow thunk sounded, and Megan said, “Mom, stop dancing, nobody wants to see that.” She tossed the cork into the sink, where it bounced and somersaulted.
Her mom sent her a withering look. “You’re no fun either,” she pouted and stopped. She redirected her attention back to Mrs. Anderson. “Thank you, now pour us all a glass while I get everything in the oven.”
Mrs. Anderson heaved a sigh before opening a cabinet and grabbing four glasses. Bobby’s eyes widened. “Are you going to waste the 97’ on them?” Mrs. Anderson asked, sucking her tongue. “Its nuances will be lost on them.”
Bobby smirked. He had never heard Mrs. Anderson use anything close to a playful tone before and it kind of excited him. “You’re right, I can’t tell the difference,” he said, slightly annoyed that she would keep him from trying something that he bought.
Kate arranged potatoes and chunks of carrot on the bottom of a baking pan. “She’s only teasing you,” Kate assured him. “Megan, take Bobby and Trish into the dining room and get the Scrubble board set up. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Megan took a half-filled glass from Mrs. Anderson and shot Bobby a grin. “What did I tell you?” she asked and had a sip of the wine. “My mom dreams of Scrubble.”
Kate flapped a wrist in Megan’s direction, eyeing Bobby. “Don’t listen to her,” she said, as Mrs. Anderson handed him a glass of dark red liquid. “She secretly loves playing; we always have fun.”
Mrs. Anderson placed the wine bottle on the dining table, and Megan left to fetch the board. Bobby sat as far away from Mrs. Anderson as possible and took a gulp of wine, wiping his chin where a drop had escaped his lips. “Relax, Bobby, as long as you keep your mouth shut about the drinking we won’t have any problems,” Mrs. Anderson said, swirling the liquid in her glass.
“I won’t say anything,” Bobby replied and swallowed another mouthful. He grimaced, willing it to kick in so he could calm down.
Mrs. Anderson shook her head slowly. “It isn’t meant to be chugged,” she said. “The flavor is strong and anything more than a sip can be off putting. Ask Kate for beer if you only want to get drunk.”
Bobby scooted his chair in. “I thought it was supposed to be terrible,” he said, lips still turned up in a grimace.
She sipped hers and sat down. “What do you taste?” Mrs. Anderson asked.
He rubbed his cheek, feeling like he was back in class and being called upon to answer an impossible question. The flavor that came to mind wasn’t something he wished to speak aloud. “Er, I don’t know, cherry?” he lied. Saying piss would surely put her in a worse mood.
Mrs. Anderson had another sip, made a thoughtful expression. “You taste cherry?” she asked, seemingly interested in his opinion.
Bobby tensed, feeling guilty about the lie in the face of her earnestness. He decided to be honest; she already disliked him at best and if she hated him for the truth then so be it. “No, I made that up, all I taste is, well… it tastes like crap.” He stopped himself from revealing his full feelings.
She sighed and drank more, the tattoo on her neck shifting as she swallowed. “Christ, Bobby, do I frighten you that much?” Mrs. Anderson asked and gestured at his near empty glass.
He slid it over, carefully. “A bit, yeah,” Bobby admitted, another near truth. The reality was that he expected her to rip his head off any moment, or worse, smile and reveal long rows of serrated and pointy teeth.
“I suppose that is to be expected, considering how I run a classroom,” she said, giving him a refill. “If I order you to relax again, will that help?”
Bobby chuckled lightly. “Probably not,” he said and leaned forward, retrieving his glass and taking a tiny sip.
“How about we start over?” Mrs. Anderson asked. “I’m Patricia, it’s a pleasure to meet you…” Her eyebrows rose.
“Bobby,” he supplied, despite the surprise at hearing a different name than Tricia. “Er, good to meet you, too.”
Mrs. Anderson drained her wine and splashed some more into her glass. “Do you come to this bar often?” she questioned.
“What brings you here now?” She inquired, smelling her wine.
“My boss has been breathing down my neck all month,” he replied. “I needed to get out and relax.” Belatedly, he realized that his statement landed pretty close to home. He took another gulp, covering up his reflexive head jerk.
“A real tyrant, is she?” Mrs. Anderson asked, rolling the stem of her glass between her fingers. She hadn’t looked at him since their reintroduction.
He held up his hands. “No, no, she’s great,” Bobby said, afraid even to speak negatively about his hypothetical, female boss.
Mrs. Anderson raised her eyebrows. “That bad, huh?” she asked and whistled.
Megan strolled into the dining room, carrying another bottle and the Scrubble board. She sat her empty glass down and put the game box between Bobby and Mrs. Anderson. Grabbing her bottle, she dumped wine out, filling her glass nearly to the rim and sat next to Bobby. “You’re alive then?” Megan asked, grinning and drank thirstily. The ruby colored liquid left a faint trail curling away from her lips. She licked them. “I’ve never had Trish as a teacher, but I hear she’s quite the shark. Is it true?”
Bobby gaped at her, and he swore there was a twinkle in her eye.
Mrs. Anderson cleared her throat. “Stop trying to get him in trouble,” she said, lifting the lid off the box and leaning it against the wall on the floor.
Megan huffed and raised her glass in front of Bobby, and he clinked his into it. He drained his wine and scowled. “This one is better,” Megan said and snatched his glass. She pointed at the bottle near Mrs. Anderson with her pinky. “That 69’ tastes like hot piss and cigarette.”
Bobby coughed and snickered, covering his mouth with a fist. “It wasn’t so bad when I tried a speck,” he said after recovering.
Megan snorted and topped him off. “Are you going to suck up to her all night?” she asked.
Bobby felt Mrs. Anderson’s eyes on him, probably enjoying his discomfort. What was I thinking, agreeing to this damn dinner, he thought, and glanced at Mrs. Anderson. She seemed to be holding back a smile, or maybe it was the curved glass distorting her lips. “No, I do that with my grades,” he said, some of the alcohol finally setting in.
Mrs. Anderson laughed, a single, short bark of it. “All those C papers and B- test scores really get me going,” she replied and lazily swung a fist across her body.
Bobby grinned, accepting the glass from Megan as her mom swooped into the room, carrying a third bottle. Kate surveyed the seating arrangement and shook her head. “Up,” Kate said, gesturing at her daughter. “First game pairings are Bobby and I.”
He was partially relieved when Megan stood and rounded the table. Kate had never teased him or put him in an awkward position during any of their limited interactions. She settled into the chair beside Bobby and pulled out the board, tiles, and little stands. “We each get our own rack, sweetness, and alternate turns between us,” Kate explained. “Unless you want to play the variant where we share a single rack?”
“No!” Megan and Mrs. Anderson said in unison.
“It’ll just be you playing for him,” Megan said.
“I agree,” Mrs. Anderson added. “That would be unfair.”
Kate scoffed, flapping a hand like she was swatting away a fly. “What do you say?” she asked Bobby. “You’re the guest, doll, you get to choose.”
There was no way he would pass up an opportunity to irritate Megan. “Let’s brain share, I need all the help I can get,” Bobby said and took a swig. The wine Megan had picked was a lot better.
“How did I know you were going to say that,” Megan said, situating a rack in front of Mrs. Anderson and herself. “You’re such a cheater.”
Bobby laughed as Kate began fishing tiles from the sack, the wooden pieces clacking and chittering. “It isn’t cheating, it’s a variant,” he said.
Kate murmured her agreement, arranging their tiles on the rack after handing the bag to Mrs. Anderson. When she finished, Kate drank from her glass and sighed, patting Bobby’s thigh. Her eyes were fixed on the letters in front of them, and her hand didn’t linger but its effects did. A drop of adrenaline raced through him as Megan and Mrs. Anderson whispered, discussing what to play, he supposed.
Leaning into him, Kate whispered in his ear, “Any ideas, sugar?”
Her breath was hot and damp. Bobby could think of several things he wanted to do with her, but he ignored those thoughts in favor of studying their letters. Kate had fussed with the rack, and it read: brevisj. He considered for a moment. “Uh, rib, or sir,” he said into her ear, softly. “Oh, jive would be good.”
Kate tittered and had a mouthful of wine. “Whenever I start jiving, Megan yells at me for embarrassing her,” she said in a hushed tone. “You’re impressive for a novice, honeybun, go ahead and play jive.” She reached across the board, touching a square. “Put the j here and continue this way.” Her finger swiped downward.
He followed her instructions, and Kate kept score as Megan and Mrs. Anderson drained their glasses together. Megan had probably been trying to convince Mrs. Anderson to drink with her, he thought. Mrs. Anderson grimaced, and Bobby smirked at her, knowing how intensely pissy the 97’ tasted.
Kate pulled more tiles from the bag, and Megan slapped down a word. “Hmm,” Kate muttered, rubbing her chin and glancing at Bobby. “This one is easy, doll, I’ll place it myself if you don’t mind.”
The rack read: riblets. Bobby shrugged. “Nice find,” he said.
She beamed back at him and stood, placing the tiles. “We jive on bingo!” Kate declared, giggling and languidly rocked her hips back and forth like a winding, lazy snake. It reminded him of a belly dancer. Her suit pants were loose in some areas, but form-fitting where it mattered, and Bobby tore his eyes away before Mrs. Anderson or Megan caught him leering.
When Kate sat down, she touched him again, pressing the palm of her hand into the side of his thigh and rubbing gently. “Forgive me, deary,” she said. “I get carried away sometimes.” Kate brought her glass to her lips and drank deeply. “Are you having a good time?” Her fingers crawled over his pocket, stopping just before reaching his crotch.
“Yeah, I’m glad you chose me as your partner,” Bobby said. “I’d be lost without you.”
She smiled and the faint lines framing her lips and eyes deepened. Kate lifted her curious hand and tapped him on the tip of the nose with a finger. “You are quite the charmer, aren’t you, Bobby?” she asked, voice low and conspiratorial.
He fiddled with his glass, emptying it down his throat. “You’re the first person to accuse me of being charming,” Bobby answered with a smirk, as Mrs. Anderson and Megan deliberated their next move, loudly. Kate was the only person, aside from his mother, to heap praise and compliments on him. She had said he was thoughtful. Sweet. Bobby had to disagree, considering what he had done to both of the woman’s daughters and the tentative plans he had laid out for Brenda.
Kate took his wineglass, brushing the back of his hand and thumb with her fingers. “Are you not guilty of the crime?” she posed, raising an eyebrow.
“I plead the fifth,” Bobby answered, feeling loose and far more at ease than earlier. He was beginning to like wine; it didn’t kick in too fast or too slow.
Kate let out a cute snort, and her breasts jumped slightly. She had on another overly tight, off-white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A few buttons were undone near her neck, but she kept her chest under wraps, and all Bobby could see was the slightly careworn skin of her breastbone. She was tucked in, even well after getting off work. “Overruled,” Kate responded and laughed.
Mrs. Anderson moved, leaning over the game board and placing a word. Her tattooed fingers were clumsy, and she dropped a tile. “Your honor, I have to object,” Bobby said as Kate poured. “Section c, dash h, dash a, dash r, dash m, protects me under the constitution.”
Kate giggled. It wasn’t quite like her daughter; Kate’s was less devious and happier, more innocent sounding. Bobby cringed internally. Here I go again, he thought. “Don’t make me swing my gavel and hold you in contempt, dolly,” Kate said, wagging a finger at him.