A Mess of Reason (4 page)

“Yeah, well, you were in the dirt facedown.
I was closer than the clowns. I wasn’t exactly gonna let you get
skewered by him.”

“Okay. So you saved my life. I owe you a big
one.”

“Just remember those words. I’m going take
you up on that, Sass. You have been warned.”

“Put your clothes on, big shot. We’re
running late already.”

She claps her hands, then tosses my jeans
over. Her eyes watch every move I make as I slide them on. As I’m
zipping up, I catch her gaze pinned to my crotch. She’s dragging
her tongue along her bottom lip as if I’ve just wrapped a
tenderloin to go. She doesn’t even realize I’m watching her check
me out. Then begins the clamor of voices in my head:
So, is she
into me? In that way? Is she looking at me because she likes what
she sees? Or is she just curious…having a voyeuristic moment? It’s
not exactly the Concorde but yeah, it’s worth a gander.

“So do I get to adjust your panties the way
you did my briefs? Or is this fitting more of a spectator
sport?”

She snaps her eyes to mine as I’m throwing
on my T-shirt. I think that’s when she realizes I caught her
watching me. It’s truly poetic because she’s five shades of
fuchsia, except this time I don’t call her on it. She’s beyond
adorable.

“No panty adjusting for you, buck-a-roo.
You’re sittin’ in the stands…not the fitting room,” she tells me as
she buttons my denim shirt like she’s my mom…or my girlfriend. Her
comfort level with me is just this. She doesn’t ask—she moves in
and does.

“Can we at least grab a six-pack on the way
over there? All the estrogen in that place might be too toxic and
affect my testosterone levels.”

I grab her hand as we walk off the set and
head to our helmets, bags, and stuff that sit on the floor just
beside the back door. I put her helmet on her head as she throws on
her leather jacket, then I scoop her hair out from under her
collar. She’s sexy as hell in a helmet, a dangerous delusion if
ever there was one, not to mention how she looks in her studded
leather biker jacket that she’s worn since she was seventeen. I
kiss her on the forehead part of her helmet as I zip her coat. We
got our first motorcycles together when we were sophomores in high
school to celebrate our sixteenth birthdays. She still has hers.
It’s a piece of shit—she could replace it in a snap—but she’s so
sentimental about the damn thing that she never would. Tess named
her Gypsy Girl. One of these days I’m gonna have that girl
re-skinned with some vibrant bohemian design that Tess’ll flip out
over. The bike needs a full-on makeover; I just need to find the
right bike doctor to deal with the surgery.

“You know, Scout,” she says as she pins me
against the back door, one hand searing my chest, the other just
left of my neck. “Based on the big tent showing today, I don’t
think you have any worries in that department. Estrogen hijacking
your testosterone, that is. But yeah, let’s get a six-pack. I’m
gonna need a beer when I put on that dress. You think it’s gonna
look good with my biker boots?”

She giggles while doing a little twirl,
showing off her new boots that look edible along with her
skin-on-skin leopard-print pants. Personally, I’d like to see her
nude with just the biker boots on. Well, black stilettos even more
so, but why torture myself with that image?

“Naked would look better with your boots,
but sweetheart, you’re going to be smokin’ in your wedding dress
regardless of the shoes. But, yeah, I vote for biker boots and beer
in your hand when you come out of the dressing room, okay? Can you
do that just for me?”

“How else did you think I was going to come
out? I’m certainly not wearing any of those stupid dyed-to-match
shoes they’ll have there. Oh Scout, you’re going to
die
when
you see my dress!”

We walk out the back door and head over to
the garage where I keep my Ducati. All the while Tess is waving her
arms around while she talks in animated tones about her dress as
though she’s a second grade teacher trying to hold my
attention.

“Die? Really, Tess? I don’t have a vagina,
just a reminder. Guys don’t ‘die’ when they see a wedding
dress.”

“Such a jerk. You know what I mean!”

Then, whaaap! Hard as she can across my ass
comes a slap. You see the pattern? I swear she hits me about ten
times a day, each one a more electric connection than the last.
It’s all I can do to stop myself from just giving her shit nonstop
just so she’ll swat me again.

“I know, baby. I know what you mean. Get on
behind me now, come on.” We hop on my bike, then head to the liquor
store, grab a six pack of Anchor Steam, then cruise over to Wild at
Heart, the wedding dress store, where I just know I’m going to die,
according to Tess.

“Hey, Rox, how they hanging?” Roxanne,
Tess’s other best friend, has beat us here. She’s already—no big
shocker—imbibing champagne while donning a long, vintage-looking
dress.

A little background on Rox. She went to high
school with us, too. She’s a riot and makes the perfect BFF for
Tess because she’s a strong-headed woman who takes shit from no
one. And yes, we’ve fucked. It was high school and as Tess has
likely told you, I was a player. Still am, I suppose. The only
reason for that is because I can’t have what I really want, so I
keep knocking the bottom out of anyone who seems willing and able.
Don’t judge—I’m still a good guy, just a horny son-of-a-bitch in
search of one girl who is as unreachable as the last unicorn.

“Hello, QB. Mine are awesome. How ’bout
yours?” Rox says, cheering us with her glass.

“A little off today, I’ll admit; this
wedding dress fitting BS has them shriveling up. You look hot in
that dress, sweetheart. Striker’s gonna shit himself.” Striker is
my other best bud and Roxanne’s current beau. Striker is also the
douchebag I mentioned earlier who Tess lost her virginity to in
high school. The fact that he’s still alive and my best bud proves
that miracles do happen.

“You think? Might need to give Striker a
little preview, huh?” she says, flashing us. This is classic Rox,
FYI.

“I’m gonna put money on the fact that you’ll
be banging him within seconds post walk back down the aisle. Might
want to go commando for ease of access,” I tell Rox.

“Is there any other way to show up at your
best friend’s wedding?” Roxanne says while snaking her dress up her
thighs as if we’re about to get an undercarriage preview.

“Oh my God, Scout,” Tess says, “please tell
me you’re not going to bang little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes at my
wedding? Please. I can’t bear the idea of that. Vomit is not a good
look on a new bride.”

Tess pops the tops off two beers using her
bottom teeth. It’s the only way she has ever opened a beer.
Amazingly, she has not yet cracked a tooth, but if you recall she
did crack one on the gumball-machine wedding ring that I gave her
when she was sixteen. Bad omen? Nah. I don’t believe in
superstitions.

“Baby, I’m not bringing Liberty to your
wedding, don’t worry. She’s on tour, remember?” I grab one of the
beers and we all do a little clink.

“Oh, that’s right. Thank God. Nice, so
you’re going stag, then?”

“Well, that’s only if your Great Aunt Myrtle
won’t dance with me. You know I like the ladies with baggy
ankles.”

“Yeah, Myrtle has such a crush on you,
Scout. She’ll be the perfect date as long as you flirt heavily and
keep a fresh martini in front of her at all times.”

She’s peeling off her jacket, boots, socks,
and pants, and throwing all of them on the blue velvet couch in the
stadium-sized fitting room the three of us are standing in. I know
I’m gonna get shooed out of here in a minute, but I’ll stay and
watch the strip show as long as she’ll let me.

“Oh, you know it. Hopefully she doesn’t show
up commando, right?” Sick, I know. She told you I’m a perv, didn’t
she?

“Scout, ew. God.” And she smacks me again.
You see there? That was more of a sucker punch, though. She thinks
she so damn tough. But inside she’s all gooey—I love that about
her. My little Milky Way.

“You need to leave now. Both of you. I need
to get my princess on.” She’s waving her hands at us and then
shoving me in the back, pushing me out the door.

Rox and I saunter over to the waiting area
just outside the room. “Why the hell aren’t you staying in there?”
I ask.

“You know Tess. She never changes in front
of anyone. Never has.”

“Yeah, but it’s you. Not just anyone. What
the hell is up with that? I mean, you’ve seriously never seen her
Full Monty naked? Never?”

“Never. Not once. Not at one sleepover. Not
at one anything. I mean, yeah, I’ve seen that snow-white derriere
of hers skinny-dipping. But not once has she taken off her shirt in
front of me.”

“Have you ever asked why? Or is it too lesbo
to ask your girlfriend why she’s never taken her shirt off in front
off you?”

“No. I’ve never asked. You know Tess. She’s
her own girl. What do I care anyway? I’ve got enough tit for both
of us, as you very well know.”

“Hell to the yeah to the amen corner,
Rox.”

She gives her chest an earthquake-shake as
we clink beers.

“Do you think she’s self-conscious that
she’s small?” I ask. “I mean, maybe we seriously gave her a complex
back in high school. Maybe she’s terrified to actually show them.
Though, I will say they look bigger now, don’t you think?”

“Look at you, hot shot, checking out
Tessie’s titties, are you? You always have been a tit man, haven’t
you?”

“You’ve got me there. I do love to look. I
like to touch, too, but…” Time to shut my mouth. Rox has no idea
how I jones for Tess. I can’t…too many reasons.

“But what?”

“But I’ve got that covered with Liberty, now
don’t I? So, what do you think of Creed? I’ve been clear about my
feelings. She deserves better.”

“He’s a fuck-stain, but you know, he asked
and she’s kind of at that point where she’s ready for the next
stage. She’s getting nest-y and all that. I like one thing about
him. No, two.”

“You’re way nicer than I am, Rox. What, I
beg of you…what redeeming qualities have you found in that
hair-bag?”

“He’s hot. Not hot like you, Scout, but hot
in a grunge way. Plus he’s never around, so we get all of her.
That’s a good thing, right? If he wasn’t always on the road, then
we’d have to share. That would suck; I hate sharing Tess.
Especially now that we finally have her back. He’s the perfect man
for us, Scout. She gets what she wants and we get what we
want!”

She has no clue. Good God. How can Rox not
know how in love I am with Tess?

“I’m coming ouuuuut! Close your eyes, both
of you!”

Tess is singing like a bird. That beautiful
voice of hers stings me in the gut. I close my eyes, readying
myself to see “my girl” in her wedding dress. I put on some armor,
because this, my friends, is not something I’m very happy about.
Now, if she were coming out in a dress that she planned to wear for
our wedding, I’d be crooning right about now, but in that case, I
wouldn’t have been invited to this little estrogen tea party.

“Okay. Open them.”

I prepare to die. But not in the way that
she thinks.

*

“Tess.” It’s all I can say. It comes out a
lovesick whisper.

In a self-possessed second I stand, feeling
my noodle-like legs moving toward her without my brain ever
engaging them. My need to touch her, hold her…feeling is more
essential than oxygen in this moment. My body needs to be against
hers, because she’s the only thing that will keep me from crashing
through the floor, sinking straight into the bowels of the
earth.

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her
close, carving another chunk from my heart. I feel my heart
pounding helplessly along with hers. I can’t swallow—can’t do
anything but keep her pinned to me.

Pulling back the tiniest bit, I look into
her sparkling eyes, filled with glassy tears mirroring the ones
pricking the corners of my own. We stand at a soundless, raw
juncture that rockets through me like a burning asteroid. I could
give a shit that she sees how emotional I am right now; I couldn’t
be any other way in this moment. We stare at each other for what
feels like an eternity. A shared conviction of lust and want. A
leap of faith via a silent conversation between our eyes and
hearts.

Two tears the size of miniature rosebuds
spill out of her eyes, gliding like honey down her pale, freckled
cheeks. I kiss each one off, watching her eyes, which seem to be
looking forward into another world. Holding her chin in my hands, I
kiss her lips. I linger, as does she, my tongue moving into her
wet, soft pout on its on accord…as though she’s mine and it’s just
us, standing at the altar. I’m kissing her like a groom kisses his
new bride on their wedding night, and not for a second does she
pull away… She kisses me back.

Pulling the air straight from my lungs, she
inhales me—literally taking my breath away. My body can’t stop what
my heart is reacting to. Every fiber of my being brushes against
the parameters of carnal want. A sugared, full-throated moan oozes
out of her as I cup her face in my hands, not wanting to let
go—unable to let go.

I couldn’t give a fuck who’s looking. I
don’t care that Rox sees us or that the seamstress ogles us. Or
that the three salesladies have all gone dead silent. All I care
about is that my baby is standing in front of me looking like a
dream that’s just walked out of a movie, in a dress that’ll be
lying on another man’s floor in a few short weeks.

“Tess. Tess, baby, so beautiful…
You…you…I…”

I go from flying to drowning as I slide down
the soul-deadening slippery slope I realize I’m on. I can’t
breathe, can’t talk, suddenly realizing I’m an imposter. I’ve
crossed the line. Wronged my girl. And in that few seconds of
thought I feel fate strong-arm me, forcing me to turn and walk away
like a helpless idiot needing to be put out of his misery. As
though the devil’s own shiv has just cut my tongue out in favor of
her union to Creed. She’s right, I do want to die—the hole in my
heart bleeding out from the snag in my delusional moment. Sinking
down into the couch, beer in hand, I finish it all in one long
guzzle, then let out an indulgent, scathing chuckle.