“I’m glad you approve, Mario,” Kayla says, voice pristinely measured but dark eyes deliciously haughty.
“How about you sober up and we talk later, Mario,” Erik offers, not budging.
“I heard you sobered up, dude,” Mario blurts as he drunkenly tries to take a glug but just sloshes brown liquid all over his dress shirt which strains against his massive chest. “I think it’s made you a pain in the ass.”
I see Erik’s hands clench and before I can stop myself, I pop out from behind him. “You rang, Mario?”
“Damn girl, there you are!” he exclaims. “Whatchu been up to? People say you’re lowkey famous or some shit.”
“Blogging,” I say, glancing at Erik, hoping he picks up the vibe to back off. Mario is trashed, but I don’t believe he means harm any longer. “You?”
“This and that,” he warbles. “Shit got kind of fucked up for me back in the day. They broke into my locker, found some shit and I got expelled. I just barely got out of criminal charges.”
I see Erik starting to bristle again, and put my hand behind me to stay his aggression. “I’m sorry, Mario. They forced me to say where I got it from and it had been a rough night. I never intended any trouble for you.”
You could hear a pin drop as we all waited for his response. His eyes are dark, the brilliant green of them filled with emotion and inebriation. His face remains vacant for a full 30 seconds until it falls and to all our surprise he begins to weep. We all look at each other in disbelief.
“Ah shit, girl! Why you apologizing to me?” he says as he Frankencolts forward and into my now open arms.
“I’m sorry, Kat,” he sobs. “I didn’t know that stuff was fucked up. I didn’t want that pretty girl to pull out her tongue or whatever she did.”
His face was thrown over my back as he snorted and I looked at Kayla in bewilderment. “Mario, it’s ok. She just reacted badly.”
“Badly?” he snorts. “I heard she like, pulled her face off and stuff.”
“Pretty sure her face is still on.” At this point I can’t help but snicker as Mario drools down my back, meaning down Erik’s jacket.
“Really?” he asks hopefully, finally pulling away to stare at me questioningly. Searching my face for truth that could set him free.
“Really,” Erik confirms with a small laugh. “It’s my sister, after all.”
“Oh shit! I forgot, man!” Mario says, slapping his face with one beefy hand. “Man, I gotta get out of here. I feel like I may pull my own face off, I’m so drunk and emotional.”
“Please don’t,” I remark. “We need a night together where no one’s pulling any body parts off.”
At this point every one of us but Mario is rumbling with barely concealed laughter.
He just shakes his head and slogs away, like a drunken, slow motion tornado.
“There is one at every reunion, isn’t there?” Cara says, watching as he disappears back into the venue.
“A weepy, drunken meathead? Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Kayla agrees, making a face and sipping her drink.
“But here in Bishop we have the market cornered on weepy, drunken meatheads who think people’s faces get ripped off.” I pull the jacket around my still rebelling nipples, as I slide my arms into the sleeves finally.
“Let’s put that on the tourism brochure,” Erik quips, looking at me with a grin.
“That’ll put you ahead of Salem. Sure they have witches, but look what Bishop has,” Cara nods at me. “I wish you’d snapped a shot for the blog.”
We all laugh and Cara and Kayla excuse themselves to hit up the bar, and I take the opportunity to sit at the table nearest the heat lamp.
“No, no, no,” Erik says running over. He’s quickly unbuttoning his shirt and rips it off to put on the seat. “It’s all dewey. I can’t let you do that to your dress or your ass.”
I cannot contain my smile at the gesture, or the sight of him in his pristine undershirt, biceps defined and filling out the hem delectably.
“What are you smiling at?” his eyes twinkle as he sits down, likely in a puddle, to stare at me.
“I’m just wondering how many more clothes you’ll be stripping off for my benefit this evening,” I say, selfishly wishing he’d been sans undershirt.
“As many as you’d like me to, Kat,” his cheeky expression and arched eyebrow make my breath hitch, and I almost tell him to take it all off. “Are you interested in getting out of here? Maybe to your room? Clothes can stay on, but I just want to be with you one on one.”
I almost yell yes but remember the state of my room and take a deep breath. “Tempting.”
“Oh Kat,” he teases. “Are your living spaces still a pigsty?”
“Oh my god, no,” I lie with a grin, placing my hand on my chest. “I am an adult and if cleanliness is close to godliness—”
“Then you’re the devil,” he laughs, cutting me off.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I say, waving my hand at him, a huge smile pulling at my lips.
“How many Hot Pocket crisping sheets are on your floor at this very moment?” he questions suspiciously.
“Well, there is no microwave, so none,” I admit as I raise my drink to my lips just to find that it’s empty.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, already starting to rise.
I recall what Mario said about sobriety and let my curiosity push away mores of society. “Are you having one? What did Mario mean by that?”
I watch as Erik’s eyes become sullen and he sinks back down into the chair, leaning his arms onto the frigid glass, his sculpted forearms flexing as he clasps his hands together. “Yes, I’m sober for almost two years now.”
“Oh,” I say, at a loss for words. I never know how to handle
