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"Heaven forbid you leave the convent for a night, right?"
Marley's eyes rolled as she leaned forward, sniffing at his glass before giving Reagan a firm look. "That is alcohol in his glass. He is clearly underaged."
"Mind your business, narc," Calvin shot back, taking a long sip as he looked right at her.
Reagan and I shared a look, one that said we were both starting to suspect Krissy had been right about the two of them.
"You're incorrigible."
"And you're a captious brat," Calvin shot back sending her steely glare before swaggering off.
"I... I can't believe he called me a brat," she said at his retreating form. "For someone who uses as many four-letter words as he does, he actually has a great vocabulary. And 'brat' is the best he can come up with?" she asked, face scrunching up.
"You're going to take offense to 'brat' and not 'captious?'" Regan asked.
"Well, I do tend to find fault in him. He just has so many of them. Anyway, yeah, I'm excited to see the commercial. I think this company can really go places. I mean as far as a liquor company can go anyway."
"Gee, thanks Marley," Reagan said to the girl who clearly didn't pick up on the sarcasm. "She really doesn't mean to come off like that," she added to me as Marley spotted Calvin reaching for a bottle again, mumbling "unbelievable" before charging off to try to stop him. "She just has really lofty ideas in life."
"She's going to have her ass handed to her in life if she doesn't rein it in a bit."
"Well," Reagan said, watching as the two kids leaned in close, having a whisper-fight right there in front of everyone else. "I think Calvin is doing his best to prepare her for the bull-headedness she is going to face in whatever career path she chooses to go into. Oh, boy," she said, grimacing when Marley tried to grab the glass out of Calvin's hand as he rose it to drink, Calvin fighting to hold onto it, making the whiskey surge up in the glass and spill onto Marley's shoes.
We were too far away, but we could both imagine the conversation--fight--that followed. About not wanting to smell like alcohol, about getting in trouble. Then Calvin shooting back that she is being dramatic and needs to calm down.
Eventually, he bent down, taking off her shoes, moving to stand, realizing she was wiping tears off her cheeks.
The stricken look on his face was priceless. And I was a dick for thinking that since I was sure I'd had that same look on my face when Reagan cried in front of me the first time.
He went to say something, causing Marley to turn and run barefoot out of the building. There was a pause before he jogged behind her, face contrite.
"I don't need the commercial," Krissy said, moving in at my side. "I just want to see the end of the Calvin and Marley show."
"You're going to have to wait a while," I said, shrugging.
"What? Why?"
"Because Calvin just turned eighteen," I told her. "She's officially off-limits. He might be a delinquent, but he's not stupid."
"Damn," Krissy said, sighing. "Oh, well. The anticipation for season two always makes it all the better when it premiers. Oh, hey, Luis is here!" she declared, beaming.
"We are going to have to pick those two up from some dive bar tonight, aren't we?" I asked as Krissy walked over to Luis, wrapping her arms around him.
"Who are you kidding? They're going to drag us out with them. Apologize to your liver ahead of time," she added, cringing.
"I dunno. Think it could be fun if things end up like this again," I said, reaching for my phone, finding the picture Krissy and her brother had sent me from that one night out.
"I am going to get them back for that someday," she vowed.
"Dunno, baby. Don't think they're the type to care if half-naked selfies get around."
"True," she agreed, sighing. "Oh, we're ready!" she declared when the guy she'd hired to handle the technical parts of the night gave her a thumbs up. "I'll round up in here. You go make sure no one is outside."
Marley pushed past me, running upstairs to likely wash her feet. Outside, I found Calvin leaning down near the side of the building, spraying down Marley's shoes with a hose.
Seeing me move in, his head angled up, eyes dark. "She's so fucking pissed at me," he said, shaking his head.
"Noticed that. In my experience, girls don't like being called brats."
"Then she should stop being one," he insisted, stubborn in all his eighteen-year-old confidence.
"You wouldn't be so into her if she wasn't exactly who she is," I shot back.
"I'm not into her."
"No? Could have fooled me. Looked pretty bent outta shape that you made her cry."
"Just because I don't like making chicks cry doesn't mean I'm into them," he insisted, jaw getting tight.
