Page 50 of Rough

As I held the phone in my hand, he opened the camera app, got it ready to go, and then leaned against me. “Press it three times. In the circle.”

I took three blinding photos, and handed him the phone.

He looked at them, grinned, and then quickly pulled it close to his chest. “Hashtag met a Filthy Fucker. Hashtag three am. Hashtag I hate Rich’s. Oh, wait. I’ll delete the hashtag I hate Rich’s. I don’t want anybody to think, you know.”

I looked at Tegan, who was still standing in the doorway waiting on Marcus. I chuckled at the thought of Marcus, and his hashtags. “I’m going to get.”

“Instagram?” Marcus asked.

I shook my head. “Not me.”

“I was going to follow you. Oh, well. It was nice to finally meet you,” Marcus said.

“You too,” I said.

Tegan mouthed the words thank you.

I nodded.

“I’ll uhhm.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll see you the next time I see you, I guess.”

I turned away and walked out to the street. Her car sat on the opposite side of the road, sans a driver’s door.

Her simplistic outlook on life was interesting.

And, as much as I hated to admit it, so was she.

FIFTEEN

Tegan

I sat at the table with my index finger hooked through the handle of an oversized coffee cup. Although it was 4:00 a.m., I felt remarkably well.

“Why do you say that?” I asked. “I like him with it.”

“Not completely clean. Like, a number two scruff. And do something with that hair. I mean, really? Enough’s enough. So, cut the hair, trim the beard down to a shadow, and then I’d like to see that smile. Oh, my God. Can you imagine him without all that hair? With that smile plastered across his face? And his teeth? I’d melt.”

“Facial hair serves a purpose,” I said emphatically.

It did. It prevented me from falling for him.

In the middle of taking a sip of coffee, Marcus lowered his cup enough to speak. “Guys with facial hair kick puppies.”

I shot him a look. “They do not.”

“Mark Brewster did.” He took a drink, and then arched an eyebrow. “And he had a bushy beard.”

“Who’s Mark Brewster?”

“This bearded guy in school that kicked puppies. And, some other awful things.”

“Well, I don’t categorize people.”

“I don’t either.” He shrugged. “At least he’s not a homophobe. Most bikers are, you know”

“They are not,” I said.

“You never know what you’re going to get with bikers. I knew a fat sloppy bottom once who rode a motor scooter. Steve. And then there was this guy who would always come for leather night. I don’t remember his name, but he had unruly hair and a lisp. He rode one, too. And, he didn’t just wear leather on Thursdays. It was like, all the time. He was into piss play. And then there’s that guy downstairs. The big Latino guy? He glares at me. Like this.” He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes to slits. “It’s scary.”