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“Excuse me?” he queried.
“Just trust me.”
We walked over to the booth, and she immediately started pouring him a glass of the moonshine.
“Here, grandson, try this.”
As she handed him the cup, I tried to intercept it, but he held my hand down and took it anyway.
“Tell me how you like it,” she stated while flagging down someone. “Ms. Flowers, this my grandbaby, Quinci. You remember her, don’t you? She dun’ put on a little weight. She ain’t my little girl no more.”
I turned and nodded my head and smiled at Ms. Flowers, but her old ass was eying Dymon, inflating his ego even more.
“Oh, and this is my grandson, Demon. Um, something like that. Him and my grandbaby gonna get married.”
My cheeks started to burn. One thing about grandmothers was that they would embarrass the hell out of you; even when they thought they weren’t.
“Granny, please.”
She looked at Dymon, who’d just taken a big gulp of the moonshine, and I could tell it burned all the way down.
“It’s a little strong, but it’s good.”
“I been making this since Quinci was a baby. May have given her a few sips too,” she commented and laughed.
“Ah, that’s why she’s a little off sometimes.”
Before my grandmother could say another embarrassing thing, I pulled him away from the booth.
“Just know, I am never bringing you back here again. The women think you are the best thing since a two-sided toaster. And yes, I am very jealous.”
He shook his head. “You have no reason to be. Trust me.”
“I knew that, but I just love hearing you saying it.”
* * *
That Night
The night festivities were on the beach and mostly consisted of the younger folks while the older folks went home or to play Bingo or whatever. Dymon and I found a nice spot on the beach and were sitting down listening to the music and people watching. I could tell he was feeling the effects of the moonshine, but he wasn’t going to say anything to save face, especially after I told him not to drink it.
“Mr. Dymon, are you sure that you don’t want to get in the water?”
“I’m good. Stand up. I want to take some pictures of you in that swimsuit.”
I did as I was told and posed for a few pictures while twirling around.
“If I had of known that you had that little ass swimsuit on under your clothes, I would’ve made you change it,” he complained while still snapping pictures of me.
“It’s literally just a regular two-piece. Keep taking pictures, so you can beat your dick tonight.”
“A regular two-piece that’s one string away from being a thong. Run that way. I want to video that ass bouncing, and twirl too. Give me the whole little Baywatch deal.”
“You are such a fucking creep, Mr. Dymon. And I love it.”
I skipped through the sand a little before I got to the water and did a cartwheel into a split. When I turned around, Dymon’s mouth was wide open, with his eyes just as wide.
“What the hell, Quinci? That shit just sobered me right the fuck up. Let me get a room. I want you to do that on my dick.”
