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Not even when I can feel it beating.
“Then definitely avoid that one. She’s beautiful and smart and kind too—wouldn’t hurt a fly, but she’s the damsel in distress type.” Banjo leans in close to me, dropping his voice to a low and confidential register. “Men lose their shit and then their soul. Men getfiredover her. If a man didn’t have his wits about him, he could probably end up in jail too. You were lucky to avoid that back in the day. Men like us don’t get a lot of second chances when it comes to the law.”
“Plural?” I ask, eyebrows raised. It’s things like this that just serve to support rule number one and solidify the self-fulfilling prophecy that I live by. Even though that particular woman flushes the most delicious shade of freshly fucked pink, she’s one place I can never go.
Before I even know her name, I know she’s the kind of woman a man makes love to when I’m a man who’s only capable of fucking. I like my sex a little raw—a little filthy—maybe even a little rough. I like to talk dirty in a woman’s ear, and I need one who can take what I’m willing to give her without complaint. Preferably even beg for it.
This one would soften me. Then slice me open like a serrated knife.
As I contemplate if it might be worth bleeding out, Banjo pulls a cellphone from his pocket, cracked and several models out of date. He doesn’t replace things until he absolutely has to. He drove around with his passenger side mirror duct taped to his truck for so long that eventually Frostvale’s finest escorted him to a garage to have it replaced under their supervision. Who knows what decade his jeans are from. Despite that, they have a perfect crease down the front seam that I know he ironed himself.
He snorts. “No, just the one. But I don’t doubt there could be more in the future. If he ever shows up, we’re supposed to escort him from the property on sight. Dangerous that one and don’t you forget it.”
He flicks through his camera roll with his thumb, passing several pictures of his black lab, Sadie, and more than a few fish, until he gets to a picture of a man in his late twenties, with long hair tied back in a bun and meticulously groomed facial hair. A Jason Mamoa wannabe. I’m not an expert on modern technology, but it even looks like he filtered the photo a little to make his eyes look shinier, his cheekbones more pronounced, and his lips fuller. As my stomach twists, I instantly don’t care for him in the slightest. Something about the wry smile on his face reminds me of Joel—another man who fooled a good woman into thinking he was more than what he was to her detriment and inevitably her downfall.
And mine.
According to Banjo, this situation doesn’t sound much better.
My eyebrows lift. “Looks like an asshole.”
“Oh, he was. Still is, apparently,” Banjo tuts, shoving the phone back into the pocket of his jeans.
I don’t think I need to see the photo again. One glance burned the man’s face into my brain because he’s hadher. He’s seen her full tits without her bra restraining them. He’s touched her nipples into pebbles. He’s licked her sweet nectar. He’s been balls deep inside of her when he damn well didn’t deserve it. Thinking about that makes me feel like someone plunged a steel rod into my spine.
Banjo taps me on the shoulder. “Just be careful. Don’t trust him. Better yet, don’t get tangled up in her.”
As if in response, my phone vibrates. I already know who it’s from without looking. There’s only one person who texts me with any regularity, other than the phone company. And I paid my bill this morning. I check the notification.
Mom: DON’T FORGET TO TAKE ME TO THE DOCTOR TOMORROW - MOM.
I can’t remember how many times I’ve told her that using caps lock means that she’s shouting at me, but she still doesn’t get it. Also, how she doesn’t need to sign her messages, since I know that it’s her. Wondering if she’ll ever listen to me—no, scratch that—everhearme, I raise my forehead to my hairline.
“A girl?” Banjo asks hopefully.
He’s been pressuring me to start seeing someone for a while now. Always telling me to settle down, how a girl would be good for me and help me to heal my trauma. That’s what Tai chi is for. And beating off in the shower. Just because Banjo thinks pussy soothes like a salve, doesn’t mean we all do.
I only get off inside a warm and willing woman when I absolutely have to. When the sexual energy reaches a boiling point only human touch will ease. But I also make sure that woman knows the score. I’m one and done, and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’m not boyfriend material. Hell, I’m not even good for friends with benefits.
I shake my head, smiling, and flash him the screen so he can see the message. “My best girl.”
He almost smiles. “You should tell her to come in sometime during the afternoon when it’s slow. We could catch up. It’s been a long time. I’d like that, and I think it’d be good for her.”
Mom and Banjo got to be pretty good friends while she was with my dad. He used to show me pictures of the three of them from before I was born, hanging out around bonfires, and going to Grateful Dead concerts all over the country. She looked so much happier then. Young. Carefree. Ever since Dad passed, she’s drifted away from Banjo and everyone from that part of her life. Almost like seeing them forced her to think about what she lost. After she hooked up with Joel, she stopped speaking to Banjo altogether. I used to think it was just because Joel was so prone to jealousy. But now that I’m older and have had the time to reflect on it, I’m not so sure. It was probably just too painful, reminding her of all the good times with Dad. Or maybe she felt guilty about moving on with someone else.
“Her hearing isn’t the best, you know that.” I think about how vibrant she looked in all those old pics with the yellowed edges, and I stop short of telling him the full truth about how she’s doing. I don’t want him to think of her as getting weaker or older. And she wouldn’t want his pity. The truth of the matter is that her condition is deteriorating, and it’s not going to stop.
“Is she seeing the right doctors? Getting tested and all that? Sometimes, if you catch things early enough…” He trails off with a shrug.
“I’m making sure of it.” If it wasn’t for Banjo doing me a solid and getting me this job, I don’t know what I would have done. Mom’s insurance doesn’t cover damn near anything, and there’s no way she’d be able to pay for what she needs on her limited income. That’s why I live in such a cheap building. Anything extra I make here goes straight to helping her. Up until tonight, I’ve been making ends meet working with a local construction crew here in Frostvale. Ever since I graduated high school, manual labor is all I’ve known. It’s nice to finally have something more stable. I wanted to go to college, but I felt too guilty. Maybe someday I can take some classes online. “We’re doing our best. One day at a time.”
“Enough about your mother, let’s go over some things.” Banjo’s rough-hewn laugh booms over the jukebox as he slaps me on the back, dwarfed by my broad shoulders. “First of all…” He grins, gesturing at the crowd with a dramatic sweep of his hand. “Just remember. Here at the Frosty Pint, you're a bouncer, not a babysitter. Don’t let these bored housewives walk all over you. They’ll try things if you let ‘em.”
I manage a nod, my gaze scanning the room, eyeing the rustic charm of the wood-paneled walls and the worn-in comfort of the mismatched barstools. It’s typical small-town Minnesota, all hearty laughter and friendly banter. In just the brief moment I checked out the perimeter, a woman catches my eye, a petite blonde, tipsy with liquor and laughter. She’s weaving her way toward us, her eyes locked onto me.
“Well, aren’t you the new, shiny toy,” she coos, her fingers tracing a path along my bicep. “Banjo’s a bit too old for me, you know. Sorry, Banjo.”
The gesture is familiar, too familiar for our first meeting. Her overbearing perfume mixes poorly with the scent of beer and fried food. Even though she’s attractive, maybe even beautiful in the right setting, she does nothing for me.
