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1: Eyes Open
Taylor blasted her horn like she was announcing the grand opening of the gates of hell.
Damon set the alarm, shouldered his bag, pulled the front door closed and locked it. She started blasting again before he got across the pavement to her little car. He felt for the handle and swung the car door open as she pumped the horn the final two times.
“Geez, Tay, I’m not deaf.” He threw his bag on the floor and got in.
“No, but you’re slow. I said I’d be here at ten.”
“It’s quarter to.”
“Damn.”
He laughed. She was so always prompt. Taylor the reliable, the girl least likely to let you down, despite having the appearance of the girl most likely to mess you up. It amused them both she was trying to put one over him, which meant he had to tease her—as mercilessly as possible. It wasn’t going to be difficult.
“You put perfume on to go to the gym.”
“I did not.” She hit the blinker and pulled out from the kerb. The indignation in her voice could’ve starched his shirts.
“Cut grass. It’s going to make me sneeze.” He’d smelled it the second he sat down.
“Why would I put perfume on to go to the gym?”
“Waste of a good spritz.” He sniffed, then put his hand to his face to try to quell the itch. “Did you bath in the stuff?”
“Does it really smell like cut grass?”
He sneezed.
She thumped him, hard on the top of his thigh, and he should’ve seen it coming. “You did that for show.” He also should’ve gone for a hug before going for ritual humiliation. He’d missed her so much.
He sneezed again, let that second splutter stand for itself and felt the third one building at the back of his sinuses as she made a right-hand turn onto the main road.
“Damon.”
He sneezed then laughed. It wasn’t often his nasal passages rushed in to help him get a rise out of Taylor. “You’re such a girl.” She was the same tomboy who’d gotten him into trouble on the farm when they were kids.
She flicked the blinker on again and turned left. “I’m not letting you out of the car till you tell me if it really smells like a fricking front lawn after a push mower’s been over it. It was expensive, fuck it.”
“First I’d have to know why the hell you’re wearing perfume to the gym.”
She pummelled the steering wheel. “I kinda had plans before you called.”
He swivelled in his seat to face her, the need to tease put aside. “Why didn’t you say? I could’ve called Jamie.”
“They kinda scrambled like eggs.”
“Was there a new man involved in these plans?”
Blinker on again. “None of your business.”
He cleared his throat, moment of sympathetic understanding over. “Couch, or possibly Buffalo. Grown on the south side, mowed with a Victa at dawn.” Did people wax on about perfume like they did about wine? No idea, but he was going for this.
“Why didn’t you stay in LA?”
If Taylor was attempting to date again, this was big news and he wanted in on it. He went for very round vowel sounds, David Attenborough via Pierce Brosnan. “A light frost was present at the time of harvest, adding a touch of petrol to the fragrance. A bouquet designed to bring out the best in expulsions of mucus.”
