A/N: For Lady N's Summer Alphabet Challenge. I got "C." I actually got it, uhm... ages ago, but after three failed attempts at a story, you can't really blame me for getting frustrated and wanting to beat something's face in instead of actually writing. ;p This is also (against my will) a comedy. Jels made me promise to write something funny (in exchange for an angstfic from her, which I'm holding her to.) So here it is, something that is supposed to be funny. (The ending is sort of weak. So sue me. I told everyone I wasn't funny.)
Disclaimer: Characters you recognize belong to Cheryl Heuton and Nicolas Falacci and CBS and the Scott brothers and-- well, the point is that they don't belong to me.
C is for Conquests
Megan groaned as she stepped out of her car. The rush of sweltering air that slammed into her was a sharp contrast against the ice-cold breeze of the air conditioning, and for a brief moment she imagined the cartoon mascot for Raisin Bran being three inches from her face and screaming, "HELLO! I am the sun! What is your name!" because it truly felt that damn close. The soles of her sandals were melting into the concrete. (Okay, not really, but she almost wished they were, because then she'd have the excuse to get back into the car.)
The extreme heat was the explanation for her attire: a thin, breezy skirt and a loose cotton tee. Her long hair was pulled back into a high ponytail to keep it off her neck, not that it did much good; the air was humid from a brief spat of rain during the drive, and it felt like a thick, wet towel draped around her neck. Such an oh-so-nice day to be outside, Megan thought perkily, Outside and barbecuing. In this weather. I'll have to thank Don for this later. Oh and look, there across the way, in the Eppes' front yard, the lady agent spotted the very means with which to thank him-- the garden hose, already conveniently hooked to the faucet...
Dismissing her plans for revenge, Megan peered up the driveway past her dark sunnies, able to intuit who all were there simply by the cars in the driveway. A big Chevy, a silver Acura, a little dark sedan, a cobalt-blue classic, and a rather bitchin' Dodge pick-up-- Don, Alan, David, Larry and Colby, respectively. They were all parked relatively close together, leaving the path to the back yard open. The lady agent wove her way through the gauntlet of vehicles, and the closer she got, the more she could smell the smoke from the charcoal, and the mouth-watering aroma of food on a barbecue. Mhm. Might have to rethink that garden hose.
Out of sight, she heard the group break out into a chorus of laughter. A broad smile lit her face in anticipation, hearing her friends already making with the merry festivities. She was just short of turning the corner into the back yard when, in a voice that was clearly Don's, she heard: "I went to one when at I was at the academy. I think I managed twenty-two before I quit."
Managed twenty-two...? She wondered. Twenty-two what? The urge to eavesdrop came on like a sudden spring storm, overwhelming and without warning. Before she knew it, Megan was standing by the house, quiet as a mouse and listening to her co-workers brag to each other. The hedges by the house provided enough cover for her to be within earshot and unnoticeable at the same time.
"Twenty-two? Man, you gave in too soon," replied someone who could only be David. "I got to thirty-four."
"I beat both of you." Charlie's voice this time. "Forty-eight."
"You did not," Don protested through roaring laughter. "You're too little to handle forty-eight back to back."
"Believe it. I had it down to a science."
"Like that's any different from anything else. You have everything down to a science, nerd."
"Jock."
"You're all little boys compared to me," Alan interrupted, his tone that of a proud braggart. "Fifty-six."
"Dad, that borders on the obscene."
"Well, to be sure, it wasn't recent," the eldest Eppes elaborated, "I was in my twenties at the time. Robust and healthy young male when I tackled that task."
"I think I got to fifty when I was about nineteen," Colby stated. The chorus of male voices collapsed into laughter and protesting.
"No, you can't change your numbers!" Charlie's words were almost indistinguishable, he was laughing so hard.
"You're just saying that now because we bruised your ego," joked Don. "Your count is still at fifteen."
"Hey, since when is that fair?"
"You started this, Granger. Boasting big about your 'conquests.'"
At this, Megan grimaced, restraining a squawk of horror. Oh my god, they're talking about how many women they've had sex with! She shook her head briefly, struggling to hold back a snort of laughter. Men. Is that all they think about? Quite suddenly though, the numbers rang out her head: Don at twenty-two --that was hard to believe. Don was certainly a good-looking guy, but... Twenty-two? He had trouble admitting he had feelings, much less holding onto a stable relationship! Unless that meant... God, Don didn't sleep around like that, did he?
David with thirty-four? Mind-boggling. Not because there was anything wrong with him, but just... Ugh, it was David! He was a colleague and a friend. The last thing she wanted to be imagining were his sexual 'conquests,' as he had so eloquently put it.
Charlie with forty-eight! Don's little brother Charlie? The one with the curly hair and big eyes-- Okay, so admittedly, he was a good-looking guy, like his brother. All of the Eppes men were certainly advantageous in that arena, but... He was like a little brother to her, the way Don was not only her boss, but a brother himself! She did not need to know this!
And Alan! It disturbed her that he was even taking part in this contest of who was the bigger, more macho beefcake, much less that he had admitted to fifty-six! Distinguished, almost regal Alan Eppes, who had been so wonderful and fatherly to her? Mortified didn't begin to cover it.
"I know quite certainly from experience that all of you are quite able-bodied and resilient." Megan's mouth dropped open at that voice. No, not Larry too! "However, my own top score would dwarf all of you."
"Why, how many did you get?"
"Seventy-three and a half."
A HALF? Megan gawped, missing the boys' reactions because her brain had blotted out everything else in a desperate attempt to protect itself from further trauma. How do you manage that? What exactly constitutes half a woman! This time, she couldn't hold back the mortified, disgusted --and, she had to admit, terribly embarrassed-- noise. "Agh!"
Instantaneously, the raucous frat boy laughter simmered down, and Don's voice was back to its normal, deep tones of seriousness and control. "What was that?"
At the tinny sound of a lawn chair's metal scraping together, Megan froze, turning to look back down the driveway. No, not enough time to duck out of sight, and the bushes were too small to hide in... She was facing the wall of the house when Charlie's furry little head peeked out around the hedge, and his face lit up. "Hey! Megan."
"Heya Charlie..." she said weakly.
"What are you standing over there by the wall for?"
The lady agent looked down at her proximity to the wall, frowning when she realized how much it looked like she had been snooping. In her panic, she'd incriminated herself even further. "Yeah," she croaked out, "My, uh... My sandal came loose, I had just stopped to kick it back on." She kicked her toe against the wall, careful to not stub the digit, since the sandal was an obedient item and hadn't budged at all in the first place. "There, it's back on. Let's go eat, is the food ready?"
"Yeah, we were just talking about food, actually," he said with a grin. Megan turned away to hide the grimace that reflexively crossed her face. She would never be able to eat... no, have sex... no, do anything ever again. In the backyard, there were the guys: Alan standing at the barbecue, flipping what appeared to be enough food to feed the eight of them for several more days. Don, David and Colby sitting in lawn chairs, Charlie's empty one next to his brother's. Each of them had beers, and an ice chest sat between Don and Charlie's seats, clearly defining for those who might be confused that they were indeed the hosts of the party. Larry was sitting on the steps by the back door, Amita sitting next to him.
Amita? Megan's mind raced at the sight of the lovely young mathematician, ingeniously missing the chorus of greetings immediately flung her way. No, all she could think was, They talked about their sexual adventures in front of Amita? Have they no dignity? Or respect? Or shame?
"So what about you, Amita?" Don asked. "You ever been to a state fair?"
"Once or twice," she replied silkily, grinning at him. "I don't have the endurance for those kinds of eating contests though. I was in the middle of my fifth cheeseburger when I'd had it. My dad got to fifty-three though."
Wait. Megan's mouth dropped open. Cheeseburgers? As in... a cheeseburger-eating contest? All of a sudden, the world felt so very, very small. And Megan Reeves felt so very, very stupid. And embarrassed. She shook her head in exasperation, slapping her forehead into her palm. And I get on to Granger for being gutter-minded...
END