I'm thinking of pushing this to R because of the language, so be warned...
Part II: In Which Jim Gets Scared
Okay, so maybe back then I didn't realize that it was a crush.
I mean, really, do guys get crushes? You either want to fuck somebody or you don't. That's how guys think - and even with girls you don't want to fuck, there's always the question of whether or not you could, and yes, it makes us all sound like dicks, but it's seriously how we think.
At any rate, all I had really worked through then was that Chris was a girl that I wouldn't have minded having a couple drinks with in the date capacity, but chances are that it would never happen because Chris was Chris and Chris was a guy.
Not to mention, I had met the kid. I liked the kid. I wasn't going to screw up my friendship with my partner so the kid could start thinking I was a dick, too.
It was attraction, simple, direct, and dealt with accordingly.
It seemed to me that I had a nice arrangement. I had a good buddy, a great partner, and finally a team that I could depend on - depended on me.
And, it wasn't like the fact that I thought Chris was pretty cute distracted me from other available women either. Like I said before, if you're in SWAT, chances are you're going to get laid.
And I got laid. A whole lot.
After our road trip and Boxer's return, there was another team trip to the bar, and there was booze, drinking, laughing, and good-times.
There was also a pretty brunette, who shot glances my way and moved her thumb around her beer bottle while massaging the glass lightly.
"Subtle," Chris said, giggling as she mimicked the girl, shoving Deke in the shoulder and motioning with her beer. "Check that out."
Naturally, we all did, and before long Deke was snorting and Boxer was grinning in that plastic way that reminded me he thought I was destined to marry his sister, even though at last check, Lara still wanted nothing to do with me, and because I was euphoric and a little drunk, it was funny to me, too.
Chris plunked her beer down on the table, leaning forward so her breasts brushed against my arm and her hair tickled my ear and she spoke.
"Play your cards right and you will get laid tonight."
I blinked, coughed, and Deke smacked me once with his huge ass arms before I was able to recover with a very intelligent, "Huh?"
"The chick, man!" She twisted my head, until it had nowhere to look but the cute brunette giving a handjob to her beer, and I had to admit, it was a nice sight.
"Yeah, man, you better go for it, cause us married men, we all gotta live through you, you know?" Deke, drunk Deke, is not as aware of his strength, and as a result, his slaps across my back were so painful I had to get up just to keep from yelping.
"You think?"
"Go for it, Romeo," Chris drawled, sprawled back in this lazy wanton way, that made me want to sit right back down next to her instead of across the room with the pretty hand job girl. "Give these guys something to dream about."
"Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds kinda gay," Deke said, smile off his face, somewhat worried.
Even Boxer seemed to crack a smirk at that. "Go for it, Street. Let's see how big you bomb."
So I did, leaving behind my team to strike up a conversation with a pretty girl who licked her lips and said all the right things with all the right innuendoes, hand on my belt and palm on my chest.
It was like every bar conversation that I've ever had, and I remembered looking back to find Chris staring, waiting for me to catch her eye. On her face was that smirk that made me think she was making fun of me, amused at my antics, thought them silly and boyish.
It made me feel insanely stupid.
For that alone I got Mandy's number, found out she was a law student at UCLA, and made a date for the next night.
"She was cute," Chris mentioned later, boots propped up on my dashboard, eyes half-closed in that way drunk girls get, thinking they're looking right at you when all you see is eyelashes.
"She was," I repeated. She chuckled and buried further into my convertible, taking in a deep contented sigh as she let her eyes close completely.
We had an understanding, ever since that first night, that because I was a man without obligation with no girlfriend or wife to come home to, I was therefore obligated to keep Chris out as late as possible, because God knew when she'd get a baby-sitter again. No one really knew, or if they did, they didn't care. They would drive off, and it would just be me and Chris, staring at each other until I opened my car door and she slid inside, languid and sexy and always laughing about something.
I had come to think of it as our 'dates' without the sex - cause we'd do whatever the hell we wanted, just the two of us, partner time, walking by the beach, playing pool.
One time we even went bowling.
More than once we got ourselves into trouble, because Chris shoots her mouth off and I never back down, and for some reason our wit just amuses us entirely too much. We played our games, laughing at the guys who came onto Chris, her making fun of the girls who came after me, and it never once occurred to me to think of this as anything more than partners.
I wouldn't touch her, at least consciously. Once I found myself reaching for her hand, and I stopped myself, because there was no way in hell Gamble would have held my hand, and Chris was a guy.
But innocence was my undoing. Like when she couldn't figure out the proper way to shoot the eight ball into the corner pocket and I found myself pressed up behind her, arms surrounding hers, fingers shifting against her palms as her butt backed right into my groin, following my lead.
Or the time we went to the driving range, and she was absolutely horrible at golf. It became less bonding time with my partner and more having a girl like Chris in my arms - like holding a panther, muscles and grace and power flowing in a tight compact little body, hair always smelling of shampoo, tight jeans and tight tanks leaving a small patch of skin that I skimmed as I reached around her to show the grip.
But Chris is a guy and guys are dense, and because of that she never understood why I always held a beer can to my forehead; why I excused myself to go to the bathroom right after she bumped back against me and fell into my arms, laughing in such a way that her lips skimmed the side of my throat.
But I had fun on my non-dates, because in the wee hours, after midnight and before the sun came up, that's when she would finally talk to me.
Got to learn about Chris a lot that way. Learned about how she had her kid - how she was young and naïve and dating an older guy, and suddenly was alone and a statistic.
"I wasn't gonna let that be me, you know?" she said, wind blowing through her hair. "I didn't plan it, but I was gonna take care of my baby."
So she gave birth, graduated, and joined the police academy, because it paid well enough without college and it made her feel better about doing something. "Keeping the streets safe for my kid."
I had to say, I enjoyed it, even looked forward to my dates without the sex.
Never thought I'd pass up actual sex for it, though.
"And smart," she continued, making me realize we were in the middle of a conversation when I had almost already forgotten. "Good body. Cute, smart - good body."
I laughed, "You sure you don't want her number?"
Her smile was mysterious, and the realization sunk deep into my stomach, cutting my laughter short. I had never really considered it, but... SHE had turned down sex with ME...
"Wait, you're not... you know-"
"Gay? Bi-sexual?" she asked, rounding out the syllables of the latter world until it sounded alien. She gave a short chuckle, staring at me through closed eyes before settling back into my bucket seats. "No. Though sometimes I wish I was. Chicks dig me. They think I'm sexy."
Despite the fact that I was now battling erotic images of Chris and Mandy in consensual bliss, I had to ask, "And guys don't?"
"Yeah, in the 'I want you to chain me up and treat me like a bad boy' kinda way." Her eyes were still closed, so it was somewhat amusing to see her serious expression as she gazed in my direction. "I can be a little intimidating."
"Just makes it better when they finally get there."
"So I'm a conquest." She didn't seem pleased by that.
"You're a challenge - guys like challenges."
"Pffft." Her eyes, at least, managed to open a centimeter. "They want me only to see if they can get me, and then don't have what it takes to keep me."
"And what does it take to keep you," I asked, almost amused by the interview.
She seemed to consider it, but awash in alcohol, she couldn't ponder too much. "Great sex," she announced.
I snorted, laughter bursting from me as she nodded resolutely. "Okay, then."
I guess that the sex topic reminded her of something else, because the next I knew, she said, "I heard that Mandy girl inviting you home."
The laughter caught in my throat, and I shrugged, dismissing it. "I was tired."
"Bullshit. Men are never tired when it comes to sex. Even if they are, they want you to get on top of them and do all the work for them." Again, just the imagery made me swerve into the other lane, and she glared once, before fumbling for her seat belt and clicking herself into security. "So what's the real reason, cowboy?"
"I was tired," I insisted, "And you looked hammered-"
"Wait... you gave up sex because of me?" Her eyes really were open this time, sitting up in her seat with this look on her face that for a second, kind of freaked me out.
"Not really-"
"You NEVER give up sex because of your partner!" The little clarity that was in her brain seemed to have died away instantly, because she continued with an over-dramatic wave, "That is our new rule."
"We have rules now?"
"It's our new partner rule. Never give up great sex just because you're driving me- where are we going?"
The entire conversation was getting so ludicrous I really had nowhere else to go. "We're taking you home."
"Pfft. I'm fine! We should go bowling."
"I take you bowling like this and you'll roll yourself down the lane with your ball."
"Pffft."
"Stop 'pffting'."
"Pendejo."
The Spanish really only came with me, when she was emotional, angry or couldn't find another way to express herself. Once, when she claimed I had tripped her up in a training exercise, I had gotten a stream of it so foul even Hondo winced. When I asked him later what she said, he replied, "It loses something in the translation. But she hates you."
Drunk, however, she got over it pretty quickly. "Let's go bowling tomorrow! Eliza loves to bowl."
She was actually serious, and I almost agreed; the prospect of spending more time with a not drunk Chris and her daughter was not a bad idea.
I shoulda known then. The old Jim Street spending an evening bowling? With a kid? Right.
"Oh, fuck - I can't. I told that girl Mandy-"
"Mandy! We have a date with Mandy! Oh, Mandy, well you came and you gave without asking! But I sent you away, Oh, MANDYYYY!"
"What the hell are you doing?"
"-Kissed me and stopped me from shaking! And I need you today, Oh Manndeeee!"
She was a horrible singer. Really, really bad, blasting at the top of her lungs down the Pacific Coast highway, drunk as hell and getting louder by the second.
I was laughing so hard I could hardly drive.
Suddenly she stopped.
"What?"
Somber, she looked ready to cry. "I forgot the rest."
After assurances that the world was not going to end because she forgot the lyrics to 'Mandy', she finally began to doze, cuddled into the side of my car all the way to LA.
I had to shake her awake, and when I finally got her to open her eyes, the first thing she said was, "Oh fuck, I forgot my car!"
"Hey, look at me." She managed that, at least, even if her gaze was slightly cross-eyed. "You didn't forget your car, It's right where we left it, and tomorrow morning, I'm going to be here an hour early and we're going to go get it. Okay?"
"You left my car?!"
It was pointless to argue, instead I pushed at the door, already out and ready to walk her to the door and found her standing unsteadily on the lawn, throwing a narrowed glare in my direction.
"You want help getting inside?"
"Go have sex with Mandy. I'll be fine."
And, because it was Chris, she was, all the way to her door without falling once. I waited by the car for about five minutes while she stood by the door, staring at it blankly. "Yo, Street!"
"Yeah?"
"Why the fuck isn't my door opening?"
With a sigh, I finally reached in and grabbed her keys, thrown on the seat, jogging up to the door and opening it quickly. "There you go."
Chris has these amazingly brown eyes, they sparkle, and when she stared at me, it was frightening, how easy it was to trail my fingers along her cheek, knock on her chin playfully.
She smiled, and for the briefest second, her lips were on the side of my cheek, nearly on my mouth.
"You, man, you are a GREAT PARTNER!"
She stumbled inside, closed the door, and left me standing there with her keys, looking like I had been hit by a truck and feeling flattened by it too.
There was nothing to do but insert her keys in her mail slit, and head back home.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I called Mandy that night. Went to her apartment.
Spent the night and left early.
Now, I know why I did it.
I was getting fucking scared.
--
coming soon, part III - In Which the New Guy Comes In
Part II: In Which Jim Gets Scared
Okay, so maybe back then I didn't realize that it was a crush.
I mean, really, do guys get crushes? You either want to fuck somebody or you don't. That's how guys think - and even with girls you don't want to fuck, there's always the question of whether or not you could, and yes, it makes us all sound like dicks, but it's seriously how we think.
At any rate, all I had really worked through then was that Chris was a girl that I wouldn't have minded having a couple drinks with in the date capacity, but chances are that it would never happen because Chris was Chris and Chris was a guy.
Not to mention, I had met the kid. I liked the kid. I wasn't going to screw up my friendship with my partner so the kid could start thinking I was a dick, too.
It was attraction, simple, direct, and dealt with accordingly.
It seemed to me that I had a nice arrangement. I had a good buddy, a great partner, and finally a team that I could depend on - depended on me.
And, it wasn't like the fact that I thought Chris was pretty cute distracted me from other available women either. Like I said before, if you're in SWAT, chances are you're going to get laid.
And I got laid. A whole lot.
After our road trip and Boxer's return, there was another team trip to the bar, and there was booze, drinking, laughing, and good-times.
There was also a pretty brunette, who shot glances my way and moved her thumb around her beer bottle while massaging the glass lightly.
"Subtle," Chris said, giggling as she mimicked the girl, shoving Deke in the shoulder and motioning with her beer. "Check that out."
Naturally, we all did, and before long Deke was snorting and Boxer was grinning in that plastic way that reminded me he thought I was destined to marry his sister, even though at last check, Lara still wanted nothing to do with me, and because I was euphoric and a little drunk, it was funny to me, too.
Chris plunked her beer down on the table, leaning forward so her breasts brushed against my arm and her hair tickled my ear and she spoke.
"Play your cards right and you will get laid tonight."
I blinked, coughed, and Deke smacked me once with his huge ass arms before I was able to recover with a very intelligent, "Huh?"
"The chick, man!" She twisted my head, until it had nowhere to look but the cute brunette giving a handjob to her beer, and I had to admit, it was a nice sight.
"Yeah, man, you better go for it, cause us married men, we all gotta live through you, you know?" Deke, drunk Deke, is not as aware of his strength, and as a result, his slaps across my back were so painful I had to get up just to keep from yelping.
"You think?"
"Go for it, Romeo," Chris drawled, sprawled back in this lazy wanton way, that made me want to sit right back down next to her instead of across the room with the pretty hand job girl. "Give these guys something to dream about."
"Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds kinda gay," Deke said, smile off his face, somewhat worried.
Even Boxer seemed to crack a smirk at that. "Go for it, Street. Let's see how big you bomb."
So I did, leaving behind my team to strike up a conversation with a pretty girl who licked her lips and said all the right things with all the right innuendoes, hand on my belt and palm on my chest.
It was like every bar conversation that I've ever had, and I remembered looking back to find Chris staring, waiting for me to catch her eye. On her face was that smirk that made me think she was making fun of me, amused at my antics, thought them silly and boyish.
It made me feel insanely stupid.
For that alone I got Mandy's number, found out she was a law student at UCLA, and made a date for the next night.
"She was cute," Chris mentioned later, boots propped up on my dashboard, eyes half-closed in that way drunk girls get, thinking they're looking right at you when all you see is eyelashes.
"She was," I repeated. She chuckled and buried further into my convertible, taking in a deep contented sigh as she let her eyes close completely.
We had an understanding, ever since that first night, that because I was a man without obligation with no girlfriend or wife to come home to, I was therefore obligated to keep Chris out as late as possible, because God knew when she'd get a baby-sitter again. No one really knew, or if they did, they didn't care. They would drive off, and it would just be me and Chris, staring at each other until I opened my car door and she slid inside, languid and sexy and always laughing about something.
I had come to think of it as our 'dates' without the sex - cause we'd do whatever the hell we wanted, just the two of us, partner time, walking by the beach, playing pool.
One time we even went bowling.
More than once we got ourselves into trouble, because Chris shoots her mouth off and I never back down, and for some reason our wit just amuses us entirely too much. We played our games, laughing at the guys who came onto Chris, her making fun of the girls who came after me, and it never once occurred to me to think of this as anything more than partners.
I wouldn't touch her, at least consciously. Once I found myself reaching for her hand, and I stopped myself, because there was no way in hell Gamble would have held my hand, and Chris was a guy.
But innocence was my undoing. Like when she couldn't figure out the proper way to shoot the eight ball into the corner pocket and I found myself pressed up behind her, arms surrounding hers, fingers shifting against her palms as her butt backed right into my groin, following my lead.
Or the time we went to the driving range, and she was absolutely horrible at golf. It became less bonding time with my partner and more having a girl like Chris in my arms - like holding a panther, muscles and grace and power flowing in a tight compact little body, hair always smelling of shampoo, tight jeans and tight tanks leaving a small patch of skin that I skimmed as I reached around her to show the grip.
But Chris is a guy and guys are dense, and because of that she never understood why I always held a beer can to my forehead; why I excused myself to go to the bathroom right after she bumped back against me and fell into my arms, laughing in such a way that her lips skimmed the side of my throat.
But I had fun on my non-dates, because in the wee hours, after midnight and before the sun came up, that's when she would finally talk to me.
Got to learn about Chris a lot that way. Learned about how she had her kid - how she was young and naïve and dating an older guy, and suddenly was alone and a statistic.
"I wasn't gonna let that be me, you know?" she said, wind blowing through her hair. "I didn't plan it, but I was gonna take care of my baby."
So she gave birth, graduated, and joined the police academy, because it paid well enough without college and it made her feel better about doing something. "Keeping the streets safe for my kid."
I had to say, I enjoyed it, even looked forward to my dates without the sex.
Never thought I'd pass up actual sex for it, though.
"And smart," she continued, making me realize we were in the middle of a conversation when I had almost already forgotten. "Good body. Cute, smart - good body."
I laughed, "You sure you don't want her number?"
Her smile was mysterious, and the realization sunk deep into my stomach, cutting my laughter short. I had never really considered it, but... SHE had turned down sex with ME...
"Wait, you're not... you know-"
"Gay? Bi-sexual?" she asked, rounding out the syllables of the latter world until it sounded alien. She gave a short chuckle, staring at me through closed eyes before settling back into my bucket seats. "No. Though sometimes I wish I was. Chicks dig me. They think I'm sexy."
Despite the fact that I was now battling erotic images of Chris and Mandy in consensual bliss, I had to ask, "And guys don't?"
"Yeah, in the 'I want you to chain me up and treat me like a bad boy' kinda way." Her eyes were still closed, so it was somewhat amusing to see her serious expression as she gazed in my direction. "I can be a little intimidating."
"Just makes it better when they finally get there."
"So I'm a conquest." She didn't seem pleased by that.
"You're a challenge - guys like challenges."
"Pffft." Her eyes, at least, managed to open a centimeter. "They want me only to see if they can get me, and then don't have what it takes to keep me."
"And what does it take to keep you," I asked, almost amused by the interview.
She seemed to consider it, but awash in alcohol, she couldn't ponder too much. "Great sex," she announced.
I snorted, laughter bursting from me as she nodded resolutely. "Okay, then."
I guess that the sex topic reminded her of something else, because the next I knew, she said, "I heard that Mandy girl inviting you home."
The laughter caught in my throat, and I shrugged, dismissing it. "I was tired."
"Bullshit. Men are never tired when it comes to sex. Even if they are, they want you to get on top of them and do all the work for them." Again, just the imagery made me swerve into the other lane, and she glared once, before fumbling for her seat belt and clicking herself into security. "So what's the real reason, cowboy?"
"I was tired," I insisted, "And you looked hammered-"
"Wait... you gave up sex because of me?" Her eyes really were open this time, sitting up in her seat with this look on her face that for a second, kind of freaked me out.
"Not really-"
"You NEVER give up sex because of your partner!" The little clarity that was in her brain seemed to have died away instantly, because she continued with an over-dramatic wave, "That is our new rule."
"We have rules now?"
"It's our new partner rule. Never give up great sex just because you're driving me- where are we going?"
The entire conversation was getting so ludicrous I really had nowhere else to go. "We're taking you home."
"Pfft. I'm fine! We should go bowling."
"I take you bowling like this and you'll roll yourself down the lane with your ball."
"Pffft."
"Stop 'pffting'."
"Pendejo."
The Spanish really only came with me, when she was emotional, angry or couldn't find another way to express herself. Once, when she claimed I had tripped her up in a training exercise, I had gotten a stream of it so foul even Hondo winced. When I asked him later what she said, he replied, "It loses something in the translation. But she hates you."
Drunk, however, she got over it pretty quickly. "Let's go bowling tomorrow! Eliza loves to bowl."
She was actually serious, and I almost agreed; the prospect of spending more time with a not drunk Chris and her daughter was not a bad idea.
I shoulda known then. The old Jim Street spending an evening bowling? With a kid? Right.
"Oh, fuck - I can't. I told that girl Mandy-"
"Mandy! We have a date with Mandy! Oh, Mandy, well you came and you gave without asking! But I sent you away, Oh, MANDYYYY!"
"What the hell are you doing?"
"-Kissed me and stopped me from shaking! And I need you today, Oh Manndeeee!"
She was a horrible singer. Really, really bad, blasting at the top of her lungs down the Pacific Coast highway, drunk as hell and getting louder by the second.
I was laughing so hard I could hardly drive.
Suddenly she stopped.
"What?"
Somber, she looked ready to cry. "I forgot the rest."
After assurances that the world was not going to end because she forgot the lyrics to 'Mandy', she finally began to doze, cuddled into the side of my car all the way to LA.
I had to shake her awake, and when I finally got her to open her eyes, the first thing she said was, "Oh fuck, I forgot my car!"
"Hey, look at me." She managed that, at least, even if her gaze was slightly cross-eyed. "You didn't forget your car, It's right where we left it, and tomorrow morning, I'm going to be here an hour early and we're going to go get it. Okay?"
"You left my car?!"
It was pointless to argue, instead I pushed at the door, already out and ready to walk her to the door and found her standing unsteadily on the lawn, throwing a narrowed glare in my direction.
"You want help getting inside?"
"Go have sex with Mandy. I'll be fine."
And, because it was Chris, she was, all the way to her door without falling once. I waited by the car for about five minutes while she stood by the door, staring at it blankly. "Yo, Street!"
"Yeah?"
"Why the fuck isn't my door opening?"
With a sigh, I finally reached in and grabbed her keys, thrown on the seat, jogging up to the door and opening it quickly. "There you go."
Chris has these amazingly brown eyes, they sparkle, and when she stared at me, it was frightening, how easy it was to trail my fingers along her cheek, knock on her chin playfully.
She smiled, and for the briefest second, her lips were on the side of my cheek, nearly on my mouth.
"You, man, you are a GREAT PARTNER!"
She stumbled inside, closed the door, and left me standing there with her keys, looking like I had been hit by a truck and feeling flattened by it too.
There was nothing to do but insert her keys in her mail slit, and head back home.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I called Mandy that night. Went to her apartment.
Spent the night and left early.
Now, I know why I did it.
I was getting fucking scared.
--
coming soon, part III - In Which the New Guy Comes In