Kris was one of the reasons Helen and I bought this old scout camp and turned it into what it is now: a safe place.
Above all, though, Kris is quite possibly one of the only reasons I’m alive today. Not possibly. Definitely. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her and Zion—the two people I count as close friends.
So, basically, Kris will continue to annoy me, but they can do no wrong. Lifetime pass.
“Oh. There! You got it! Moby Dick will live another day!” Kris—Lamé—claps their hands and jumps up and down, although how that’s possible on roller skates I’ll never understand.
“You’ll put your eye out in those things,” I tell them, for the seven millionth time.
“You old fogey,” they say, throwing one arm around me in a quick side hug, which I brush off, to no one’s surprise. Their affection is immediately transferred to the big, ancient espresso machine known as Moby Dick. It’s been painted light blue in places, to emulate the famous sea creature, although clearly we’re all ignoring that whole chapter on the whiteness of the whale. “You’re the best. You’re magic. A magician! You’re the bees’ knees and the cat’s pajamas and—”
Together, we finish their sentence. “Everything good in the world.”
Lamé giggles and I offer up a look that’s not a frown. I’m halfway around the counter, heading toward the exit when they let out a light shriek. “Oh my God, it’s sprayed me!”
“You okay?” I drop my toolbox and turn back.
“I’m fine. I mean, my dress isn’t, but… Could you just…” Lamé throws their arms up in the air, looking helpless. “Could you grab me a couple extra bar towels from storage? I seem to have run out. I don’t knowhowI did that.”
Without hesitating, I walk to the door to the back—where all the messages are posted. Someone shouts something about a wet T-shirt contest. Lamé giggles. From the speakers, Beyoncé sings about putting a ring on it and there, right where I posted my ad, smack in the middle of the message board, there’s another, written on the same yellow card stock, the writing in thick block letters, just like mine. It’s a replica in every way. Except for the words.
I want a repeat.
I’ll be there again tonight.
That’s it. That’s all it says.
I stand there and stare, feeling as if I’ve slipped into another time, another dimension. I’m here now, while the rest of the room, the whole world, is still back there, doing what they were doing a minute ago.
I specifically said no repeats.
My vision goes hazy.
I could taste her. Force her legs wide and eat her cunt until she screams and then I could cover her mouth with my hand and make her take it in silence. I’d bite her there. And higher. Her chest, her neck. I want to leave a mark.
Fuck. My cock’s hard as nails.
Someone whoops, bursting my invisible bubble, and I can’t believe it’s still Beyoncé singing. Still the same crowd, the same day. I shake my head, shove open the door and head inside, only remembering what I’ve come for after staring at a wall for a few seconds. Fighting the urge to lock myself into the little office and jerk off, I grab the towels and return to the chaos of morning at the Kink Camp Coffee Shop.
I put the towels on the bar, nod at Lamé’s wide-eyed thank you, and get the hell out of there as fast as I can.
About halfway home I come to an abrupt stop. “Sonofabitch.”
That was a set up. How did I not see what Lamé was doing? They know that espresso machine better than anyone. They know where to kick when it gets cranky, how to coddle it back to life. Hell, Lamé could fix the damn thing blindfolded. I know them way too well to let them snow me like that.
Or not. At least not as distracted as I’ve been today.
Feeling like an idiot, I take out my phone and call them.
“Kink Camp,” they answer. “You can leave, but you better come first.”
I snort, surprising myself. “Alright, Kris. You had your fun. Now take it down.”
“What?” There’s a noisy pause when I can just picture them removing the phone from their face to stare at it as if they just can’t believe their ears. A second later, they’re back. “Who is this?”
“You know who it is. Quit your theatrics and listen.”
“That you, Boss? It sounds like you, but it can’t be. The words are all wrong.”
