“Which one? I have several.”
“Whatever one makes you smell like the ocean.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, horrified. I didnotjust say that.My mother’s words skipped through my head:Thoughts to yourself, dear.Why had I given this boy’s scent any more thought than it deserved? Worse, why had I articulated it? I glanced up, expecting ridicule, but Iron Maiden didn’t even blink as he went on to explain.
“That would be my main gig as a surf instructor. But a few days a week, I take the morning shift as a busboy at a diner down the street. Work as a valet occasionally, too. And during the off season, as a lifeguard at an indoor pool.”
“Wow, ambitious.”
“Nah. I need the money. Plus, I tend to get fired fairly regularly, so I gotta have back-up jobs just in case.”
“Back-up jobs? Is that a thing?”
“It is where I come from.”
“Why do you get fired?”
“Why do you care?” he asked, feeding another strand of licorice into his mouth.
Good question. Why did I care? I was never going to see this guy again so understanding his motivations seemed pointless. Yet… “I’m curious.”
“Oh, well, in that case, let me open up my life to you. I get fired because I have shitty jobs.”
“And you have shitty jobs because you won’t cut your hair?”
“Exactly. It’s a vicious circle, see?”
I nodded, but I didn’t see. I’d never worked and had no concept of what it took to get hired or fired, much less in rapid succession as this guy seemed to experience.
“I’m Scott,” he said, out of the blue, not extending a hand in greeting as I was accustomed to. A mischievous smile followed. “You wanna get outta here?”
His question was as unexpected as it was stunning. I couldn’t just ‘get outta here.’ There were protocols for these things. Arrangements needed to be worked out. A dowry of sorts agreed upon. But Scott’s offer was so spontaneous. So straightforward. I knew what he wanted, and it shocked me that I was even entertaining the idea of ditching Prince for Scott and his nefarious Friday night plans. And if I was being honest with myself, I did want toget outta herewith him. But mother’s disapproving face kept flashing before my eyes as I imagined what an evening spent with a metalhead who got fired regularly would unleash.
“I can’t,” I said, reaching for my car door. “But have fun getting stoned tonight.”
“I will. And you have fun marrying Donny,” he said,sidestepping to allow me access. “Oh, and don’t forget the Kleenex. You’re gonna need it.”
I laughed, sliding into the front seat.
He stood there, staring down at me. “You’re not even going to tell me your name?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
His sincerity struck a chord in me. I liked that he cared.
“Michelle.”
“Michelle,” he echoed with a nod, then his eyes lit up. “Michelle Lavelle. It rhymes.”
“What?”
“Your name, when you marry Donald Lavelle the Third.”
The rhyming moniker had never crossed my mind before. Then again, neither had marrying Prince. “Oh, my god. That’s hideous.”
Scott’s eyes comically widened, sharing in my horror. “I know. Good luck with that.”
