“We're not really going to have sex there, right?” Brooke asks, but not like she wants me to agree with her.
“Listen up, Smarty-Pants, I don't joke about sex in public places, okay? This shit's a serious art form and you, my dear, are about to get an introduction by a master.”
Brooke leans against the window and studies with me her pale brown eyes, sweeping long hair away from her face.
“What's the weirdest place you've ever done it?” she asks, and I have to chew my bottom lip and think really hard for a minute. I snap my fingers as it comes to me.
“One time, I fucked this chick at a hotel.”
“Um …” Brooke starts, but I'm not done.
“No, like I was there for this comic convention thing—”
“Nerd,” Brooke whispers under her breath as I reach out and push her shoulder playfully.
“—and there was this romance readers convention happening in the other ballroom.”
“You screwed a romance reader?” Brooke asks with an incredulous expression. “In a hotel. I'm still not seeing the big deal here.”
“Because you're not letting me finish the story. I didn't screw a reader; I screwed an author. Right in the back of the room, behind some banners of half-naked guys during the book signing. Like, with people everywhere and all that. Most of the attendees thought I was a cover model.”
“You're a weird person, you know that?” she says, but she sounds like she's half-laughing and half … jealous? Is Brooke jealous? I can't tell if I want her to be or not. “You know, we forgot to tell my aunt that you have a weird hairless cat wearing a pink glittery sweater.”
“Hey, that sweater is not pink. It's a pale red.”
“Which, by definition, is pink,” Brooke shoots back as the song changes to yet another brain pummeling metal song. “She might seriously have an aneurism and die if she sees him.”
“Oh, come on. Hubs isn't that scary lookin', is he?” I glance over at Brooke as we pause at a red light. Now that I think about it, the cat actually lets her touch him which is a good sign; Hubs kind of hated that pink haired girl, Kitty. Kind of ironic, huh, considering the name and all?
“He's cute in his own gross, weird sort of way,” Brooke admits as we accelerate through several different layers of suburbia. That's kind of all this town is: neighborhoods on top of neighborhoods on top of neighborhoods. There's no real city center so to speak. The area we're heading to, Old Town, is right on the bay, just a few blocks of local shops and a fountain with some pigeons. Not all that exciting, although the vibe is kind of hot. Very artsy and eclectic. “Which ex was this one from? The homeless one?”
“Nah. Hubs is from the klepto.”
“The klepto, huh? You have a very colorful history, Mr. Roth.”
“It's Nanny Roth, remember?” I ask, dropping my voice a notch.
Brooke ignores me, turning her music up and then jamming to an admittedly sick guitar solo with her fingers. I tap my hands along with the music and we get into this double groove which is awesome. I love a girl that can let go and have fun, especially one with as much shit going on in their lives as Brooke's got.
When we hit the buzz of Old Town, I snag a spot near the brewery and hop around to Brooke's side of the car to let her out, wrapping her arm through mine as we walk down brick paved sidewalks towards the sounds of live jazz. The murmur of the crowd softens the sound as we head over to Main Street and find ourselves in a laid-back crowd of locals and artists, booths with postcards and prints and paintings everywhere. The old fashioned streetlights are strung up with Edison bulbs and everything just has this amazing glow to it.
“Whoa. Such a different vibe than Vegas,” I say as I pause and watch the crowd stream by. There's no glitz and glamour here, just a modest street fair lit up by the people involved in it, peddling handmade goods from booths, the local shops that usually close at dusk displaying their wares on the streets, doors flung wide. It smells like weed and the breeze off the bay, and it is fan-tab-ulous.
“Homesick?” Brooke asks as the big band jazz croons its sweet melody into the crowd. I look down at her in her flouncy pink peasant top, a bit of black lace bra showing, those white legs of hers sculpted and sexy as they taper into the too-big-for-her brown boots she's wearing.
“Fuck no.” I drag Brooke into the crowd, weaving us through the mass until we get to the beer garden set up in front of the stage. I order us a pair of pints and lead Brooke over to one of the tall tables in the center. People are drinking and dancing, swaying with the music. Laughter sweetens the air as Brooke and I clink glasses and down some nasty ass tasting local ale. But hell, I'm already enjoying myself and we just got here. Now imagine how that finale between me and Brooke is gonna feel …