Dirty Mouth

I nearly fell getting off the table. I wasn’t watching where I was stepping because I was too busy trying to keep her in my line of vision. I cracked my elbow hard on the table and a couple people behind me laughed but I didn’t care.

“Where are you going?” Tad asked.

“I gotta see somethin’,” I muttered.

I rushed across the bar and started to panic a bit because I couldn’t see her anymore. I don’t even know what I was trying to do. I’d never chased after a girl before, not like this. What made her so special? I couldn’t even explain the answer to myself; I just knew there was one.

I couldn’t find her. I was standing right where she’d been at the bar but there was no one there now. Maybe if they got some light in the stupid place I’d be able to see. It’s not like it was packed with bodies, so why couldn’t I find her?

“Looking for someone, Table Boy?”

I looked around and spotted the bartender eyeing me up from behind the bar. He had this amused smirk on his face that just made me want to slap it off. But I won’t get violent until after I figure out if he can help me.

“A girl,” I replied. “She had blonde hair, a lot of eyeliner I think, red lipstick…she was sitting here just a minute ago.”

“I think she went to the lady’s room,” His smirk got bigger. “But I’ll gladly help you out.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell her you’re lookin’ for her,” He winked. “You stand by; see what happens. That way you can tell if she’s into you or not.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He seemed sketchy. I didn’t want him involved in my personal business. It wasn’t much of a matter of trust in my eyes, though. My main problem was how else am I going to get this girl to talk to me? I have enough problems talking to people without screwing it up as it is. Maybe if I got this guy’s help it’d make it easier for me.

“Fine,” I snapped. “But I’m staying right here.”

“Go right ahead,” he laughed. He looked to the right and stilled. “She’s comin’, keep your head down, kid.”

I did as he said and stared down at my beer bottle. I was listening pretty hard though. The sound of high heels punching the floorboards in a timed rhythm greeted my ears and my heart sped up. I felt real silly for it, to be honest. I didn’t have a reason to be losing it that badly. She was just some female, no different than all the rest. I just kept telling myself that.

“Hey, girl,” the bartender said. I bit my lip.

“Yeah?” There was that voice again. It was breathy and soft, but that didn’t cover up the keen edge in it, like a sheathed switchblade knife. She was a force not to be messed with, or maybe that was just a façade.

“There’s a boy lookin’ for you,” he said. “Y’know, the one on the table earlier.”

She laughed, loud and harsh. I winced. “The table dancer? Why’s he looking for me?”

“He fancies you, I think.” I could practically hear his wink. It made me want to punch him square in the jaw. He was blowing it for me and I should’ve known that’s exactly what he’d do.

She snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so. You can tell him to call off his search.” After that, I heard those high heels get farther and farther away.

I lifted my head and caught the top of her blonde head before it disappeared, headed towards the doorway.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered in awe.

The fact that she wasn’t into me without even speaking to me only pushed me further to chase her. My old man had always warned me to never chase a woman. “It’s bad for your health,” he’d say. Well to that I say I do a lot more damaging things to the ol’ immune system in one day. What’s one more symptom to add to the list?

I jumped down from the bar and raced towards the door. The cold night air hit me smack in the chest when I got outside and I stumbled a bit. In my pause, I caught the sound of high heels in my ears again. She was walking down the sidewalk to my left, her back to me. She was with a friend.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Hey, you!”

She stopped and spun around to face me. Her face was almost enough to stop a man’s heart forever. Her hair was in wild disarray around her pale face. She had large crystal clear blue eyes surrounded in thickly smudged black eyeliner, soft cheekbones, a small nose, and perfect blood red lips. All of that matched with her black leather jacket that cut off just below the waist and her tight ripped pants had my mouth watering. But it was in that moment, that quick second of stunned silence, that I realized something. I’d seen her before. It only took a crazy, amused smirk from her for me to remember where.

“What do you want, table dancer?” She asked, folding her arms across her prominent chest. Her friend had stopped walking too and was watching with almost too interested hawk eyes.

“I-I’ve seen you before,” I stuttered. Smooth, Max. I quickly recovered my embarrassing words by reinforcing my stance to a more confident pose and plastering my own cocky smile on my face.

“Really? I’ve never seen you.” Blondie grinned maliciously.

“Probably not,” I scoffed, “you’re too busy swapping spit with the guys in the Wolf’s Den.”

She chuckled. It was a lot weaker than the laugh she’d indirectly thrown at me inside the bar. “I take it you were never one of them?”

“Nope, never.”

“I’m sure there’s a reason. You seem a bit mousy for my liking.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, Blondie,”

“Oh, sure I do,” She took a few steps towards me, grinding her sharp heels into the cement. “You’re a worthless punk, or you’re trying to be one anyway. Your spiky I-don’t-care-what-you-think hairdo, your stupid piercings, all the leather and metal in your tacky outfit…you’re just another try-hard in a whole world of try-hards, sweetie. That’s it. That’s all you are.”

I swallowed but I kept my stance. Everything she was saying to me was really getting under my skin. And I had pretty tough skin, but damn, she was testing me. But she was ridiculously hot, and I was pretty much screwed with her looking at me like that, so I kept quiet. I let her rip me apart.

“You’re a prime example of society,” she whispered. “You’re shit.”

I glared at her and my self-righteous smirk flickered. Why’s it always the hot ones that are total bitches?

“Yeah, well what are you, huh?” I asked.

“I’m fucked,” she answered bluntly. “There’s a big difference.”

“Really? You think you’re fucked? I bet the worst thing that’s ever happened to you was a broken nail,” I snapped. If she was going to play dirty with me, I’d play dirty with her.

“Excuse me?” she laughed in disbelief.

“You wear that leather and all that goddamn eye makeup as a costume,” I grinned toothily. “You’re trying to embody rebellion in the female form. The last standing firecracker in this godforsaken planet. But you’re nothing. You’re just another slutty girl, dressed to impress, who only cares about what everyone else thinks. I bet this time last year you were wearing expensive clothes and whoring around in convertibles with the rest of the cheerleading squad. Then you got bored.”

You know that silence that comes just before a fight breaks out? It’s heavy with anticipation and everyone is waiting with bated breath to see who throws the first punch. That was the silence that fell between me and Blondie at that moment. Honestly, at this point I’m expecting her to slap me across the face. My obnoxious tendencies had gotten the best of me yet again. In all fairness, she’d provoked me. But to my surprise, she didn’t hit me. She only let out a sultry breath of air between her slightly parted red lips and raised a finely penciled eyebrow up into her bangs.

“Let me ask you this then, kid,” she murmured. “If I’m such a slutty girl, why are you following me around and putting on a show for me? What does that make you?”

Alright, I blanched. I’d slipped up with my words a little bit and she’d caught it. Shit. I blinked at her for a few moments, trying my hardest to gather my stupid thoughts. She waited patiently and I could see the friend smirk over Blondie’s shoulder.

“Well,” I sighed, “I guess it makes me one stupid shit, doesn’t it?”

Her red lips spread into a genuine smile. “Yes,” She nodded, “it does.”

Yes. I’d won the battle; I could see my victory in those tempting blue eyes. My chest swelled up with pride. Now I just had to collect my prize and I could be entirely content with myself.

I put my hands in my jacket pockets and tried to ooze all the confidence I could without making myself sick. “So,” I said, “if I’m shit and you’re fucked, I think we must compliment one another quite well, don’t you?”

Now I was just talking nonsense, but that seemed like a language she understood. Typical women, always talking in riddles. She was one of the hardest obstacles with ovaries I’ve ever had to overcome.

She appeared to think it over for just a minute. “No, I don’t think so.”

She was playing hard-to-get, but little did she know I was trained in the art of swaying opinions.

“Have you ever experimented with it before?”

“No…”

“Then how can you be sure?”

“Hm. I’m listening…”

“Let’s go to the Wolf’s Den, just you and I. You can swap spit with me for once.” Was that too sleazy? Did it bother her?

“Alright,” she agreed. “Midnight, by the burning barrel. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t, Blondie.”

She started to walk away from me, going back to her shock-faced friend.

“It’s Emmie,” she corrected me.

Emmie. I liked it. “Oh, well—I’m Max.”

“Whatever.” And then she was gone, shaking her small ass all the way down the street.

Even if I wanted to put my current emotions into words for you, I couldn’t. The fact of the matter was, this red-hot, prime example of a sharp-tongued, intelligent, smart-mouthed turn-on on legs had agreed to meet up and potentially make-out with me. And she went by the name of Emmie. And I could really see me and Emmie hitting it off tonight. I’ll make her mine and she won’t even know what hit her.

I walked back into the bar to find Tad with a permanent grin on my face. I just kept thinking, Max and Emmie, Max and Emmie. Damn. I really like the sound of that.