(no subject)
“Riley,” Joe said, seriously, and she turned on her heel to walk right back out the door. Joe saying her name with actual concern was never, ever a good sign.
“Well, see you guys later,” she said, with a breezy wave.
“Riley!” he said, again, his hand reaching the door before she could get it open.
She rolled her eyes and turned, his wiry frame looming over her in the narrow hall.
“What?” she asked, flatly.
“You know, if you need anything- anything I’m here for you. Like, money? Right, no problem, or just to talk or-“
“Are you drunk?” she asked, sniffing at him.
“No, I-“
“Yes, you are,” called Donny from the other room.
“Shut up, I am not. I’m just concerned lately, ok. Haven’t seen the Lady in almost a week, got a right to be concerned, ok?”
“Get off me,” Riley said, pushing at him, “It’s none of your business. What are you doing home this early anyway? Shouldn’t you be out getting laid or something?”
“What’s none of my business?”
“Nothing!” she bit out, and brushed past him into the cave-like tan kitchen. Donny was seated at the rickety table, paper unable to hide all of his broad, bare shoulders.
“How’s your boyfriend doing?” he rumbled.
“Damn it, Donny,” she glared at him as he smirked into the newsprint. She was so not in the mood for this. She should have taken Zane’s mom up on the family reunion, after all. She frowned into the empty pizza box on the counter. At least there would have been free food.
“Boyfriend?” Joe asked, stalking into the tiny room, his cut-offs hanging from his sharp-bladed hips.
She sighed a little, recognizing defeat, “Yeah. Zane.”
“How long?”
“He’s been coming by the shop for a couple months,” Donny put in, ignoring the petite girl’s venomous glare.
“A couple months? Why haven’t you introduced me yet?”
“Why do you think?” she shot back, torso half-inside the refrigerator.
“I’m not going to hit on him or anything!”
“Ew. Now I’m really not bringing him by when you’re around.”
“Hey! I said I wasn’t going to.”
“Yeah, right. You hit on everyone. And you give me the Talk every time you get drunk.”
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do,” Donny said, grinning at them over his paper. “And close the fridge.”
“But it’s fucking hot,” she complained, fishing out her mason jar of tea and shutting it anyway. She shucked her jumpsuit and flung it into the shadowed living room, hopefully in the direction of her other clothes. Feeling slightly better in just a tank and boxers, she hooked a chair under her and pressed the jar to the back of her neck.
“You do know where the condoms are, right?” Joe asked, searching through the crowd of empties on the table.
”Yes.”
“So is he good in the sack?”
“Ugh. You are such a pervert.”
“But he’s cute, right?”
“Kind of scrawny if you ask me,” Donny smirked at her.
“He,” she said, slamming her jar to the table a bit harder than she’d intended, “is beautiful.”
The older men blinked at her for a moment, and she pretended the red creeping up her face was from the humid August night. Donny’s paper crinkled in the breeze of the overworked window fan.
“He’s an artist,” she muttered, inspecting the jar, “A filmmaker. We met while he was shooting a documentary about the punk scene.”
“Aw! That’s precious.”
“Shut up. Drunken slut.”
“Stupid bitch.”
“You two have the least creative arguments I’ve ever heard.”
Silence reigned for a moment, punctuated by the pop and hiss of Donny opening himself another beer.
“You want one?” He asked Riley.
“Sure,” she said, abandoning her tea jar for the narrower circumference of the brown bottle.
“Ech, Lone Star again?”
“National beer of Texas.”
“Tastes like piss,” she said, but took another long swallow anyway.
“So, have you met his parents?”
“Yeah. His mom runs that weird herb shop downtown.” The first time they’d met she’d made catnip tea and talked to her for over an hour about the spiritual power of menstruation. “I helped his dad re-wire his kiln last week.”
“You should have him over for dinner tomorrow,” Donny suggested, mildly.
“Hey, yeah, I can fire up the grill,” Joe grinned.
They both looked at her expectantly as she worried the corner of her label.
“Ok,” she said, exhaling, fighting down a smile, “Maybe I will. So, is there anything to eat in this house?”