Fluffy(20)

Two things happen as she says it.

One: Will Lotham walks in the front door.

Two: I successfully turn off whatever weird wireless glitch has patched my laptop’s sound system into the coffee shop’s Bluetooth stereo speakers.

“Turn that off!” Raul says, snapping my laptop closed as the sound system dies out. “I cannot believe you’re watching porn at work, Perky.”

“I’m off the clock, so technically it’s not ‘at work,’ even if it’s physically at my location of work,” Perky says, going pedantic.

Will leans against a support joist and crosses his arms over his chest, listening. Unlike yesterday, he’s wearing casual clothes, jeans that mold to his body with just enough looseness to give him freedom of movement, but tight enough to make me all hot and bothered. The knuckles of his right hand are red, a little raw. Must be from punching out Beastman. Ouch.

A simple green button-down shirt, tucked in, finishes the Old New England Money look. His hair is a little messy, the wind outside likely responsible for the dark waves to have gone rogue.

And he’s watching us with the practiced eye of a man who is taking in a scene before acting.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I challenge him, blushing furiously.

“Learning that you never go ass to mouth.” One shoulder goes up in a shrug as he looks at Perky, who has the decency to blush.

“It’s a good lesson to internalize,” she tells him as she shrugs back.

“Haven’t you caused enough damage?” I huff, shoving aside all feelings of shame, which is Sisyphean but I’m a hopeless optimist, so I try.

“Me?”

“Who released that photo of us?” I demand, holding back from calling Spatula by his name.

“I tried to get him to stop! The damn guy was too fast. Cops took him into custody, but he’s out now, and I guess he sold it to a porn site.”

“So you do know about the photo?” Fiona asks him.

“Is there anyone in town our age who doesn’t know about it?” Will snorts. Our eyes meet. If I weren’t so angry, I’d see a little hint of compassion in those gorgeous, blue-green eyes. “I tried, Mallory. He got away.” He holds the stare for a beat longer than he should.

“It’s not your fault,” I admit, transfixed. “I can’t believe this, though. There goes my career.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled about my reputation, either,” Will declares, eyes moving to the drink board behind the counter. Narrowing his gaze, he seems to stop scanning. I follow his line of sight and guess he's a macchiato man.

“But you’re a guy,” Perky says, her voice tinged with venom. “A successful one. This will be spun by the media as the up-and-coming real estate business wunderkind putting an end to obscenity in Anderhill. You’ll be treated like a crusader, driving out all of the impure influences that threaten our great region.”

“What about me?” I ask breathlessly, caught up in Perky’s rant.

“Oh, you’re a whore now. Forever. You’re toast.”

“Avocado toast,” Fiona says, patting my hand.

Will’s eye roll is epic, and strangely powerful, an intoxicating look of dismissal that makes me think all of this might not be so bad after all. “It’s a single picture on a cheesy pornography-industry gossip site. It got around to people our age in town. Big deal. It’s not like many people are going to see it.”

I look at him. “My mother texted me about it. She saw it in her Facebook feed.”

He winces. “Damn.”

“Yeah. When something goes viral enough for the Gen Xers to see it, it’s over,” Perky adds.

“I don’t want to be a meme!” I cry out.

“Because that would be the worst thing ever,” Perky says in a flat, sarcastic tone.

“No. Projecting your porn over the sound system of a family-friendly coffee shop is the worst thing ever,” Fiona says, ducking behind me, hiding her face with a menu. “I think that mother was one of the parents of a child in my preschool class.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask Will, shaken out of my embarrassed stupor, suddenly defensive. It’s fine for my friends to make fun of me for accidentally projecting porn all over the coffee shop, but Will isn’t my friend.

He doesn’t have the privilege.

Hands in his pockets, going casual in a way that makes me tingle from the tops of my ears to the ends of my toes, he says the words I fantasized about hearing for all of my formative adolescence:

“Actually,” Will Lotham says, “I’m looking for you.”





6





I love the scent of old movie theaters. They smell like all of the happy people from the past converging in one place to let their imaginations be sparked by a shared experience.

You know what they smell like, though, during the first show of the day?

Old ladies.

The ten a.m. showing at the local second-run cineplex is filled with old women and unemployed losers like me. For three dollars a ticket, we can watch a movie you'll be able to find a month from now on Netflix.

But hey–it’s an outing. An escape.

A procrastination technique that supports a small, local business.