Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One
Page 45
“I rest my case.”
I laughed. “Well, real or not, I’m not…Narnian. My mom’s background is English if you go way back and my dad’s side is French Canadian.”
Preppy slid his sunglasses down his nose. “So…you be a white chick then?”
“Like, I totally be a white chick.”
Preppy sighed. “Bummer. Here I thought we were all interracial and shit.”
“Disappointing, I know.”
“The struggle is real.”
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Preppy spoke first, “What are you thinking about over there, Doc? I can see your wheels turning.”
I shrugged. “You’re just always so comfortable. Around everyone. You know, when you’re not threatening me or trying to teach me a lesson or dragging me around somewhere.”
“And?” he asked, swallowing hard.
“And I was wondering how someone…in your line of work can be so relaxed all the time.”
“And what line of work is that?” Preppy asked, leaning in toward me and grinning like he was up to something.
“You know, dealing the drugs,” I said, wincing when my sentence came out as awkward as I felt.
“Well, Doc, I can tell you that, although I deal in the drugs, the reason I look so comfortable is because I am.”
“Don’t you have enemies? Business deals gone bad? I mean, you carry a gun so you have to be worried about something.”
“You’ve seen too many movies, Doc. Although sometimes I do have to use it for more than putting it to your head while I make you come,” Preppy said. I blushed. “It’s BECAUSE I carry a gun that I’m not worried.” He looked out over the water. A rusted shrimp boat was slowly pulling up to the dock. One man jumped off onto the dock, while another shouted instructions and tossed him a rope. The gentle breeze blew Preppy’s sandy-blond locks around the top of his head. He turned back to me “And you’re wrong you know.”
“About what?”
“I’m not always a hundred percent comfortable around everyone,” he said, locking eyes with me. “There is this one person. This girl who I think…” Just then Billy pushed open the door.
“Hot plate!” he announced, setting down a huge platter of newly steamed crabs in the center of the table. The platter actually wasn’t a platter at all I realized, but an upside down lid of a metal garbage can.
“What’s that amazing smell?” I asked, leaning in over the crabs and inhaling the spicy-sweet scent coming off the crabs that were still steaming.
“Old Bay seasoning. It’s great on any kind of shell fish. I make my own version of it. It’s my secret ingredient,” Billy said.
“Billy, I hate to be the one to tell you this but when you tell everyone about it, it’s not much of a secret anymore. And copying a name-brand isn’t exactly an original creation.”
Billy smacked Preppy on the shoulder with his rag. “Touché, my friend,” he said with a burst of laughter. He placed his hand on the back of Preppy’s chair. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for helping me get the stoves working again. I’d be cooking blue crabs under a bridge right now if it wasn’t for you making that call and getting me those stoves.”
They shook hands and did the secret handshake all men seemed to know, the one that ended with a half hug and a clap on the back. “Couldn’t have my favorite chef without a kitchen, who would feed me?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe one of the dozen old ladies who make you whatever you want. Maybe Grace. Maybe one of the biker whores,” Billy said, with a smirk. He turned to me. “Sorry about the language ma’am. I mean the ladies that are associated with the Beach Bastards.”
“No worries,” I said, deciding right then and there that I liked Billy.
“Dude, I wouldn’t do you wrong like that,” Preppy said. “None of them make seafood like you do. Nobody.” Preppy reached for the crab with his hands and set one on a plate, handing it across the table to me. Billy gave him a knowing look. “So are we cool?” Preppy asked, adding, “It’s not you, it’s me?” He held up his arms in surrender as Billy swatted him again with a dishtowel. He thanked Preppy again and headed back inside, whistling along to a staticky version of the Billy Joel song playing through the small radio on the floor, where it was also keeping the door propped open.
“I almost forgot to give you these,” Billy said. The door swung open and he tossed two plastic yellow crab crackers over my head and onto the table.
I’d successfully ripped the first leg off my crab and was doing my best with the cracker to rid my lunch of his shell when I looked up to find myself locked in Preppy’s intense stare. “This looks so great, doesn’t it?” I asked, trying to break the thickness of the air between us.
Preppy remained silent as he lifted a crab off the platter and set in on his plate. Then he made a show of lifting two very familiar fingers to his mouth to slowly suck the seasoning off, just like he had before. My panties dampened, instantly. I held back a groan and cleared my throat, turning my attentions back to my plate. “Are…are you hungry?” I asked shakily, trying to sound unaffected as my nipples pebbled through my shirt.
As if on cue Preppy’s gaze dropped to my chest, lingering there, like he was admiring what he’d done to me.
“I’m fucking starving.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PREPPY
PRESENT
“There is one thing you haven’t thought of,” I said, sitting up as straight as I could. “Oh yeah, and what the fuck would that be?” Chop asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall with a shit eating grin on his face.
“You’re a fucked up individual,” I said, pausing to adjust to the sharp pain in my ribs.
“Is that it?” Chop asked, rolling his eyes.
I shook my head. “No, you didn’t let me finish.” I pushed against the floor and slid my ass against the wall, bracing myself into the corner. “What you don’t seem to understand is that there ain’t nothing you can do to me that ain’t been done before. You’re an amateur. A fucking hack. You think threatening to have me ass-raped is going to break me?” I laughed. “Think again cocksucker, ’cause my stepdaddy already had that honor.”
I laughed. “Well, real or not, I’m not…Narnian. My mom’s background is English if you go way back and my dad’s side is French Canadian.”
Preppy slid his sunglasses down his nose. “So…you be a white chick then?”
“Like, I totally be a white chick.”
Preppy sighed. “Bummer. Here I thought we were all interracial and shit.”
“Disappointing, I know.”
“The struggle is real.”
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Preppy spoke first, “What are you thinking about over there, Doc? I can see your wheels turning.”
I shrugged. “You’re just always so comfortable. Around everyone. You know, when you’re not threatening me or trying to teach me a lesson or dragging me around somewhere.”
“And?” he asked, swallowing hard.
“And I was wondering how someone…in your line of work can be so relaxed all the time.”
“And what line of work is that?” Preppy asked, leaning in toward me and grinning like he was up to something.
“You know, dealing the drugs,” I said, wincing when my sentence came out as awkward as I felt.
“Well, Doc, I can tell you that, although I deal in the drugs, the reason I look so comfortable is because I am.”
“Don’t you have enemies? Business deals gone bad? I mean, you carry a gun so you have to be worried about something.”
“You’ve seen too many movies, Doc. Although sometimes I do have to use it for more than putting it to your head while I make you come,” Preppy said. I blushed. “It’s BECAUSE I carry a gun that I’m not worried.” He looked out over the water. A rusted shrimp boat was slowly pulling up to the dock. One man jumped off onto the dock, while another shouted instructions and tossed him a rope. The gentle breeze blew Preppy’s sandy-blond locks around the top of his head. He turned back to me “And you’re wrong you know.”
“About what?”
“I’m not always a hundred percent comfortable around everyone,” he said, locking eyes with me. “There is this one person. This girl who I think…” Just then Billy pushed open the door.
“Hot plate!” he announced, setting down a huge platter of newly steamed crabs in the center of the table. The platter actually wasn’t a platter at all I realized, but an upside down lid of a metal garbage can.
“What’s that amazing smell?” I asked, leaning in over the crabs and inhaling the spicy-sweet scent coming off the crabs that were still steaming.
“Old Bay seasoning. It’s great on any kind of shell fish. I make my own version of it. It’s my secret ingredient,” Billy said.
“Billy, I hate to be the one to tell you this but when you tell everyone about it, it’s not much of a secret anymore. And copying a name-brand isn’t exactly an original creation.”
Billy smacked Preppy on the shoulder with his rag. “Touché, my friend,” he said with a burst of laughter. He placed his hand on the back of Preppy’s chair. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for helping me get the stoves working again. I’d be cooking blue crabs under a bridge right now if it wasn’t for you making that call and getting me those stoves.”
They shook hands and did the secret handshake all men seemed to know, the one that ended with a half hug and a clap on the back. “Couldn’t have my favorite chef without a kitchen, who would feed me?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe one of the dozen old ladies who make you whatever you want. Maybe Grace. Maybe one of the biker whores,” Billy said, with a smirk. He turned to me. “Sorry about the language ma’am. I mean the ladies that are associated with the Beach Bastards.”
“No worries,” I said, deciding right then and there that I liked Billy.
“Dude, I wouldn’t do you wrong like that,” Preppy said. “None of them make seafood like you do. Nobody.” Preppy reached for the crab with his hands and set one on a plate, handing it across the table to me. Billy gave him a knowing look. “So are we cool?” Preppy asked, adding, “It’s not you, it’s me?” He held up his arms in surrender as Billy swatted him again with a dishtowel. He thanked Preppy again and headed back inside, whistling along to a staticky version of the Billy Joel song playing through the small radio on the floor, where it was also keeping the door propped open.
“I almost forgot to give you these,” Billy said. The door swung open and he tossed two plastic yellow crab crackers over my head and onto the table.
I’d successfully ripped the first leg off my crab and was doing my best with the cracker to rid my lunch of his shell when I looked up to find myself locked in Preppy’s intense stare. “This looks so great, doesn’t it?” I asked, trying to break the thickness of the air between us.
Preppy remained silent as he lifted a crab off the platter and set in on his plate. Then he made a show of lifting two very familiar fingers to his mouth to slowly suck the seasoning off, just like he had before. My panties dampened, instantly. I held back a groan and cleared my throat, turning my attentions back to my plate. “Are…are you hungry?” I asked shakily, trying to sound unaffected as my nipples pebbled through my shirt.
As if on cue Preppy’s gaze dropped to my chest, lingering there, like he was admiring what he’d done to me.
“I’m fucking starving.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PREPPY
PRESENT
“There is one thing you haven’t thought of,” I said, sitting up as straight as I could. “Oh yeah, and what the fuck would that be?” Chop asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall with a shit eating grin on his face.
“You’re a fucked up individual,” I said, pausing to adjust to the sharp pain in my ribs.
“Is that it?” Chop asked, rolling his eyes.
I shook my head. “No, you didn’t let me finish.” I pushed against the floor and slid my ass against the wall, bracing myself into the corner. “What you don’t seem to understand is that there ain’t nothing you can do to me that ain’t been done before. You’re an amateur. A fucking hack. You think threatening to have me ass-raped is going to break me?” I laughed. “Think again cocksucker, ’cause my stepdaddy already had that honor.”
