“Jim, you know that moment when you meet her?”

“Phil, Who is her?” Jim asked and sipped from his pint. His brown eyes stared across the table at his friend.

Trevor jotted the words “best friend” into his spiral notebook. He sat at a table in the centre of the pub, two tables from the booth where the younger men, Jim and Phil, discussed “her”. The next two words he wrote down were “Jim Kirk”.

Phil scratched the corner of his left green eye and smiled. “Tori. You’ve met her.”

The pub was near empty, which was typical for two o’clock in the afternoon. Only Trevor and the two younger men were playing the part of patrons. Only Candice was behind the bar and cleaning glasses while she glanced at the rerun of Coronation Street on the small television. The place had the usual woodwork and signs claiming to be Irish. The walls and carpet were a dark maroon pattern.

“Damn right I met her.”

Phil’s smile quickly vanished. “You didn’t?” His black tie was loosened at the neck of his button down shirt. The cuffs were rolled half way up his muscular forearms. Forearms that suddenly began to shake just slightly.

Jim laughed. “I did.” His brown hair was like a gelled helmet on his head.

“Where?”

“Centre pocket.”

Phil’s eyes searched the table to find his lost happy place. “I mean where did you fuck her?”

Jim tugged absently at the collar of his black turtle neck sweater with the gold band around his ring finger reflecting just a glint of light it had caught from above. “Iona’s cabin three weeks ago. She was a little drunk.”

“And Clara?”

Jim glanced around.

Trevor dropped his eyes, pretending to read his notebook so no eye contact would be made. He quickly jotted another two words, “adulterer bulshitter”.

“She was home with Jackie. Jackie was sick, you know.”

Phil shook his head. A hiss escaped his lips, “You leave your wife with your sick daughter to fuck my girlfriend?”

“She wasn’t your girlfriend then, as I recall.”

Phil’s serious face evaporated as a barrage of laughter blasted from his mouth. “You dog, you!”

Jim laughed.

“She is fantastic, isn’t she?”

“Fuck, yeah. That thing she does with her hips the…

Phil pointed at him. “The twist, man. She twists on your cock. Awesome.”

Trevor wrote down “twists on your cock” and then sipped his own beer.

Phil continued, “Clara never caught you?”

“Dude,” Jim curled the ends of his mouth into a cruel smile. “It’s me.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Phil said with another laugh.

Jim lifted his beer. “So you’re claiming Tori as yours then?”

“Absofuckinglutely.”

“Good for you.” He sipped before another question, “What about Rebecca?”

“Just because I own rights to Tori doesn’t mean I can’t play with Rebecca.”

“Nice.”

Phil continued, “She had my cock in her mouth the other day, and was just begging to be fucked.”

“I bet.”

“Had her tight ass all for me and she promised to be my girl.”

“Make her beg for it. Smart man,” Jim said with a nod and another sip.

“Stupid man,” Trevor said as he dropped a bill on his table beside the empty beer stein.

Both Jim and Phil turned to look at the older man.

Jim was the first to get past the shock of the comment. “Who the fuck are you?”

Trevor’s blue eyes glared at him briefly while he slipped the notebook under his arm. “A better man than you’ll ever be.”

Amidst yells of “Fuck off, old man!” from both men, Trevor pulled his coat tight and walked out with the ring of the cowbell above the door.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.