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A haze of smog sits over the Valley like it usually does at this time of year. It’s ugly and brown, yet another item for me to add to my list of grievances that’s titled “Why the Fuck Did I Bring Myself to the God-Forsaken State of California?” The others include my shit-ass cheating ex-boyfriend, the pile of my things stuffed behind me into the back of my car, and…yeah, the fact that there’s about an eighty-five percent chance that said car does NOT start when I put my key back into the ignition. (Which would lead to about a ten percent chance that I die up here on the Mulholland Overlook. But that’s not my problem just yet.)
I’m trying to cool the fuck down. Not literally; this would be a shit place for that. What I’m trying to do is keep myself together so I don’t murder the next human I see by screaming until their eardrums burst. I take a swig from the dregs of a vodka bottle I swiped off my ex’s counter for spite (I should’ve chosen better; there’s barely a shot left in here), take a last drag of my cigarette (no, I don’t smoke, but y’know), and toss the bottle and stubbed-out butt on the floor of my car. It’s all trash anyway.
A look in the mirror of my sun visor shows me that I look almost as nightmarish as I feel: hair pulled back in a wretched mess of a bun, stained sweats that were all I could pull together quickly, smudged old makeup from when the events of yesterday shocked tears out of my eyes, before I resolved never to cry over a fucker called “Bryce” again. I shut the visor a lot harder than necessary, throw on a pair of plastic black sunglasses, and walk over to the fence, leaning against it and looking out. Time for some deep breathing or something. I light another cigarette.
It’s not long before a car pulls in at the other end of the overlook, and god, that’s just what the fuck I need, isn’t it. I don’t even turn to look, but this poor fucker seems to be having a shitty day too, given the tone he’s using with whoever is on the other end of that phone call. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but I don’t really need to. Sucks to be both of us, I guess.
The conversation escalates, and it’s enough to make me turn to look, even if I can’t quite make out his words. His back is turned to me, but my eyes are caught by the flashy red of his car, and it makes my breath catch.
The poor baby’s in rough shape, but there’s no mistaking a Firebird, or the way they tend to grab at my heart. Call it nostalgia. You don’t see a ton of these around anymore. I'm still looking when he hangs up the phone with a loud stream of expletives, then turns, catching me appreciating his car. Or maybe he thinks I’m appreciating him, I don’t know.
“Sorry,” he calls toward me, like I’m gonna be offended at his language.
I straighten up, facing him, and take a drag. “Bad day?” I call back on the exhale, wondering why the fuck I’m starting a conversation with anyone right now.
He shrugs and walks toward me, then leans on the fence too, about an arm’s length away. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Guess you could say that.” He gives my cigarette a look I know intimately. “You, uh…got any more?”
I take one out for him wordlessly. “You smoke?” I ask as I hand it over.
“Nah,” he says, “but…y’know.” Then he’s putting it to his mouth and I’m offering him a light, my sunglasses hiding the way I watch his lips tighten around it as he inhales. Yeah, fuck, so he’s a bit of a mess, but he’s got broad shoulders, strong arms, and a trim waist, and I’m newly and aggressively single. Also possibly ovulating. Sue me.
I let the moments pass, keeping my gaze out on the view, long enough that he’ll know I’m not making small talk for the hell of it. I do want to talk to him though, if only because I feel like he might get where I’m coming from.
“I like your car,” I say lightly.
He snaps to face me like he’s almost startled, kind of like a stray dog expecting a kick in the ribs, when a gentle pat comes instead. “Yeah?” he asks, still wary.
“Yeah,” I say. “My mom had one just like it, new, when I was a kid. Used to feel invincible when she’d drive me around in it.”
The side of his mouth quirks up in a fleeting almost-smile. “I get that,” he says. He looks over at my car, then back to me. “Looks like yours has seen better days.”
His has too, if we’re being honest, but mine’s just a shitbox on its last legs. His would come right back to life if someone had the extra time and money to make it a passion project. Maybe that’s a metaphor for something.
“Sure has,” I say, and laugh ironically. “But so have I. Fuck, I’ve seen a lot of better days than this one.”
He lets out a sigh, and I can tell there’s empathy in it. “What’s got you down?” he asks, in that careful way like he’s trying not to spook me.
I shake my head. “Worthless ex-boyfriend, lured me all the way across the country just for me to find he’d already started an affair before I got here. Now I’ve got the shittiest car known to man, possibly stalled out right there, a load of my crap in the back seat and the trunk, and absolutely nowhere to go.” I lift my cigarette to my lips and inhale. “So, y’know. Peachy.”
He nods with a huff of breath. “Yeah, I hear it. Today this lady gave me some shitty instructions about where to hang her new TV. Comes back later, tells me it’s on the wrong wall, starts throwing a fit. I finally calm her down, tell her I can fix it as soon as tomorrow, and ask her to kindly stop bitching at me. She calls my boss and gets me fired.”
“Shit,” I say. “That sucks too.”
“Yeah. Not great.”
I look over at him. “Got a name, Goldilocks?”
He smiles. It’s small still, but it lingers. “Johnny,” he says. “You?”
I tell him my name, and we shoot the shit for a couple more cigarettes. The more I talk to Johnny, the more he brightens up, until I can tell he’s a lot more than just a set of shoulders. When you catch him in a real laugh, he’s got a smile that’s probably melted its share of hearts, and his hair is that California gold that you don’t often see on men of his age. He’s low-maintenance enough that it just might be natural, too.
Don’t get me started on his eyes. When I finally looked directly at them, my breath caught in my throat. They’re blue like the ocean and just as devastating.
He’s older than me, beaten down by life, and a little rusty with the kind of banter we’re exchanging now, but he’s got to be one of the most genuine people I’ve met out here so far. It’s refreshing, and that interest my body was feeling earlier is only compounding. It’s been a shit day for him, too. A low-stakes, casual fuck might do both of us some good.
“Johnny,” I say, when we reach a natural lull. “I’m gonna put terrible odds on my car starting again, the next time I get in it. I’m about to have an absolutely terrible night, probably trying to sleep in it, here or somewhere else. But if you’ve got nothing else going…any chance you’d take me for a ride in your car? Doesn’t have to be a long one.”
He looks at me and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah,” he says, “of course. Least I can do.” Then he winks one of those blue, blue eyes at me.
I push my sunglasses up to my head. “Thanks.”
From my car I grab the small backpack that contains my only actual valuables, just in case someone gets the bright idea to smash a window while we’re gone. Then I walk over to Johnny’s Firebird. He opens the passenger door for me, and I get in.
Nostalgia rushes over me as I sit, but it’s nothing compared to the flood of adrenaline in my chest when Johnny’s eyes trail over me from the driver’s seat. My guess is that it’s been a while since he’s taken a woman for a drive, but I’m sending all the right signals. Looks like he’s starting to pick up on them, even if he does blush and look away when I catch him with my gaze.
He starts the car, revs it a little, and damn, I can feel that right in my core. The radio starts up too, and he shuts it off, then rummages in the console. “Here,” he says, handing me a Whitesnake cassette. “Put that in for me.”
It’s a slick line, and he delivered it with just a hint of something in his voice, something promising. “Sure thing,” I say, and slip it into the tape deck.
Johnny knows these roads, up here in the hills. He doesn’t say much, just lets the sunshine and the music do the talking as he guides the car around curves and hairpins, just fast enough to keep my heart rate up. Soon I get the courage to let my fingertips graze his arm, where it rests near me in between shifting gears. He flexes under my touch, and that’s exactly the kind of reaction I’m hoping for.
“Johnny,” I say, reaching over to squeeze his thigh, “how good of a driver are you, exactly?”
I can see him taking a deep breath, doing some mental calculation. “Pretty good,” he says, with less apprehension and more of that velvety depth in his voice that I’m coming to appreciate. I move my hand farther up.
“Yeah? Pretty good?” I ask. “You wanna show me?”
“Sure I do,” he says as the car kicks up higher, and my hand keeps exploring, almost up to the place his jeans crease at his hip. He takes the next curve harder, but I can feel it’s effortless for him. He and the Firebird know each other. He demonstrates it over and over, and I keep up my stroking on the inner side of his upper thigh, loving the way his breath is speeding up, the way his lower lip is clamped down under his teeth.
“What do you think?” he asks as the road straightens out before us. I smile, then lean across the center console to where I can murmur directly into his ear. As I do, I let my hand drift decisively over him, where he’s already hard as hell in his jeans, ready for whatever I have in mind.
“I think you should pull over.”
He takes the next safe turn-off, not bothering to find a hiding spot. It’s been pretty deserted up here during our drive anyway. He’s barely thrown the car into park when I’m working on the top button of his jeans.
“Whoa, whoa,” he says, and I stop to meet his eyes, showing him the need in my own.
“Something wrong?”
“No,” he says. “No. Just, you don’t…have to.”
I open his button and tug down his zip, letting my hand dip inside his pants. God, he’s big. I can’t wait to feel him on my tongue. “Johnny,” I say, “it’s been a shit day for both of us. I’m doing this because I want to make you feel good, because that’ll make me feel good too.” I stroke over his perfect shape, and his hips twitch up toward my touch. “That okay with you?”
His head is already tipping back against his headrest. “Yeah, yes, fuck yes. Please. Thank you.”
I hide my smile at his stream of polite expletives and lean over, getting myself comfortable, until I can free his cock from his underwear and get my hand around the base. I stroke it slowly a few times, just getting used to him, taking notes on what makes him squirm or moan. Then I lick over his frenulum, taking him in until I can fit my mouth around the ridge of his head, sucking as I work my lips up and then press them back down.
“Ohhhhhh fuck,” he says, and I look up to see his eyes clenched shut, his head thrown back against the head rest, baring the long, tempting column of his neck. I open for him again, taking him in deeper this time, letting my mouth tighten and suck around him in rhythm as I slide up and down his shaft. He tastes of sweat and precum, and his scent pervades my nostrils, making my entire body heat up for him.
As I work my mouth over him, his hand comes to my hair, freeing it from its bun so he can tangle his fingers in it. I’d usually protest, given that I’m such a mess and my hair probably needs to be washed, but his touch against my scalp feels so good, sending tingles down my back, and I can’t bear to stop him. I just moan and take him deeper inside, needing to give him this.
Together we find a rhythm, and I delight in taking him apart one piece at a time, letting him slip down my throat, testing how far I can take him. A few times I can feel him tense up and get close, and that’s when I make sure to draw back, cool him off for a moment before I start again. His smooth skin between my lips is heaven; his taste is so human, laced with everything I need. Best of all is how responsive he is, moaning appreciatively every time I try some new trick, flexing his hand in my hair and occasionally thrusting up into my mouth like he can’t help it. Getting this kind of primal affirmation is rare for me; Bryce was more into playing some weird dominant role that didn’t suit him, and the vulnerability Johnny is showing by simply expressing his pleasure to me is more satisfying than I can say.
My throat is relaxed open for him and my gag reflex doesn’t care anymore. I press my head down onto him until my lips touch my fingers where they’re still hanging on, and I start a series of long pulls all the way up to his tip, and all the way back down. His moans for me are raw and helpless, and he starts murmuring my name, squeezing at my shoulder.
“Shit, I…I’m about to…fuck, I can’t stop…”
I moan long and low around him, coming up again to suck expertly at his head, ready to take everything he’ll give. His body goes taut and tense while my lips contract and my tongue flicks, and then his hand fists in my hair and he groans his release, filling my mouth with his bitter-salt finish. I suck and swallow and repeat, wanting every bit, every drop of him. He gives it so beautifully.
When I come away from him, his hand in my hair finds my cheek, guiding my gaze to his. I feel his thumb brush over my bottom lip, and then he’s leaning in slowly, giving me a chance to back away, even though I’d never take it. His lips come to mine in a sweet, gentle press that’s as close as we can get to chaste after what we just shared.
His beard scratches against my face, and I love the feel of it, stroking over his jaw with my fingertips. I give some heat back to him, kissing harder, and he slips his tongue inside. Finding his own taste in my mouth seems to set off his hunger, and then we’re kissing hard and deep, exchanging all we can until we finally need to part for air.
He looks at me while tucking himself back into his pants, almost like he’s not sure I’m real. It’s relatable. I’m not sure he is, either. Finally his gaze turns to face forward, his hands on the steering wheel.
“Fuck,” he says softly, unable to mask the smile that’s flirting with his lips. “I’m not really sure what to say.” Then his eyes are back on mine, open and so real it hurts. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Johnny. The pleasure’s all mine.”
He smiles for real then. “Well…not all of it.”
We don’t say much on the drive back to the overlook, but his hand rests on my thigh just above my knee, when he’s not shifting gears. It’s an affectionate touch that makes me long for more, but it ends way too soon as he pulls up next to my beater of a car.
As we park, he’s clearly got something on his mind. I sit still, trying to give him the space to get it out.
“Hey,” he finally says. “This might be out of line, but…why don’t you come back to my place tonight? It’s not, uh…” he scrubs his hand through his hair, looking for words. “It’s not because I’m asking for more. I mean that was great. Incredible, actually, I just.” He stops his ramble, looking right at me. “I’d just like to know you’ve got a safe place to go. I have an extra bedroom, and no roommate. The apartment’s a hole, but it’s, y’know. Might be better than sleeping in your car.”
“You mean it?” I ask. “Sure you wouldn’t mind?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “‘Course not. It’d keep me from worrying, so really you’d be doing me a favor.”
“Alright, Johnny. It’s a deal.”
I get into my car, just to try, and by some damned miracle it actually starts. Johnny gets back into the Firebird, and I follow him down out of the hills, to a run-down apartment complex in Reseda.
Once we’re parked, he takes me to his door and lets me in. He wasn’t wrong about it being a hole, and it’s cluttered up with fast food containers and old Coors cans, but he starts rushing around to clean up immediately, and I can’t help finding it endearing.
“I don’t have shit for food in the fridge right now,” he mutters, tossing some cans into a bag.
“That’s okay. Let me order some carry out later. Just to say thanks for this.”
“Yeah,” he says with one of those barely-there smiles. “That’d be great.”
What I need most is a shower and a change of clothes. I go to my car to dig some out, something presentable enough to move about the apartment but comfy enough for sleeping. Johnny directs me to his bathroom and a fresh towel, and I finally clean off the last grime of my life with Bryce. It’s surprising, but I’m barely sad anymore. Somehow this scattered, depressed blond man has breathed some new life into me, and I’m seeing the hope in my situation, the chance for something better.
I keep my shower quick and get out, drying off on the bath mat. The detergent smell of the towel is part of Johnny’s scent I was enjoying earlier, and it makes heat curl low in my gut, wondering if he might be up for some more fun tonight. It’s probably not becoming of me to ask, and now I’m regretting not taking a moment to relieve myself in the shower. Ah well. Maybe later, if I’m quiet.
I pull on some yoga pants and a sports bra, then toss a tank top over it. Presentable enough, I think.
Johnny certainly seems to think so. He’s sitting in his armchair sipping a beer when I walk out, and he freezes, his wide eyes glued to my body. He pulls them away, but not before a pink flush covers his cheeks, and he stammers, not sure where to look.
“Hey,” he says, his voice too high. “Find everything you need in there?”
I can’t help a sly smile. “Yeah, pretty much,” I say, coming over close to him. “How’re you doing?”
His eyes slide up my body, and then he’s standing, almost touching me. For a moment I think he’s about to make the smoothest move on me I’ve ever seen, but then his eyes flicker. “Uhh, want a beer?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for my answer before he bolts to the fridge to retrieve one. He opens a fresh one for himself, and holds another out to me.
I walk over and take it, setting it on the counter and stepping close to him in his tiny kitchen. “What’s wrong, Johnny?” I ask, knowing the answer, but hoping he’ll tell me.
“N-nothing,” he says unconvincingly, swallowing hard. “You just. You look really good.” His eyes say he means it, but then he pulls them away from me, turning decisively. “But it’s shitty of me to offer you a place to stay and then stare like you’re a piece of meat. Sorry.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Johnny,” I say softly. “You…you know I’m into you, right? I get we just ran into each other by chance today, but I’m not only talking about the way you look. You’re the most real person I’ve met since I’ve been in California.”
He scoffs, his eyes wandering the apartment. “Yeah, doesn’t get a lot more real than this, I guess.”
“That’s not what I mean. Earlier today you asked what was bothering me, and I could tell you actually cared. You saw that I was fucked up, and you were worried about me. You were the first person all day who asked me what was wrong.”
His voice is still bitter when he speaks. “So you blew me in my car because I was half-decent to you?”
Okay, so he’s the self-destructive type. I get it now. Regret crosses his face as soon as he says it, as he realizes that his words are an unintentional dig at me and my choices. I’m not going to storm out of here that easily, but I’m not letting him off the hook, either.
“No. I blew you in your car because I needed to let off some steam, because you’d had a shitty day too, because I’m attracted to you, and because it was more fun than throwing myself off the top of the overlook.” He looks at me with wide eyes. “Plus, beat-up or not, you’ve got a sexy car. You know the babes can’t resist a sexy car.”
His eyes clench shut in embarrassment, but there’s that hint of a smile on his face. When he looks at me again, it’s with a tenderness I’m not sure I’ve earned, but that I long for, all the same. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You look a lot hotter in my kitchen than you would splattered all over the side of the hills.” His hand covers mine on his shoulder, thumb stroking over it. “I shouldn’t have said what I said before.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I say, and lean up to give him a tiny kiss on the cheek. I hover my lips over his ear. “But I’ll forgive you this once.”
I go to pull away, but his arm comes around my waist, keeping me close. Then he’s kissing me on my mouth again, slow and sweet and once again hungry. When he pulls back, his lips rest at my temple. “Don’t forgive me,” he says. “Just let me make it up to you.” He takes my hand and starts walking out of the kitchen.
“Okay,” I say, and I follow.
He leads me down the hall to his bedroom, and then we’re standing at the foot of his bed, kissing like it matters more than air. This is what I’ve wanted, what I’d hoped he might offer, and I’m going to take this chance with both hands— literally. They find the hem of his shirt, skimming up underneath it. He lifts his arms and pulls it off, and damn am I pleased with the view. A shirtless man in jeans is a favorite of mine, and he pulls off the look so well I’m salivating.
I stroke my hands over his shoulders, enjoying their breadth and strength, and then he’s helping me discard my tank top, kissing down my chest as both of his hands mold over my breasts, and that’s all the signal I need to shuck off my sports bra too. That’s when he pushes me down to the bed, backing me up until I’m reclining up at the head, my back propped on a couple of pillows.
He kisses over my breast, taking the nipple between his lips. His mouth, my god…I swear I’ll be dreaming of it the rest of my life, the way he works sweet, sucking kisses over me and brings a flush of heat and silky wetness between my legs, before he’s even touched me there. Then he’s kissing back up my chest, up my neck, and facing me up close.
His fingertips slip just under the waist of my yoga pants. “I wanna make you feel good,” he says with a rough voice. “Can I do that?”
I’m nodding before I can coordinate my mouth to speak, but I still get it there. “Yeah. Yes, Johnny. Make me feel good.”
He’s tugging down my pants then, baring me to his gaze. “I’ve got you,” he says, and I believe him. Then he has me naked, and he’s settling between my legs.
He brings his face close, kissing over the crease of my hip, nosing over my mound, breathing me in. He moans long and low, and then his fingers part my folds and he licks between them. I can feel his tongue lapping at my slick, and I hear his sound as he tastes it, deep and appreciative. He kisses my clit, teases at it, then dips his tongue deeper into my entrance, curling it against my walls. I get both of my hands in his hair, enjoying the softness of it between my fingers and the unbridled pleasure of his head between my legs. I buck up against his face, and his hands grasp my hips, pulling me in, encouraging me to keep chasing as his lips close over my clit, sucking in earnest.
I ride my hips against him, feeling my peak approaching already, feeling pressure building up and exploding into pleasure as his mouth gives perfect suction. He’s soft with his movements as I work through it, little flicks of his tongue and swipes of his lips sending tiny extra bursts through my body as I come down. He looks up at me, eyes on fire, and I assume he’s going to come up and kiss me, but I’m wrong about that.
Instead, he kisses my slit, and presses in until I feel the tip of his nose at my clit. Before he gave me finesse; now he gives me sloppy, needy smacking sounds as he tries to devour me from the inside. I’m completely lost, all thoughts gone except for my need to come again, and with the insatiable way he’s working me over, I can feel it’s going to happen.
This time it hits like a tide, and I feel myself crying out, shaking for him as he buries his tongue deep inside. It subsides a little more quickly than the last one, and I breathe hard, trying to calm my racing heart. He doesn’t give me long, though. I can feel him looking at me again, assessing something, and then he’s back down between my legs, and a tiny kitten lick touches my clit.
“Johnny—” I beg, though I’m not sure for what.
“I think you’ve got more in you,” he says, and I throw my head back against the pillows. He’s right.
He brings his tongue to my clit again, and I can feel two of his fingertips finding my entrance, raw and ready with slick. He rubs them up and down, then lets them press inside, slowly enough for me to feel every detail, every knuckle as he sinks within me. This…this is closer to what I really need, and he knows just how to work them in me, to stroke against my upper wall, and then to pair that with a filthy suck at my clit. He’s going a lot harder now, in tune with what I want, pulling all of my need and unfulfilled longing to the surface.
I can hear sounds, like they’re far away, and then I realize it’s me, repeating his name in a never-ending stream. He fucks me harder on his fingers, his pace relentless as his expert lips pull at my clit. Then there’s something— and with a rush I realize it’s his teeth, grazing ever so softly against the center of my pleasure while his tongue rolls over it. With a press and a slide of his fingers he has me convulsing for him, screaming, shattering into bits as I cover his hand in the slick of my release.
His fingers slip out slowly, and this time he is coming up to me. He’s a picture of hedonism and sin, lips parted around rushing breaths, his beard covered in my juices. I can see the outline of his hard cock in his jeans, and despite how spent I am, my craving to feel every inch of it inside of me is undeniable.
I reach for his waistband, unbuttoning it and tugging him closer. He holds onto my wrist, stopping me.
“Hey, I want this to be for you. You don’t—”
“Fuck me, Johnny. Please.”
His eyes narrow at that as his mouth falls open. God, he needs it too. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ve got you.”
He undresses above me and leans over to his nightstand. While he rummages around, I can’t help staring at his dick. It looks even better now than it did earlier in the car, and I wrap my hand around the base, needing to touch, to give it the appreciation it deserves. He’s got the length and the girth in one exquisite package, and I really can’t get enough of it. I stroke over him a few times, and he’s already giving me those gorgeous moans I could listen to forever. He comes back over me, stopping my hand with a light touch.
“Just a sec,” he says, tearing open a condom wrapper and rolling it down his length. I breathe out in relief; I’d forgotten entirely about protection, and I’m glad one of us was thinking. Then he’s settling down over me, his hands all over my sides, my breasts, and my hips, his lips hot and insistent on mine, and his cock beginning to nudge inside.
His press inside is slow at first, but he understands what I need, knows exactly how ready I am. My body is reciprocating his motions toward me before he’s even halfway in, and in a fevered tumult we come close until he’s seated fully inside of me. I’m breathing hard from the exhilaration of having him there, and he’s trembling with deep, restrained need. Then he eases out and rocks back inside, and the only thought in my mind is how perfect he feels fucking into me.
He rests his forehead against mine as I grasp at his back, trailing my fingernails over his skin. His hips set up a cadence that I can match with the roll of my body, and his eyes roll back, overwhelmed with heat and sensation.
“Ohhh fuck, you feel so good,” he says in that deep velvet voice, looking down at me through heavy-lidded eyes.
“You too,” I gasp. “Fuck, Johnny…I was thinking about this, back when I first saw you on the overlook…but I never imagined it being this good.”
He makes a helpless sound at my words, and starts pounding harder into me, finding some deep place inside that lights me up like nothing else. I lose myself in the sensation, working my body against his until I can feel it glowing inside of me, starting where I’m stretched open on his cock and spreading all throughout me.
I can see his peak building, see him growing more desperate, but I recognize he’s holding back, waiting for me. “Johnny,” I say, “let go for me. Take what you need. I’m right with you.”
A rough sound comes from his throat, and then he’s fucking me hard and relentless, sucking an angry mark into my neck as he chases down his orgasm inside of me. Mine breaks just before he finishes, and with him filling me the way he is, it surges through me with a new intensity, making my hips roll hard against his. He calls my name as he tips over too, tossing his head back as his body works through it, and we both sink into the soft glow of aftershocks, clinging to each other until our bodies are wrung out and spent.
As his breathing slows and his eyes slit open, I can feel his hand stroking my cheek. I look back at him, huffing out a little laugh, still in disbelief that this is where I’ve ended up after the way today began. A little bit of my smile is reflected in his face, and my god, it’s like the sun shining on me.
“You’re amazing,” he says.
“You’re not bad,” I reply with a wink, and his smile goes soft and warm, more tender than I’m prepared for. He leans in and kisses me, and I melt right into it.
When he goes to take his shower and I’m cleaned up and dressed, I call in a food order, choosing things I feel like we’ll both enjoy. It arrives just before he walks back out, hair damp and tousled, wearing a white tank top and a pair of worn grey sweatpants.
“Smells good,” he says. “What’d you order?”
“Quesadillas. Few different kinds. You wanna eat on plates at the table or be a heathen over here on the couch?”
He picks up all the food containers and brings them over to the coffee table. “I was born to be a heathen,” he says. I start opening containers, and he looks in with interest.
A little while later, there’s a half-finished quesadilla in a styrofoam container on my lap. We’re watching Bloodsport, and I’m reclined back against Johnny’s chest, alternating bites of my food with sips of a beer from his fridge. He’s pointing out the best parts of the movie while he does the same, reaching around me occasionally to grab some more food.
Later still, when it’s time to get some sleep, we clean up the takeout containers and put our empties into the bin. We take our turns in the bathroom, and then he’s looking at me the same way he has been ever since he warmed up to me: tender and hungry.
“I can get you set up in the other bedroom,” he says, “if you want.”
“Or?” I ask, walking close into his space. He kisses me gently, and we both taste of mint toothpaste.
“Or come to bed with me,” he says, his arm snaking around my waist.
Soon I’m falling asleep with his warm body pressed behind mine, one hand stroking my abdomen as his breathing subsides to a soft cadence.
In the morning I wake, and Johnny isn’t there. He’s not in the bedroom or the bathroom, and he’s not in the kitchen either, when I go poking around to see if he has a coffee maker (he does, but the coffee canister is empty). I decide to take out our trash and recycling from the night before. Seems like the least I can do, and I saw the dumpsters just across the way yesterday.
There’s a teen kid out there taking a bag to the recycling bin too, tall and lanky, with dark hair and tanned skin. He’s also sporting a black eye that looks pretty bad. “Hey,” he says when he sees me. “I’m Miguel. We just moved in. You wouldn’t know who to talk to about the water pressure, would you? Our sink’s been acting weird lately.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t live here, I’m just visiting a friend.” I gesture to his face. “You okay there?”
“Oh,” he says, raising his hand to touch the bruising. “Yeah, it’s whatever. Some kids I go to school with are kind of shitty. It’ll be alright. Now I know to stay out of their way.”
“Does your…mom? Or dad? Know about this?”
“Yeah, yeah. My mom. She hates it, but there’s not much to do except keep my head down, right?”
“I guess so. Listen, I’ve got to get back inside, but you take care of yourself, Miguel.”
“I will,” he says. “Thanks.”
Back in Johnny’s living room, I sigh and sit back down on the couch, my head in my hands. I don’t like what that kid is dealing with, but I’m not his parent, and there’s not too much I can do. He’s probably right, and there’s not too much even his mother can do. Making a stink to the school will just draw attention to him, make him more of a target. I do hope he figures something out, though.
Right now, what I need is to focus on my immediate problems, and getting back on my feet. I take a moment to check my phone, see if I missed anything during the previous evening’s absolutely mind-blowing sex.
As I go through my messages and stop on a particularly interesting one, I hear a car engine outside, and a key in the door shortly after. Johnny comes in with some plastic bags of what looks like groceries in his hand, humming the tune of an 80s banger under his breath.
“Hey you,” I call over.
“Hey gorgeous,” he says with a wink. I go to stand, and he holds his hand out. “No, don’t get up. I’m making breakfast, no arguments. What do you like in your coffee?”
Soon enough, he’s dishing us each a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, with a side of fried bologna. It brings a huge smile to my face, and I take a sip of my coffee before digging in. His eggs are pretty good, toast is solid, and the bologna…well. Once again, it’s nostalgic.
“Ketchup?” he asks, offering it to me.
“Nah,” I smile back. “It’s perfect just like this. Thanks, Johnny.”
When we’re about halfway done, he wipes his mouth and says, “So, have you figured out your housing problem yet? I know you said you had some ideas.”
We’d talked about this a little bit last night, over quesadillas and Bloodsport. I take a breath, then launch in. “Yeah, I might have a decent solution coming together. I’ve got this old friend from college. We’d been out of touch for a while, but she moved to LA last month. We’ve been chatting, but hadn’t gotten together yet. Just yesterday, she texted me all frustrated because her supposed roommate for this one-year lease she signed might be getting cold feet back in Chicago. I told her about my breakup, and she wants to get together today, talk about me moving in, at least until her Chicago friend commits to getting out here. She can’t really afford a two-bed on her own.” I take another bite. “Plus, I’ve still got work, at least for now. It’s not optimal, but now that I’m away from my leech of an ex, it should pay the bills.”
Johnny gives me a little half-smile. “Sounds like things are already looking up. Glad to hear it. I need a dose of whatever’s motivating you, that’s for sure.”
“What kind of work are you looking for? What do you like to do?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been doing a bit of this and that, most of my life. Seems kinda late to make some big change, y’know?”
“Is there anything you do as a hobby? Any passion project? When you were a kid, what kinds of things did you dream of doing?”
“I don’t think I’ve had any passion for anything since high school. And that all got ruined way back then, pretty much pulled me down with it. I doubt there’s anything there that would help me now.”
He’s piquing my interest with this discussion. “What was it, though? What were you into back then?”
“It’s gonna sound stupid.”
I bump my elbow against his arm. “No it isn’t. Tell me.”
He sighs. “I was a karate champion in high school.”
I put my hand on his forearm. “No way. That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, it was for a while. I fucked it all up, though.” His eyes go dark and hooded, and I can tell he’s where the demons are. I finish the last few bites of my food.
“Johnny, it sounds like there’s a story here. And if you’re willing to tell me, I want to hear it.”
He looks at me, apprehensive, and nods.
His story is long. It takes a while, and I can tell he’s downplaying parts of it, both the things he’s ashamed of doing and the trauma done to him. But when he’s told it, I know I’ve learned some crucial things about him, and about what he wished, or maybe still wishes, his life could be.
We’ve hit a lull, and I let the silence sit. Then I find his eyes, making sure he knows I’m not kidding, bringing this up.
“Have you ever considered teaching karate, Johnny?”
He scoffs and shakes his head, pretty much the reaction I’d expected. I push a little bit more.
“I’m serious. I know you were taught by some brutal asshole, and I know he almost turned you into one too. But you don’t have to do it like that. There are kids everywhere who need that kind of help, Johnny. The self-defense skills, and the confidence that comes from having command over your body and the way you use it. Hell, I took out the beer cans a little while ago and ran into the neighbor kid. He’s got a black eye, says it’s just other kids being shitty, that all he can do is keep his head down. Do you know what some training and discipline could do for a kid like that?”
His gaze lingers on mine. “Maybe,” he says. “But I don’t know the first thing about opening a dojo.”
Well. It isn’t a no.
I help Johnny clean up and do the dishes after breakfast, then take a spin around the apartment, looking for any of my things I might have left behind, taking them out to my car. My friend with the extra bedroom wants to meet for lunch, and Johnny probably wants me out of his hair. Leaving him isn’t my favorite thing, though. He’s been a real bright spot, way more than I could’ve guessed at first sight, and I’m not sure if this is it for us.
“That’s everything,” I say, turning to face him inside his front door. “Thank you, Johnny. You’ve been—” I’m cut off by his mouth against mine as he presses me back against his door.
“No thanks necessary,” he says when we part. “Just promise if you’re having trouble, or you need something, you give me a call, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree. “Can I get your number?”
His smile is wide. “Hell yeah. But you’ve gotta actually call me. It’s an old phone, and I don’t text.”
“Got it,” I say. “In that case, I might as well ask now. When can I see you again?”
He actually blushes at that, but he collects himself quickly. “How’s tomorrow?” he asks.
I do see Johnny the next day, and quite a few more times in the weeks that follow. Seeing Johnny Lawrence becomes something I’m starting to depend on, something I’m needing in my life. We’re not putting labels on anything, but having him around is starting to make it feel like my move to California and split with Bryce are the best things that have happened to me lately, instead of some of the worst.
One night we’re in my bed, in the small apartment my friend and I now share, running gentle hands over each other as we enjoy the afterglow, and I can sense it’s time to say my piece again.
“Have you thought any more about what I suggested, that first morning at your breakfast table?” I ask. I know he’s been picking up some handyman work on the side, but it won’t be enough to cover his expenses for long.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think about it a lot, actually, I just…don’t really know where to start.”
“Okay, I was hoping you’d say that. Now don’t freak out, alright? I just want to show you something.” I hop out of bed and grab my laptop, then bring it over and pull up the business plan I’ve been pulling together, just in case he thought more about doing this.
“Holy shit,” he says, after I’ve run through it. “That’s…that’s actually something I could do?”
“I think so. I’ve had to guess at your budget in some places, and I know that’s not really my business. You’d have to keep up the handyman jobs at first, at least until you get a full roster of students. And you’ll have to do some advertising, online and all. But if you’re willing to put the time in, if you really want this? Yeah. I think you can do it.”
“I’m not even sure how to get online,” he says.
“I am,” I say, smiling. “I can teach you. You’ll get this, Johnny. You can have this.”
He closes my laptop gently and sets it on my nightstand. Then his arms are around me and he’s rolling me over until I’m pinned under him and he can kiss me breathless. “Why are you doing all this?” he asks as he pulls back from my mouth, brushing his lips tenderly against my neck.
“I want good things for you, Johnny,” I say. “I want you to be able to live a life that you’re proud of, be who you want to be.”
He looks at me, that tiny smile still flitting around his mouth. Then it disappears, and his face falls. “You’ve gotta understand, it’s been a long time since I’ve expected to do anything but exist until the clock runs out. Chances are I’m gonna mess this up, and let you down.”
“Johnny,” I say, with my fingers in his hair, “the only way to mess up is not to try. I know it’s intimidating to make big changes, but your life is far from over. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you’ve got a lot more to offer than you think you do.”
“Well,” he says, “you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me, so I’m not going to argue with you. If you think I’ve got a shot, then I’ll give it everything I have in me.”
“I know you will,” I say, kissing his cheek.
He pulls me in close, spooning behind me. From here I can see out the window, where his car is parked on the street in a pool of yellow light. It’s still got those patches of worn paint, and the interior’s seen better days, but I know how it roars to life when Johnny turns the key, and how it handles around sharp turns. The rest is just window dressing. Time and care can fix that.
It takes work, but in the coming months we both start finding our way. I get a new job that pays better and gives me room for growth in my career, and Johnny finds a location for his dojo space. He spends a lot of weekends getting it cleaned up, and once it’s time, stocking it with equipment. I help when I can, though more than once it’s ended with me on my back on the dojo mats, or being pressed back against the mirrors while Johnny pounds into me. I can’t bring myself to be sorry for it. He looks beyond incredible in his sleeveless black gi, emblazoned across the back with the red phoenix he’s chosen for his dojo’s name. I know where the logo came from, of course, but I don’t think Pontiac will bother to send a cease and desist to a one-location dojo in Reseda. He should be just fine.
I pull up outside one evening after Johnny’s 4pm class ends, seeing Miguel and Aisha heading home for the day with some of the other students. I wave at them and they send me cheerful smiles, then they start to disperse, heading home. I pull the door of the dojo open, hearing the bell ring as I head inside.
Johnny steps out from his office, fixing a cocky smirk to his face. I’ve been seeing more of that these days, and I’ll admit it suits him. In his gi, with his black headband and his beard cropped close and neatly trimmed, he’s an absolute picture, one I can’t wait to get my hands on.
“Welcome to Red Phoenix Karate,” he says. “Ready to learn to kick some ass?”
“Always,” I say, leaning into his arms and his searing kiss. “You ready to teach me?”
He pulls me in tight until our hips nest together. “Hell yeah.”