Hell Fires (Age-Gap Romance)

“You fire the DJ?” he asked me.

“Naw,” I told him. I couldn’t help the smile that overtook my face. I was intrigued by this woman. “I’m not that much of a jerk.” She had a disability that should make her vulnerable, but instead it made her fiery. She didn’t have a chip on her shoulder, but she was certainly not someone to underestimate. “I’m taking her home.”

“Shit, they fall at your feet, don’t they, Maverick?”

“Not like that, asshole. I’m giving her a ride.”

“And what a ride it will be,” he said as he walked out the door.

I shook my head at him and continued counting.

“Hey.”

I looked up in the mirror behind the register to see her standing there where Tex had been. She was probably there the whole time. She was wearing huge Beat headphones that dwarfed her, no ear pods for this girl. They somehow made her look even younger and smaller that she was. The curtain of hair was covering up her magical eye again.

“Hey, yourself. Bikes out front, I’ll be ready in a second.”

“Bike? Oh, yeah. Yikes! You’re from the MC? I’ve never ridden a bike before. Well, a bike-bike, I used to ride those, but not a motorcycle.”

“You’ll love it. How do you usually get home?”

“City bus,” she said. She averted her brown eye and pulled her little hand truck of records up to the bar. She plopped down in the seat and shook her hoodie off her head. Her lips were plump and pink with an elegant cupids bow that led up to an upturned delicate nose covered in freckles.

“Where do you wait for the bus? Isn’t it deserted this time of night?”

“Bus stop. There’s one just down the highway. It’s not exactly deserted, it’s more like jam-packed with unsavory characters.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” She heaved off her backpack and placed it on the seat next to her. “Drink?” I asked her.

“After last call? I’ll take a beer,” she said. A girl bundled in a hoodie as well stopped and handed Sophie a twenty. “Oh hey, thanks, Dana. Hope you had a good night.” The dancer kissed her on the cheek and stormed out in her well-worn Uggs, just a long sweatshirt and puffer jacket covering her.

“I.D.” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“Seriously, dude?”

“Dead ass,” I told her.

I looked at her ID. She was twenty-one all right. I liked that she hadn’t lied to me. Her photo was stunning, the scars, the alien eye, her coloring, all of it coming through beautifully in a goddamned state identification photo. It was a shame that Sophie couldn’t even see for herself how beautiful she was. Sophia Lancaster Costa 577 Brook Hill Road “Brook Hill Road? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said.

“I.D.s don’t lie,” she said.

“That is literally the worst neighborhood I know. What do you do, wear a bullet proof vest to bed?”

“Haha. Shakespeare is from the wrong side of the tracks and he’s a territorial pitbull. I do just fine. Thank you.” A blonde I didn’t recognize walked by and tossed another twenty down in front of Sophie which she slid into her backpack.

“The dancers tip you well?” I asked her.

“Yeah, most of them are super sweet. They’ve pretty much all told me how they like the music better ever since I came.”

I handed her a Corona and popped the top with the same hand.

“Lime?”

She reached back and pulled out the elastic holding her long hair in a loose ponytail. She shook out her amazing red hair and then ran her fingers behind her neck where I couldn’t see.

“Is this it?” she asked me. She was holding a strand of hair colored a brilliant lime green among some strands of the fire red.

“That’s it. Lime green, huh? Which color is natural?” She laughed good naturedly at my joke.

“My friend Brody did it. You can only see it when my hair’s up or if you catch me upside down.”

“Brody as in Brody Jackson? The old guy who owns Spins?”

“That’s him!”

“He does hair?”

“He does if you bring the bleach and color and give him a long sob story!”

This girl was too much. I’d known Brody for years. It was a wonder that place stayed open; I hadn’t been in there since high school.

Another girl walked by and handed Sophie a pile of ones. “Thanks, Jenna. Loved your song requests,” she said. Jenna gave her a quick hug.

“Hi Maverick,” she said to me.

“What’s up, Jenna? How’s school?” I asked her.

“Finals are killing me,” she said. She lifted up her leg and scratched down by her ankle. She hopped on one foot toward the door still scratching.

“See you tomorrow!” Sophie told her. “I love her,” she said, genuinely returning her attention to me.

“Do you know all of their voices or can you see them well enough to recognize who they are?” I didn’t know if the question was out of line, if it might be interpreted as rude.