Knocked up by the Mechanic

I grabbed another champagne off the nearest tray. “Walk with me, please,” I told him, taking his hand. He rubbed the center of my palm with his index finger and it made me squirm. “We could go out by the pool if you want?” I let the tiny tablets fall into the bubbly fluted glass.

“That sounds fantastic. I like how fast you move,” he told me, his voice full of innuendo. He tried to slip his arm around my waist, but I side stepped and dodged it.

“Call us if you need us!” Ale shouted behind us.

“Oh, I’ll call you, just give me like an hour at the most,” I called back to my girls. Gianna did a little finger wave and when Brendon turned, she used her long silver nail to mimic a slit across her throat.

We passed through the rest of the house until we neared the back exit. I opened the door and stepped out first onto the patio.

I swirled the glass and turned a couple of times in my dress looking up at the starry sky.

“I love this estate, is it Spanish Villa style?”

“Good guess,” I said.

“But the Brooks are half Italian, no?”

“Second generation Sicilian, my mom was.”

“It’s been gorgeous weather these past few nights, now that the heat wave broke,” Brandon said.

“Absolutely beautiful,” I agreed.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said. Brandon pulled me to him and I turned my face away. “Is it true that you’re a virgin, Harley? That’s the story your brother is selling,” he said to me.

“So now my brother is selling me? I’ll have to have a little chat with him.”

“I’m totally into that.”

“Are you? That’s charming.”

I tipped back the muddled champagne flute to my lips and sucked all of the bubbly and now bitter liquid into my mouth. Then, I intentionally tipped my lips up to Brandon Kresley. He responded perfectly by placing his mouth over mine in a kiss. As soon as his lips parted, I spit all of the contaminated champagne into his douchebag mouth, which he lapped up like an idiot.

“Sexy,” he said after swallowing. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That champagne tasted weird,” he said.

“Maybe it was your mouth,” I told him, walking suddenly faster and away from the house. I walked through the grounds in my mother’s dress which was long and dragging in the dew-kissed grass. I could still hear the laughter and the music and the cacophony of voices coming from the house which was lit up like a candelabra in the night.

“Hold up, Harley. I dig it. I can tell you’re kinky and that’s cool. I love a good kinky fuck. You want to do it in the grass?”

I stormed toward the tree line thinking of Wyatt Dunne and his dark flashing eyes and his incredibly sexy cock.

“Oh, we’re not going to fuck, Brandon,” I told him.

“What? Wait, are you for fucking real, Brooks?” I could hear the icy meanness cut through his tone. “I wouldn’t have come then. Drag me the fuck—you know what, we are going to fuck, whether you like it or not. In fact, I enjoy a good struggle. I come harder when—”

I heard him wretch as he leaned over and vomited. I stopped and turned around right at the entrance to the woods. I felt like an evil queen surveying her kingdom.

“And all the poor squires overdosed on some dirty shit,” I said.

“You fucking suck, Brooks. Call an ambulance,” he said before ralphing again. “What did you give me, you bitch?”

“Ripagare qcn con la stessa moneta,” I told him. I didn’t speak Italian, and neither did my mother, but she taught me a few things. A little taste of your own medicine, you fucking loser.

Gianna and Alexandra came running down the gentle hill in their ball gowns.

“Everybody’s leaving for the pub crawl, Harley. Are we staying or going?” Alexandra asked.

“How was your revenge fuck?” Gianna hollered.

“Lame,” I said. I kicked Kresley cause he was down for the count.

“I bet he’s got like the tiniest dick,” Gianna said. “Should we pull it out and take pictures?” she asked. “IG that shit?”

“No way, we don’t want any evidence,” Ale said, surprising me.

“Help me lift him and we’ll bring him back up the hill.”

“Great plan, Elizabeth Warren. Let’s storm the grounds in ballgowns and heels and then carry dead bodies,” Gianna complained. “How many did you get in him?”

“Around five to seven tabs,” I said.

“Holy shit, he’s gonna trip balls for days,” Gianna remarked.

“I had something more sinister in mind,” I said.

“Drown him in the pool?” Gianna asked. “I like it.”

I paused and watched Kresely roll and clutch his stomach. I’d considered leaving him in the garage like a twisted cat-like gift for the man I loved, but Gianna was right. Kresley needed swift justice and no one besides us would deliver it.