Fire Cracker

Fire Cracker

The Ghost of Fuckings Past

Sabrina

Sabrina leaned upon the bar. She twirled a loose ringlet of hair about her forefinger, banding it in honey blonde. Her eyes drifted longingly to the mosh pit dance floor.

The Bat Cave was a grunge dive wannabe now trying to extend its existence into the post-COVID era by looping pop from the past three decades. A fun, Selena Gomez, hit had sent a technicolored crowd of women into a tizzy of waving arms and sexy sways. Sabrina would've had the time of her life out there.

An ache in Sabrina's thigh told her that she'd been in one position too long. She unhooked the heel of her pump from the cross brace on her stool. She carefully uncrossed and re-crossed her knees, one over the other. She had to be careful. On a barstool, in her wished-it-were-designer, sparkly body con mini dress it would be easy to show her date more than she intended.

It had been sweet of Carl to bring her to a dance club. They'd been together for a while now and he was clearly trying to reignite the spark they'd once had. Their dinner at Anthony's and sunset walk on the boardwalk outside had been--ordinary. And hazardous. Gee, she needed to stop wearing heels to Anthony's.

Problem was, Carl didn't dance. Sabrina looked longingly at the dance floor once more. Carl might've brought her here but she had about as much chance of getting him on the dance floor as she had of being the first woman to walk on the moon.

Wait, had that already happened? Sabrina thought maybe it had. Why hadn't that been bigger news? And why didn't she know? That was the kind of thing a career engineer should've known. Right?

Sabrina slipped her phone, in its bling jewel case, from the pocket in her clutch. She dropped it on the bar beside her lemon drop. Christina Koch's name popped up almost immediately in her search, an electrical engineer, like Sabrina, but it turned out to be surprisingly difficult to verify if Christina had actually managed to set foot on the moon. The woman had a Masters in Electrical Engineering, which Sabrina kind of envied. And gee, Christina might've walked on the moon, which was, like, fan girl material.

"Whatcha lookin' for, Girly Girl?" Carl yelled. He had too. It was that loud in the club.

Sabrina swiveled so she faced her date. They were only thirty, but his hair was already showing signs of male pattern baldness. Being taller, even in flats, that was no surprise to Sabrina. His sandy blonde hair hadn't abandoned him, yet, but it was thinning. She wasn't fond of his pet name for her but had never told him to cut it out. It was how he'd put her into his phone.

What was a surprise was that Sabrina cared. Oh-em-gee, his hair was a not an issue. Or his height. Or that he was a little stocky. He'd always been those things. Why was she noticing now? She was not that shallow. Was she? "Do you know if Christina Koch has walked on the moon?"

"Who?"

Sabrina leaned in towards Carl's ear. "Christina Koch!"

"No idea. Who is she? Is she Charles Koch's daughter or something?"

"No!" Well, she might've been. Sabrina would have to google the relationship too. But who cared who her father had been. He could've been King Charles for all anyone should've cared. No one dick referenced Neil. The woman might've walked on the moon for Prada's sake. "She's an astronaut on NASA's Artemis Team."

"Huh. Never heard of her."

Figured. Not that she had either, until two minutes ago. It really should've been bigger news. She took a sip of her lemon drop, because alcohol made exactly zero problems go away, but it tasted good.

As the music swelled once more and talking became impossible, Carl took a swallow of his beer, some kind of silver label thing light on calories and flavor. Sabrina contemplated her date. Carl had been sweet on her, and she on him, for two years. Sabrina's BFF, Joy, had introduced them when they'd all been studying for their PE's a few years past. The women had made the cut. Carl was up for his second try. He'd make it. He was ready. Sabrina was sure of it.

But while Sabrina was honestly happy for Carl, the prospect of being a PE power pair didn't excite her anymore--if it ever had. Carl was--Sabrina wasn't sure what he was--he just wasn't her forever man. She'd always known that, except he was kind of becoming that. Now that her BFF's career had launched into the stratosphere and Joy had landed herself a forever cowboy, Sabrina was starting to think she was ready for forever too.

With someone who danced.

"Do you want to dance?" Sabrina yelled. Taylor Swift jackhammered Sabrina's ears. Taylor, yay! One-hundred-six decibels, boo.

Carl looked at her like her mascara was '80s freak show running. He put down his beer and cycled a heavy sigh. He puffed up like he was steeling himself to climb into a dunk tank on a December day.

Sabrina waved him off. Her attention returned to her phone. "Nevermind!"

Carl was clearly relieved. How she could tell though, Sabrina wasn't certain. Carl's eyes had never ever been expressive. Just one spark of life less and they would've been dead. Like Christa McAuliffe's, his eyes were blue. Which really, really wasn't funny. But it kind of was. A little bit? Maybe? Sabrina's internal critic cringed. Why were some people's disasters everyone else's humor? Sabrina would've bet Christa McAuliffe's eyes had been exploding with life, pre-Challenger. Which was more than a little bit sad.

Someone knocked into her, sliding up to the bar behind Sabrina. Warmth settled against her shoulders and radiated all along her back. "Hey!" Sabrina turned to look and craned her gaze, up and up and up. "Watch..." she said, her voice already tailing off. The man had muscle. Muscle, with a capital M. Shoulders so broad the owner could've battle roped with Galloping Gertie, and won, blocked most her view. She caught a whiff of a spicy scent and sweat. Clean sweat. Like from exercising. Not that sour sulfur smell Carl got when he was nervous, engineered or made poor dietary choices.

"Sorry 'bout that." His voice was deep and cut through the music's base boom. His chest reverberated against Sabrina's shoulder blades and a honeyed heat slipped slowly towards her core.

The goliath gifted Sabrina a crooked grin. Sabrina gaped at him, because, eye candy. His gaze made a slow glide over her. Given his height, proximity and the dress she had on he had to be looking straight down her cleavage. A hum built in her chest. Sabrina's fingers fluttered on her collar bone. He could look. She didn't mind.

His palm slapped the bar. The ice in Sabrina's lemon drop, jumped as high as she did. "Pappy Van. Rocks," he rumbled at the bar tender. His gaze never left Sabrina.

"You want to dance?"

Sabrina's fingers froze at her throat. An icy shaft of guilt speared her sternum. "I..." She glanced sharply at her date. She'd forgotten Carl was there. He quirked an eyebrow at her. He'd brought her to the Bat Cave because she really, really, really liked to dance. She knew it grated on him when she picked up with someone that would actually dance with her, but he grinned and bore it, because he was that kind of boyfriend. He wouldn't dance with her but he'd suffer while she did what she loved.

Which was why she'd been sitting at the bar because it just--kind--of--sucked--that they both couldn't have fun at the same time. Carl's idea of a perfect date was a dinner in his office clothes, sportsball gossip, which she didn't mind, she'd been a cheerleader, and to get lucky once a month--which, come to think of it, it was about time to stamp the ol' passport. How had she gotten here? They used to be fun.

It stopped being fun when Joy and Cade showed you what you were missing.

Ugh. The hamster voice! Always right. Smug as shit. Never ever nice.

She turned her gaze back to the Babylonian god still pressing into her back with the intent of turning him down. He looked down at her with a lopsided grin that said he knew what was coming, but didn't really care.

Sabrina opened her mouth. The letdown knotted in her throat. How could she waste this? A dance in a dance club. Not to mention, the chance to dance with the Babylonian god of the moon, Sin, himself. He might not have been Mr. Right, but he sure as sin was Mr. Right Now.

"Sure." Sabrina quaffed the remainder of her lemon drop. Liquid courage. She shoved her clutch and phone at Carl. She didn't need to ask him to watch them. She slid off her stool and pulled the hem of her skirt down, because, yeah, she shouldn't have slid, no matter that she, the white trailer trash girl, had stripped so as to pay her way through college. That was then. This was now.

Standing, in her four inch heels, Sin was perhaps an inch taller than she. That made him six-five, she guessed. But he had her by at least two hundred pounds of muscle. Sabrina hoped he really did know how to dance because those size fourteen shoes on her toes would not feel good.

He took her hand in his, it was uncomfortable how much his dwarfed hers, and led her towards the dance floor.

"What's your name?" Sabrina screamed over MKTO.

"Cole." His name sounded as though it was a sonic boom. Sabrina marveled that he hadn't rattled the rafters. "You?"

"Sabrina, Bree, Bee, whatever!" If she had to keep talking, Sabrina was going to lose her voice.

"Nice to meet you, Whatever!"

Sabrina groaned. The press of bodies increased as they approached the center of the dance floor, but following Cole was like being escorted by a Russian icebreaker. When he reached the center of the floor he turned to her and STAG--stood there and ground. He was undeniably hot while doing so. Sabrina giggled-screamed with glee, bounced on her toes, threw he hands in the air and with wild abandon, danced about him. Sabrina even went so far to grind with him. Which was a mistake. Because something melted. She was pretty sure it was her panties.

Sabrina had no idea how long she danced. Nowhere near as long as a shift at XXX-Girls-Girls-Girls-XXX when she'd been in college. But college had been at least one fitness level ago. She needed water. There was no one to bring it to her.

"I need a drink!"

Cole cupped a hand to his ear.

"Water!" Sabrina shouted.

Cole nodded and parted the crowd for her.

When she returned to the bar for a pine float, Carl caught her gaze. He tapped the atomic blue, Ball Engineer on his wrist and nodded towards the door. Sabrina agreed. They'd been out for a long while. It was Thursday. Which meant she still had to get up at some responsible hour tomorrow--if Friday was still tomorrow. Gee, she hoped so. She apologized to Cole, blew him a kiss and followed her date out the door.

Back in Carl's, no-woman-could-ever-be-trusted-to-drive-it, Porsche, because, of course, single, white-male engineer wages, they zipped south on Interstate-5 towards Sabrina's Silver Lake apartment. The throwback analog clock on the dash, backlit by LED, proclaimed it a quarter past ten, thank God. It was not nearly as late as she had feared.

"Did you have a good evening, Girly Girl?"

Something in Sabrina's brain twanged, off key, but she suppressed it.

"Oh-em-gee, yes." Sabrina had. She was talking about the dancing. They'd been together a long while and despite Cole with the panty melting moves, part of Sabrina thought that she'd probably missed her get-swept-off-her-feet window. Never mind that her BFF had been thirty-three when she'd found herself boobs over bangs. Sabrina feared she might need to settle if she wanted any kind of shot at having a forever person. Life with Carl wouldn't be bad, it just didn't look exciting. So she channeled her dance club excitement into the earlier part of their evening, because what could it hurt to stroke Carl's fragile male ego? She babbled about their dinner, the walk on the wharf and the sunset over the Puget Sound. Actually the sunset had been a beautiful sight to behold. She'd only wondered once during their date how many megawatts it took to power the supercarrier parked at the naval base next door. She'd also spent twenty minutes guessing at its systems and calculating their imagined power draw. But she didn't tell Carl that, because that was the kind of thing she did when she was bored, or curious, or just, really, to the third power, nerding over something.

In the car, Carl smiled indulgently at her babbling.

After parking in a visitor space at her apartment complex, Carl walked her across the lot, his hand on the small of her back. She lived on the second floor, with a view of Silver Lake. Given their height differential, Carl was probably getting an eyeful as he followed her up the stairs to her door, but, oh well, it wasn't anything she hadn't happily shown him before.

After she unlocked her door, Sabrina turned and let her mediocre white-man kiss her good night. She'd have liked to have been able to rest her head on her man's chest or shoulders, not bend over the way she had to. There were times when having his chin roughly level with her breasts had its advantages, but kissing was not one of them. Sabrina slipped off her pumps and kicked them inside to bring their mouths closer to level.

Their lips met. Carl probed the seam of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. He'd popped an Altoid, thank God. Wintergreen was not Sabrina's favorite flavor but a far cry better than leftover salmon from dinner or that beer he'd been drinking. She let him in. He swiped her tongue. A light flutter, a warm butterfly wing, brushed her core. Not desire. More like the Ghost of Fuckings Past.

Carl tangled a hand in the hair at the nape of her neck, pushed her head down, went up on his toes and riveted their lips more fully. Once upon a Disney, she would've devoured his eagerness and called it love. But she'd seen Joy and Cade--that was love. And Sabrina wanted it.

Carl's kiss got a little sloppy. His free hand traveled from her shoulder to maul her breast. Oh, farts. He wanted to stamp her passport. Tonight.

Did she want to? Not really.

Did she have it in her? The Ghost of Fuckings Past shrugged.

Was there a reason to? When Sabrina had been nineteen Grandma had said a woman does what a woman does to keep her man happy. Sabrina had been too inexperienced to really understand at the time. Now she did.

Fine. It wasn't a bad time. It was kind of like lying but it wouldn't hurt her any. How could it? He'd been in her panties once a month for two years. Perhaps she could conjure up Sin the Babylonian god in her third eye. That's what a man did, when he was having a hard time keeping it up, envisioned a different fuck, right?

Sabrina fisted the pocket panel of Carl's short sleeved, button down, pin stripped, wouldn't have looked out of place in a JPL engineering lab shirt, broke their kiss, gifted Carl the saucy wink she'd perfected beside a stripper pole and dragged him through her door.

Getting a Zit

Sabrina

Sabrina slapped her palm down on the digital clock on her nightstand. The Dollar Store clock spit out from under her fingers, flew off her nightstand and ricochet off her closet door. It rolled across the carpet still blaring its wakeup screech. Sabrina wrestled off the bed covers. The half open clasp of her bra, Carl had never mastered the hasp, bit into the small of her back. Reaching behind her, Sabrina flipped open the clip and tugged off the offensive garment hugging her belly.

She rolled out of bed, naked. Sabrina walked to the clock and stomped on the snooze. To Carl she said, "Work in forty."

Carl grunted into her pillow.

"I'm taking a shower."

Carl grunted again.

She slipped into her tiny bathroom. Sabrina locked the door. She wasn't up for company, even if she'd had the time. If Sabrina was lucky, Carl would make himself useful and whip her up some breakfast. That'd been his MO the morning after, once upon a time.

Thirty seven minutes later, Sabrina crunched on the Grape-Nuts she'd tossed in her yogurt cup. She shoveled the last few bites, walked over to the bathroom door and screamed, over the running shower, for Carl to lock up when he left. She grabbed her purse and trotted down the stairs to her white, non-descript, pre-owned, Ford Focus, because, single, overachieving white-female engineer wages.

Sabrina flat ironed her hair during the pauses in the ten-mile per hour crawl in Southbound Interstate-5's traffic. She finished her makeup at the lights in Lynwood. In her office, five after seven, she ran an emergency lint brush over her pant suit because, yeah, the previous owners of her Focus had a cat. It'd probably once been super cute but was now hairless, because, yikes. She needed to get the car detailed.

One cup of office black and the first fifty, of two-hundred, email later, many of the other early risers had arrived. Conversations blossomed in the hall. An urgent meeting request from the Brian Hayward, the Engineering Manager popped up for nine. Watt Engineering's Lynwood office was nice, state of the art and the offices had doors for most everyone. Yet, as the morning inched towards Sabrina's nine a.m. meeting, the hubbub of business rose in volume.

Sabrina didn't have time for chit-chat. Especially since one of those voices in the hall was, Kyle, The Zit.

Not that Kyle was unattractive. Kyle was too attractive. He was also really, to the third power, tall. Like taller than Sin from last night. And although Cole probably could've tied Kyle into a pretzel, Kyle still had muscles that she, Sabrina, had, in much weaker moments, fantasized about licking. His eyes were the color of a mossy forest floor--green and brown. Sabrina absolutely should have known better than to fantasize. As a sixth grader Kyle'd made a game out of tugging her ponytail. If she said something, she'd get detention. Somehow Mrs. Olsen had never caught Kyle in the act. Teacher's pet. So unfair.

In high school he'd edged Sabrina out of valedictorian by taking one more AP class than she. The class had required an investment that Kyle's doctor dad covered but that a welfare kid couldn't touch.

They'd competed for high marks in statics, dynamics, thermodynamics, statistics--essentially, all of the engineering core classes--at Oregon State University.

Oregon, assigned seating, side-by-side, eight hour State administered, Fundamentals of Engineering exam.

Washington, assigned seating, side-by-side, sixteen hour State administered, Professional Engineer test. Sabrina knew he'd aced both. He aced everything!

No, Kyle's likeness to a zit wasn't that he was disgustingly ugly, because his I-want-to-lick-that-body was beyond hot, or because he was less intelligent than Bevis and Butthead, because, spoiler alert, he could do Fourier transforms without a calculator. His zit power was that he never, ever went away. Even when Sabrina had sworn she'd finally ditched him, he'd show up again, just like the monster zit she'd gotten on her chin three weeks before Junior Prom. Case in point, six months ago Kyle had shown up here, in Lynwood, as an employee of Watt Engineering. He'd even been assigned to her team. Her team! Her team was power engineers! He was civ, for Versace's sake!

That was why Sabrina was on the ASCE licensed website updating a project map with earthquake zones, shear and acceleration for the new Bonneville to Seattle 765kV powerline that BPA wanted to build. There was no way, no how she'd grant Kyle a victory by asking him for help even though earthquake zoning was civil engineering, not electrical.

The two minute meeting warning on her computer went off. Sabrina doubled down on another minute-thirty of work, logged out of the ASCE software and sped for the emergency meeting. It was an office wide, all engineers on deck, type meeting. She arrived in time to get the last seat, which, ugh, was right across from The Zit in the too crowded room.