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pascaliprincess · 5 years

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Band-Ten-Heart

Summary: A long bus ride provides Peter the perfect opportunity to tell you how he feels. Now all he needs to do is actually talk to you.

Warnings: Fluff! cursing, some angst if you use a magnifying glass, probably some improper comma usage, marching band lingo.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Here it is! My very first fic :D A lot of this is based off of my own experiences in high school marching band so, y’know, take this with a grain of salt or whateva. Feedback is always appreciated so... let me know what you think, I guess.

“Hey Peter?”

Peter’s eyes shot up from his phone to meet yours across the aisle of the bus, his brows raised.

“Could you hold this for me?” Peter glanced down at your outstretched arms to see you holding a mirror towards him. He nodded, taking it from you and holding it out so you could see yourself in it.

“Doing makeup on the bus? A bit risky, don’t you think?” Peter gave you a concerned smile.

“Occupational hazard,” you shrugged, “they don’t usually give us time to do it there.” Peter hummed in affirmation as he watched you paint long strokes of pastel colors around your eyes.

“Pretty impressive,” he said, admiring your precision.

You paused to smile up at him, “lotsa’ practice, I suppose.” He nodded again and your eyes returned to the mirror so you could keep working.

Peter thought back to all the times he’d arrived at competition sites or rival high schools, only to see you with your makeup and hair perfectly done, ready to take the field. He inwardly cursed his band director for keeping the woodwinds on a separate bus until now. The charter bus taking them to their next competition had enough storage to allow the whole band to fit onto two buses rather than the usual three, and the nearly ten-hour drive had prompted Mr. Keely to allow them to sit on whichever bus they pleased.

Peter had immediately decided to join you with the rest of the color guard, determined to finally ask you out. He even managed to snag the seat across the aisle from you. His confidence wavered, however, when he realized he had no earthly idea what to say to you. The two of you were friendly, sure—you’d been going to school together for years—but you’d never been close.

But Peter was intent on changing that now. He’d spent nearly all of the trip trying to come up with a topic of conversation until you had finally hit him over the head with one, and now he couldn’t stop staring at you long enough to think of what to say.

“You good, Pete?” Peter’s eyes snapped to yours.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” he blushed, “just admiring your handiwork. You’re really good at that,” he nodded towards you as you continued painting the intricate design on your face.

“Thanks,” you replied with a warm smile, and Peter swore it was brighter than the sun.

“I wish I was that talented,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Parker,” you quipped with a smirk, “I saw you on Opposite Day this summer. That eyeliner? Snatched.” Peter let out a laugh, genuine and bright.

“I wish I could take credit for that,” he chuckled, “that was all my aunt, though.”

Your hand flew to your chest as a look of shock covered your face, “Peter Benjamin Parker!”

“How do you know my middle name?”

“You mean to tell me that for the past two and a half months you just let me believe you were a secret beauty guru?” You scoffed at him, “I have never felt so betrayed.”

Peter bit back a laugh as you continued to scold him. “Honestly, Peter,” you paused to dig through the bag of makeup next to you, pulling out a tube of lipstick before meeting his eyes once again, “I’m not sure our friendship can survive this.”

“No! Don’t say that,” Peter faux-pleaded, a smile tugging at his lips. “How do I make this better?” He grabbed your wrist gently and gave you his best puppy dog eyes.

Your facade broke as you burst into a fit of giggles and the sound made Peter’s heart flutter. “I suppose I can let you off the hook since you have been holding my mirror for like twenty minutes,” you teased, a warm smile plastered on your face.

Peter smiled back as he pretended to wipe his brow, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief. When he looked back to you, your eyes were looking down at your lap. He quirked his head and followed your gaze to find that his hand still attached to your wrist. A blush rose in his cheeks as he quickly pulled away, mumbling a “sorry,” before returning his hand to the mirror.

You chuckled as you turned your attention back to your reflection, swiping on a lavender lipstick and smacking your lips together a few times before leaning back to admire your work.

“What do you think?” Peter’s eyes met yours once again and he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face.

“Looks really good,” he nodded.

“Is it more ‘magical fairy princess’ than last week?”

“Dunno,” he confessed, “missed last week’s game.”

“Right, the internship,” you recalled, taking the mirror back from him and swapping it for your phone. “Mind taking a few pictures?” Peter shook his head, taking your phone and snapping a few shots of you from different angles. You thanked him while and pulling some makeup wipes out of your bag.

Peter furrowed his brows, “Wait, why are you taking it off?” He watched the design smudge and fade away as you wiped your face.

“Well for starters, we’re still like, five and a half hours from the competition site,” you joked, “and for seconders, this was just a test. The judge at the last competition complained that the makeup wasn’t readable but I haven’t had time since then to adjust it so I’m doing it now.” You finished cleaning your face, tossing the wipes back in your bag before standing and returning it to the storage compartment above your seat. You grabbed your phone from him as you sat back down, “Gotta send those to the rest of the guard so they know what to fix later,” you mumbled before turning in your seat to fully face Peter, sticking your phone between your thigh and the blue velvet of the seat cushion.

“Can I ask you something, Pete?” He nodded and you continued, “You haven’t been around a ton since you got the Stark internship, which sucks ‘cause I know the c-nets could really use you,” Peter watched your fingers fidget with your sweatpants as you rambled and he wondered what it would be like to feel them intertwined with his own. “And I get that it probably takes up a lot of your time which begs the question,” you tapped his leg with your foot and he looked up at you, “how come you didn’t just quit?”

Shit. Peter inwardly cursed as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. This was it. This was his chance to tell you how he felt. To tell you that he would’ve quit ages ago if this wasn’t the only time you saw each other. He wanted to tell you that he’d been stretching himself thin for over a year just so he could spend time with you. That he’d quit every other extracurricular in order to be Spider-Man but couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you every day, so he stayed. He didn’t even like the stupid clarinet, he’d only picked it up to make May happy.

“I, uh-“ he stuttered, looking anywhere but your eyes.

“Not that I want you gone, or anything,” you were quick to correct yourself. Peter’s heart raced as he felt you slide your hand into his, “I’m just worried, Pete. You seem real tired and yesterday you kept messing up your drill and you almost got hit with a flag…” you trailed off, rubbing small circles onto the back of his hand with your thumb and Peter thought he might burst.

He took in a deep breath before meeting your gaze, your eyes were filled with concern and he swore he could get lost in them for all eternity. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, instead he let out a long sigh and pressed his eyes shut.

Fuck it.

“I didn’t want to quit because I was afraid I wouldn’t see you,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed tight.

He felt your thumb come to a stop on the back of his hand before you slowly pulled your hand away entirely and Peter’s heart sank. He wished he could take it back, return to the friendly banter you’d had just a few minutes ago before you asked that question. Why’d you have to ask that question?

“Hey Mark?” Peter’s eyes flew open and he whipped his head towards the boy sitting next to him.

Mark turned to look at you, brows raised. “Would you mind swapping seats with me? Peter and I are gonna watch some Star Trek.” Peter swiveled in his seat once more to give you a confused look.

“Sure, whatever.” Mark grabbed his stuff and shuffled past Peter into the aisle while you did the same.

Peter was sure his heart was about to burst out of his chest when you plopped down next to him, pulling your laptop out of your backpack and resting it on your lap. Peter just watched as you queued up an episode of Next Generation, unsure of what was happening.

You plugged in a pair of headphones, putting one in your own ear and handing the other to him. Peter’s skin burned as his hands brushed yours. His mind was short-circuiting; there were so many possible outcomes to his confession and he honestly didn’t know which one this was. Were you just ignoring it? Forcing the moment away with sheer willpower?

You pressed play and the episode started but Peter wasn’t paying attention. His only focus was your presence beside him. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to say something. He opened his mouth to speak but you raised a hand to stop him.

“Nope. Me first.” Peter closed his mouth and put on a tight lipped smile. “You know, there’s a long-standing tradition in almost every marching band on earth,” you started. “Well, less of a tradition and more of a universally acknowledged truth, and that is ‘guard kids date percussionists’.” Peter’s heart fell as the pieces clicked together. This was a rejection.

“For the most part, it’s true. Did you know the last three people I dated were all drummers?” Peter shook his head at this, biting his bottom lip in an effort to keep tears from welling in his eyes. “Yeah, two from drumline, one from pit.”

“I don’t see how thi-“

“Uh-uh. Still me.” Peter sighed as you pressed on. “I think it’s because our personalities mesh so well. Drummers are cocky, they have to be to lead the band like they do. And color guard? You’ve got to be one stubborn, confident motherfucker to toss around a six foot metal pole all day.” Peter just nodded, his eyes glued to the laptop screen.

“But drummers are also assholes,” you sighed and Peter could feel your eyes on him. “Peter, I’m getting real fuckin’ sick of dating assholes.”

Peter’s eyes widened as your words registered. He slowly turned to meet your gaze as you continued, “Clarinets, on the other hand?” You rolled your eyes in mock indignation. “Clarinets are awkward, oblivious, fumbling nerds,” you paused, searching for the right words, “but they’re also sweet, attentive, and wicked smart.”

Peter’s heart was pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it from your seat beside him. What is happening??? A million thoughts were going through his head as he searched your eyes for an answer.

“My point is…” you shut your eyes, drawing in a deep breath and Peter’s heart leapt into his throat. “Peter Parker,” your eyes met his again, “I’m really glad you didn’t quit.” Your voice was practically a whisper as you leaned towards him, and Peter thought he must be dreaming.

Your lips met his in a gentle kiss and Peter could hear your heart beating as quickly as his own. You pulled back after a moment, bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your gaze fixed on him. Peter’s eyes looked between your own before he brought a hand to your cheek and pulled you back towards him. His lips crashed into yours and he cursed himself for waiting five whole hours before doing this.

You giggled into the kiss and Peter’s heart fluttered at the sound. He wanted to stay like this forever, lips pressed against yours, feelings of mutual longing finally being hashed out. That feeling intensified as your tongue swiped across his bottom lip, silently asking permission. He granted it enthusiastically, parting his lips and dancing his tongue with your own. He felt you shift below him as you moved your laptop to the side and lifted the armrest separating your seats before threading your fingers through his hair. Peter moaned at the feeling of you tugging his curls and he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

The two of you sat like that for a few seconds, catching your breath and processing what had just happened. You pulled away slowly, eyes never leaving his own. The smile etched on your face made Peter’s stomach do flips.

“You know what else is great about clarinet players?” Peter hummed, already leaning in to kiss you again.

“Talented tongues.”

Tagging some people, I guess:

@holland3000 @marvellousparkerpeter @stuckonspidey @hillsnholland@keepingupwiththeparkers @madmadmilk @definitely-not-black-cat@afterglowparker @dtftomholland @lousimusician @spideyyeet @starksparker@wazzupmrstark @toms-gf @spideypeach @mjandliz @webbedparkers@moorehollandplz @hollandlovely @thirsttrapholland @marvellousparkerpeter@spidey-starks @mcuspidey @gyllenwh0re @mrs-hollandstan @condy-wants-a-cookie @edgy-hufflepuff-bro @pink16panther @makylaolson16

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years

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Melbourne, An Interlude

Summary: Merriell “Snafu” Shelton is on leave in Australia and meets a girl who, in quite a twist for Merriell, ends up charming the pants off of him. I was inspired by @rami-hoe and their story, The Soldier and the Nurse, because it was written in Snaf’s first person POV.

I am experimenting with this whole first person POV thing, so I keep Snaf’s thoughts in a slight version of his accent—this might be annoying af and not work at all :/ Feedback welcome! This is also my first piece on here with an OFC instead of a reader insert. I still tried to keep her vague-ish, but I wanted to do something different : )

This story will be two parts because I no longer seem to be able to write a one-shot to save my life.

Permanent Taglist: @rami-malek-trash @sherlollydramoine

Warnings: language, racial slur against the Japanese in accordance with the time period, and lots of sex stuff, so no under 18s, please!

If Guadalcanal was anythin’ to indicate what else was comin,’ I was gonna make the most of my time here in Melbourne. I was one of the lucky ones without malaria, but I was skinnier than I’d eva been and it was provin’ to be difficult to keep food in me long enough to actually fix my malnourishment.

What I can tell ya was takin’ a shower without a gun within arm’s length, without the fear of havin’ a shell dropped on ya naked ass, was next to feelin’ like god himself was wrappin’ ya up in a hug made out of warm rainwater.

It took a few days of eatin’ a little here and there and a whole lotta sleep for my nerves to relax. After a few meals dat finally settled well and sleepin’ for damn near 36 hours, I was ready to go out and find a drink, and I more than hoped not to spend anotha night alone on a fuckin’ cot in dat stadium.

First night out, I drank five glasses of whiskey and ended up stumblin’ around, gettin’ lost—I used to be able to drink a hell of a lot more than dat. I ended up runnin’ smack inta a gaggle of girls, gigglin’ and chatterin’ as dey were headin’ into the bar I just left.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t care which one said yes—so I took my shot, hopin’ I’d come across as charmin’ to at least one of em. I smiled a lot because I knew girls liked it when I did, and I ran a hand through my hair, short because it had just been cut, tryin’ to look just a little innocent and tryin’ to not sound as drunk as I was.

Her name was somethin’ like Stella or Bella, and I’m pretty sure she was a decent lookin’ girl. She took me back to the place she shared with her sister, and while she was shy at first, she opened up once the lights were out. I tried my best to get her to leave a little light on because I spent enough time in the black of night, not able to even see my own dick in my hand when takin’ a piss. But she was too shy for dat.

I took my time, drunk as I was, and made sure she was ready for me. I wasn’t ‘bout to do somethin’ stupid to start off my leave and maybe she’d be the only girl I’d end up gettin’. I wanted her to remember a good enough time.

The sex was . . . sex. She was a little quiet, a little soft. She kept her hands at her sides, clutchin’ at the sheets on occasion as she laid under me. I eventually gave up on askin’ her what she liked, how she wanted to be touched, because she just giggled and shook her head. I liked it betta when a girl let loose, when she let me know it felt good, too.

I came, pullin’ out even though I was wearin’ a rubber. Unlike a lot of my buddies, I paid damn close attention to those fuckin’ VD movies dey showed us. Right before we shipped out, a kid I knew from trainin’ camp got the clap. Sometimes, when I think ‘bout just slippin’ in to a woman, I remember what his fuckin’ dick looked like and I spend the thirty seconds lubin’ and wrappin’ up with one of the rubber kits the officers give out like candy. I wasn’t gonna spend half my leave vistin’ a Pro Station, or worse, laid up in the hospital with my cock on fire.

Once somethin’-ella was asleep, I tried to leave, quiet as possible. The damn MPs were still up everyone’s assholes, and I didn’t wanna be put in a cage. But on my way out, I ran into her sister and her name sounded somethin’ like Stella or Bella, too. She wasn’t quite as good lookin’ as her sister, but at least she wasn’t shy.

Honestly, I was just engagin’ in small talk, tryin’ to leave, but before I knew it, I found myself, naked and sprawled out on Stella/Bella #2’s bed with her bouncin’ on my cock like she’d been born to do it. Unlike her sis, she really didn’t need my help to come, and I actually was a little taken aback when ‘bout two minutes in she started screamin’ like a banshee, shakin’ and comin’ undone on top of me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feeling of her warmth, the sweet smell of sex mixin’ with whateva clean soap she had used, until I found myself comin’ for her, just like I did for her sister.

This one was more difficult to get away from, her limbs all tangled with mine and I wasn’t ready for dat—for feelin’ like I couldn’t move. It was way too much like sittin’ in a foxhole up to ya asshole in mud, tangled with ya weapon and ya gear and leanin’ against a buddy.

I relied on instinct and stayed real still, laborin’ my breathin’ like I was asleep and sure enough, she drifted off, snorin’ her head off.

I detangled myself and got outta there. I’d come enough to be a little more sober, so I snuck a glass of water before headin’ out, hopin’ I’d be able to find my way back to base unnoticed.

* * * * *

The next few weeks proceeded in much the same fashion. Drinkin’, smokin’, a little gamblin’, and closin’ out the night by finding some sweet thing to bed down. I was the happiest I’d been in a long time and even though the threat of drills and trainin’ was kept loomin’ ova our heads, I didn’t mind. Nothin’ here would eva be as bad as what was ova there.

Like I said, I was content with my days and nights and believed it would be how’d I’d spend my time in Melbourne until I saw her.

I was playin’ a game of cards with a few of my buddies, a cigarette danglin’ from my lips, the smoke waftin’ up in a thick stream when I glanced up at a loud guffaw of laughter comin’ from a few tables ova. I reached up to lower my cigarette, and when I found the source of the laughter, I saw the sexiest woman I had eva laid my damn eyes on.

She was surrounded by a group of marines I didn’t know, probably from the 7th Division. Her laughter had them captivated, and her glass of beer was—goddamn, she was drinkin’ beer like she’d been doin’ it her whole life. Her lips fit sensuously ova the thick rim of the mug, and the way she licked the little bit of liquid from her upper lip after a long draught, not just a sip, but a real drink, made me shift in my chair.

I had to know her—fuck sleepin’ with her; I just needed to be near her.

I bowed out of the game, the guys givin’ me major shit as I walked toward her table, all of them turnin’ to see if I’d make an asshole of myself.

When I stopped in front of the table, the conversation barely paused, even though she noticed me immediately and shot me a smirk, her pink lips glistenin’.

“Hi ya,” I said loud enough to turn all their attention. “Name’s Merriell Shelton, 1st Marines Division, and I’d love to buy ya a drink.”

The woman raised her eyebrow, her smirk still planted on her lips. The marines around her laughed and told me to fuck off, albeit with more polite words since dey were in front of the lady.

“As you can see Merriell Shelton, I don’t have a shortage of marines to buy me a drink. What makes your offer so special?”

American. I wasn’t expectin’ dat. Her response made it clear she was bein’ coquettish. Her tone was teasin’ and her eyes were shinin’ with a wickedness I had never seen in a woman’s eye before. It only made her more appealin’ and only made me more determined to shut the other guys up who had started laughin’ at her response, tellin’ me to keep movin.’

“Well, my offer is different, Miss, because dat’s all I want,” I said.

The marines shifted in their seats, clearly annoyed, until one of em I hadn’t seen earlier, guffawed. It was a guy in my company named James Haneson, but everyone called him Hollywood because he had movie-star good looks and wore sunglasses every chance he got. In fact, even though it was night, he had ‘em on now.

“Sure, Snafu. You’ve been with a different girl every night since we got here. Remember those sisters? Or were you just full of shit?” Hollywood said, his white teeth glitterin’ as he laughed while the othas joined in. Because I knew him, I caught the edge in his tone. He was sendin’ a clear signal, but I wasn’t ‘bout to let him win without a fight.

Still wearin’ a grin I considered to be charmin, I retorted, “I neva’ said I been a saint. All I want is to buy a drink for the most beautiful woman I eva seen who also happens to be able to drink betta than about half the men in my company.”

The woman laughed at dat, a throaty, deep laugh I felt run straight through body, like I got a good jolt from a bad wire.

“Well, gents,” she said lookin’ all ‘round her circle of admirers and fixin’ em with a sad little downturn of her mouth, which was surely negated by the wicked look in her eyes. “How can a gal refuse such a reasonable request?”

The guys all protested, Hollywood even reached out to take hold of her elbow, but she slid out of her chair and her linked her arm in mine.

“I’ll see you boys soon,” she said as she reached across the table to drink down the last of her beer.

“Wait, Kathryn! Are you gonna come back to this bar or will you be at the one ‘cross the street?”

“Or the club down on Main?”

“Or—”

Kathryn cut them off with a wink, statin’, “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see!”

Then, she turned to me and whispered, “Let’s get out of here before they stop being so amiable.”

“Kathryn! Where ya goin’? You promised to have a drink with me tonight,” an Aussie marine who was at least three times my size and looked to be more mountain than man said as we whirred by him, Kathryn callin’ out her response ova her shoulder.

“Now, I know that isn’t true because I never make promises to soldiers, Roger! Catch ya around!”

As we exited the bar, Kathryn leaned into me to make way for a group of people headin’ in and she whispered right in my ear, “I took him home night before last and he came on my thighs before he even got my panties off.”

I laughed, goddamn did I laugh! She was sexy and had a mouth on her dat woulda made most men blush.

She continued to lean into me, and when I turned to look at her, her eyes were on my face and she was grinnin’.

“That was a good reaction. You see, I was testing you, Mr. Shelton, and you passed. Shall we have that drink now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said returnin’ her dazzlin’ smile.

“I know a place that isn’t quite so inundated with, well, your lot.”

I let her lead me through the streets, happy she kept her arm linked with mine. She smelled like perfume, a familiar scent dat reminded me of the little purple sweet violets my granmama grew. Perfume was a luxury now, so I figured with the way she spoke and dressed she was from money. Girls with the kinda confidence Kathryn had were used to havin’ things at their disposal.

As we walked, she pointed out various places and named them, tellin’ me whether dey was worth vistin’ or if dey’d charge ya double.

“How do ya know so much if ya American?” I asked, no longer able to keep my curiosity from climbin’ out the bag.

“Well, my father is Australian. He met my mother while he was at University in the States. We always spend Christmas here with my grandparents, but since the war, I haven’t felt much like going back to my studies. I work in the shipyard now as a welder.”

I actually stopped in my tracks. I was expectin’ maybe a Red Cross volunteer or a nurse, but a welder, huh.

Kathryn let go of my arm and pulled off her glove, holdin’ up her hand and tellin’ me to feel it.

I reached out and ran my own calloused fingers ova her’s and across her calloused palm.

“You really are somethin’, ma’am,” I said, not botherin’ to hide the awe in my voice.

“I guess we haven’t been properly introduced—I’m Kathryn Taylor,” she said as she held out her ungloved hand to me.

“Merriell Shelton. Pleasure to officially meet ya,” I said as I enveloped her hand in mine, admirin’ the strength in her grip.

“Come on, Merriell. We’re almost to Smithy’s.”

We turned a corner and after walkin’ a few more feet, Kathryn took my hand in her once-more gloved hand and lead me down what seemed like a never-endin’, near pitch-black alley. She made a sharp turn left and then a right before we were brought to a buildin’ dat looked just like any otha bar in Melbourne, except the accents from the patrons out on the patio were all Aussie.

“Kathryn! Good to see you, luv,” the man at the door said. “And who’s this?”

“My friend, Merriell Shelton. He passed my test, Joe,” Kathryn said with a wink.

The man called Joe chuckled and clapped me on the back, however, his next words were anythin’ but friendly.

“Start any shit in there, mate, and your MPs will be the least of your concern, clear?”

“Clear,” I said with an affirmative nod.

I followed Kathryn in and got a fair share of stares, but no one seemed to pay us much mind once we slid into a little booth in the very back.

“Drinks are on me,” Kathryn said as she fished around in her little bag.

“Oh, no ma’am. I invited you—”

“Merriell. You fought. You lived. You’ll be off to fight again. I’m not the one risking my life on those godforsaken islands. The absolute least I can do is buy you a drink,” Kathryn said with finality as she slid from the booth and strode away—at least before stopping on her heel and doing a rather impressive about-face.

“I forgot to ask what you wanted,” she said with a quizzical look on her face as she stood in front of me.

I had to laugh. I didn’t think I’d eva met a woman who made me laugh as much as I had in such a short while.

“I like whiskey,” I said.

“You’ll get the finest in the house,” she said, smiling again before she turned and took off for the crowded bar.

I took a lot of pleasure in watchin’ her walk away. Her blue dress clung to her backside like it was made for the sole purpose of drivin’ a man wild.

When Kathryn returned, she had two large glasses of beer and two glasses of whiskey.

“Figured it’d be awhile before they’d make room for me at the bar again,” she said as she scooted a beer and a whiskey to my side of the table.

I thanked her and took a sip of the whiskey. It was damn smooth, so smooth I was sure I’d never tasted anythin’ like it before.

Kathryn also took a sip and thought for a moment before sayin’, “I think it has a nutty taste. Definitely not floral, not woody.”

I shrugged my shoulders at her, not sure what else to say.

“It’s my dad’s and my granddad’s favorite. I’ve been sneaking sips since I was a little girl,” Kathryn said as she slid her glass toward me. “However, I really don’t like it at all.”

I laughed again, a quiet chuckle of surprise because I wasn’t eva sure what was gonna come out of her mouth next.

“Where are you from, Merriell? Your accent is . . . sexy,” she said, pausin’ to either add emphasis or because she might’ve finally felt a little shy.

“I’m from New Orleans, Louisiana.”

“New—Naw Orlens. No. New Or-lins. How’d I do?”

“Not too bad,” I said with a chuckle. “Just don’t eva go full yank on me and say New Orleeens,” I said, draggin’ my e’s out to create dat sound I absolutely hated.

Kathryn giggled and said, “Point taken. I never want to hear you make that terrible noise again.”

We both smiled at each other, and even though the night was still young, I wished it would neva end.

Talkin’ to Kathryn was the easiest thing I’d eva done. She didn’t ask about the war, so I got to enjoy not talkin’ about it. After a few more hours and several more drinks, I learned about her childhood, her schoolin’, and her life here with her grandparents. In turn, I opened up to her about home, growin’ up and not always havin’ money but how my granmama made sure us kids neva went hungry.

I could tell I was feelin’ the effects of the whiskey and Kathryn could, too. Like everyone who wasn’t Cajun, she said my accent was takin’ up ‘more space in my mouth’ as she put it.

“But it’s still so sexy,” she said, this time bold as brass.

“I’m convinced dat nut’in on dis earth is sexy as you, darlin’,” I said, shooting her what I hoped was one of my best grins.

“You know, I’ve never met anyone with eyes more beautiful than yours. They can’t lie, Merriell. Did you know that? I’ve been testing you all night,” Kathryn said with seriousness, except I couldn’t help grinnin’ at her slurred speech.

I was a little taken aback at the compliment, though, and told her so.

“Nobody’s eva told me dat ‘bout ma eyes. Usually, dey just call me . . . unnervin’ or some shit,” I said with a nervous laugh. I had never confessed dat it bothered me to anyone.

Kathryn narrowed her eyes, takin’ her time to formulate her response.

“Prolly because you can see right the fuck through people—just like you did with, oh, what’s his name back at the bar . . . Hollywood! People want to feel like they’re special, like they’re some kinda enigma that can’t be solved. But you, Mer, you just cut right through their bullshit.”

“I’ve neva wanted ta kiss someone more dan I wanna kiss ya right now,” I said, leanin’ on the table, my fingers dancin’ ‘round the glass dat was between em.

Kathryn sat straight up and looked like I’d dumped a gallon of ice-water ova her head. I was confused enough to start to apologize for bein’ forward, but she cut me off.

She locked her eyes on mine and said, “No. When we kiss, it’ll be something that you remember for the rest of your life, not a stolen press of the lips or dart of the tongue in a back-alley bar. You deserve something more than that, Merriell.”

No woman like Kathryn had eva said anythin’ like dat to me. In fact, no woman had eva said anythin’ like dat to me. I was a lotta things, a whole lotta things, but this girl seemed to deem me worthy of far more than I eva imagined for myself.

We were both disappointed when the bartender announced last call. It was near 3 am, but I neva felt more awake; it felt like the fuckin’ Japs were a million miles away on their own stinkhole of an island, mindin’ their own goddamn business and dey had decided to keep it dat way.

“Guess I outta let you get back before they send the MPs after you,” Kathryn said, her eyes a little glassy as she smiled at me.

“Nah—da officers quit checkin’ up dat closely on us. All it takes is a few favors and ya safe from dem assholes.”

Like I was discoverin’ she was prone to do, Kathryn grew serious and changed the topic on me.

“I’m looking for something, Mer. I’m just not sure what it is yet, but I do know that I’ve never found it.”

I smiled at her, puzziln’ a little ova what she said.

“I dunno if I’ve got anythin’ dat interstin’ for ya, but I would sure would like to see ya again.”

“Done,” she said, pullin’ a little notepad and a pen from her purse. She scribbled an address on it and reached ova to tuck it snug into my shirt pocket.

She had put her gloves back on and reached up to cup the side of my face. I leaned inta her touch and closed my eyes, savorin’ her gentleness. She slid her gloved thumb ova my lips, pressin’ just a little on the bottom one. I opened my eyes and we just stood there for what felt like a lifetime, lookin’ at each other.

She shook her head, and pulled away, sayin’, “I’ll make sure you get on the right tram. Come on.”

Kathryn took off down the dark alley, and I followed her, thinkin’ there was a good chance I’d follow her anywhere.

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