free?” Ali asked.
“What do you mean?”
“He gave you lunch for free?”
Crystal shrugged. “Pretty much,” she said.
“What does ‘pretty much’ mean?”
“All he wanted was a blow job,” Crystal said.
Ali almost wrecked her car. “He what?”
“A blow job. You know what that is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Ali replied grimly. “I do know what blow jobs are.” Why the hell do you?
Crystal shrugged again. “So I gave him one. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“You gave him a blow job for what, a Subway sandwich?”
“No. KFC.”
Ali could barely believe her ears, and she knew when or if Dave heard the full story, it would totally break his heart.
“I suppose you know what that makes you then,” Ali said. “If you’re selling sex for money or food, you’re a prostitute.”
“Blow jobs aren’t sex,” Crystal asserted. “That’s what the boys at school say—that you can save your virginity for marriage and still do blow jobs now. Just ‘friends with benefits.’ No problem.”
For a moment, Ali was beyond speechless. When she was finally able to reply, she measured her words very carefully. “Some boys will say anything to get what they want out of a girl. But if I were a nice man looking for someone equally nice to marry, a blow-job virgin wouldn’t be first on my list.”
Ali waited for Crystal’s response. When none was forthcoming, Ali glanced in her direction. The enveloping warmth of the vehicle must have affected Crystal because she had nodded off in mid-conversation. With her body sagging against the car door, she sat there with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open, breathing deeply. Ali realized that she probably hadn’t even heard Ali’s parting remark.
As Ali drove on through the cold winter night, her heart went out to Dave Holman. He has no idea what he’s up against.
In the cold hard predawn darkness, a single vehicle, an SUV, slowed and then rolled to a stop in the middle of the Burro Creek Bridge on U.S. 60 north of Wickenburg. While the driver stayed behind the wheel, two people got out. For a few moments they milled indecisively around on the bridge deck. Finally they went to the rear of the vehicle and pulled something heavy from the luggage area.
They carried it over to the guard rail, hoisted it, and then shoved it over the side, letting it plummet to the floor of the canyon, hundreds of feet below.
The driver honked the horn impatiently. “Let’s go!” he yelled. “Somebody’s coming. We’ve got to get out of here.”
By the time Ali drove back into Sedona, it was already after six. Ali started to drive straight home. Then, at the last minute, she pulled into the Sugarloaf parking lot instead. As soon as the car stopped, Crystal stirred, sat up, and looked around.
“What are we doing here?” she asked sleepily.
The tough-broad act seemed to be working, so Ali kept at it. “You said you were hungry earlier. I’m willing to buy you breakfast, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“The people who own this place are my parents. They’re also friends of your father’s. So, when we walk in the front door, I want you to turn right just past the cash register, go straight into the restroom, and use soap and water to scrub that god-awful mess of makeup off your face.”
For a moment it looked as though Crystal was getting ready to argue, but the air in the parking lot was heavy with the scent of Edie Larson’s freshly baked sweet rolls. Eventually they carried the day.
“All right,” Crystal allowed gracelessly. “I’ll do it.”
It was early yet. When they entered the Sugarloaf, only the corner booth was occupied, filled with a bunch of regulars, a crew of construction worker bees who had to be on shift by 7 A.M .
As soon as Ali slipped onto one of the stools at the counter, Edie Larson came over, bringing an empty mug and a steaming pot of coffee. “If you’re not a sight for sore eyes,” she
“What do you mean?”
“He gave you lunch for free?”
Crystal shrugged. “Pretty much,” she said.
“What does ‘pretty much’ mean?”
“All he wanted was a blow job,” Crystal said.
Ali almost wrecked her car. “He what?”
“A blow job. You know what that is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Ali replied grimly. “I do know what blow jobs are.” Why the hell do you?
Crystal shrugged again. “So I gave him one. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“You gave him a blow job for what, a Subway sandwich?”
“No. KFC.”
Ali could barely believe her ears, and she knew when or if Dave heard the full story, it would totally break his heart.
“I suppose you know what that makes you then,” Ali said. “If you’re selling sex for money or food, you’re a prostitute.”
“Blow jobs aren’t sex,” Crystal asserted. “That’s what the boys at school say—that you can save your virginity for marriage and still do blow jobs now. Just ‘friends with benefits.’ No problem.”
For a moment, Ali was beyond speechless. When she was finally able to reply, she measured her words very carefully. “Some boys will say anything to get what they want out of a girl. But if I were a nice man looking for someone equally nice to marry, a blow-job virgin wouldn’t be first on my list.”
Ali waited for Crystal’s response. When none was forthcoming, Ali glanced in her direction. The enveloping warmth of the vehicle must have affected Crystal because she had nodded off in mid-conversation. With her body sagging against the car door, she sat there with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open, breathing deeply. Ali realized that she probably hadn’t even heard Ali’s parting remark.
As Ali drove on through the cold winter night, her heart went out to Dave Holman. He has no idea what he’s up against.
In the cold hard predawn darkness, a single vehicle, an SUV, slowed and then rolled to a stop in the middle of the Burro Creek Bridge on U.S. 60 north of Wickenburg. While the driver stayed behind the wheel, two people got out. For a few moments they milled indecisively around on the bridge deck. Finally they went to the rear of the vehicle and pulled something heavy from the luggage area.
They carried it over to the guard rail, hoisted it, and then shoved it over the side, letting it plummet to the floor of the canyon, hundreds of feet below.
The driver honked the horn impatiently. “Let’s go!” he yelled. “Somebody’s coming. We’ve got to get out of here.”
By the time Ali drove back into Sedona, it was already after six. Ali started to drive straight home. Then, at the last minute, she pulled into the Sugarloaf parking lot instead. As soon as the car stopped, Crystal stirred, sat up, and looked around.
“What are we doing here?” she asked sleepily.
The tough-broad act seemed to be working, so Ali kept at it. “You said you were hungry earlier. I’m willing to buy you breakfast, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“The people who own this place are my parents. They’re also friends of your father’s. So, when we walk in the front door, I want you to turn right just past the cash register, go straight into the restroom, and use soap and water to scrub that god-awful mess of makeup off your face.”
For a moment it looked as though Crystal was getting ready to argue, but the air in the parking lot was heavy with the scent of Edie Larson’s freshly baked sweet rolls. Eventually they carried the day.
“All right,” Crystal allowed gracelessly. “I’ll do it.”
It was early yet. When they entered the Sugarloaf, only the corner booth was occupied, filled with a bunch of regulars, a crew of construction worker bees who had to be on shift by 7 A.M .
As soon as Ali slipped onto one of the stools at the counter, Edie Larson came over, bringing an empty mug and a steaming pot of coffee. “If you’re not a sight for sore eyes,” she
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