The Real Soccer Moms of Beaver County (15 page)

S
pray or Die

I plop Luna down in the chair first. “Bitch, your roots need touched up. I don’t even give a shit if you shed a Mariah Carey tear over being hurt by me saying it. Your man fucked you well and good in your new house, and your roots are shit!”

I begin combining all the colors in a bowl, mixing them well, and then hear Blanche’s drunken ass.

“Luna, Queenie had a wet dream about Brady’s ass.”

“I did not.” Each word comes out confident, as I mix the solution well.

“Really?” She counters trying to place her hand on her hip, but instead doing half-ass fucked up somersault to the tile.

Which is really fucked up, because Luna’s appearance is clear in the fact she believes Blanche over me who’s holding a bowl of hair dye over her head.

Luna only covers my hand and sends me a gentle wink. “His ass fucking rivals Tom Brady’s. Why in the hell do you think I keep popping out kid after kid for the man?”

The genuine kindness in her smile and the honesty radiating from her stare, I get she understands me from a deep level. Like super deep, but I’m not about to breech that subject tonight, or ever. I swear to the Gods of ass cheeks, I’ll swear on everything asslike to never envision Brady Morningwood’s ass again.

But my God that ass could fucking cure all sorts of shit worldwide.

My fingers tremble applying the color to her hair, only because her husband’s ass has been the vision of every single one of my wet dreams, but leave it up to Blanche to cut the awkward tension as she rolls between the hair drying chairs and the table piled with magazines, letting out a wild laugh.

That bitch has had enough to drink, period. In my peripheral, I notice Moira offering her a drink out of her metal cock and balls flask and only know this night has just begun. I keep my attention on Luna’s locks and the roots that need desperate attention. Each silver and brown root I cover, I feel a bit accomplished, but the background noise isn’t helping a bit.

Tits disgust me, and I’m pretty sure Moira and Blanche are doing body shots off of each other’s tits, so I keep my vision and full-attention on Luna’s roots and Brady’s ass. The last foil is set in place and Luna has twenty minutes under the dryer, and two very wet spots where her headlights should be. Her line of vision traces mine as we both land on the very damp material over both of her breasts.

“Everyone sucks a nipple at one point in time. A woman’s nipple or the bottle, same difference, asshole. You’re alive because of a vagina and nipples.” Luna does a triple action move, groping her lady locker and both dampened areas of her dress where her nipples are.

I lean down while ushering her to a dryer. “Brady, wants more kids, uh? It’s only because he loves you so deeply and madly.”

I let her pause mid-way absorbing it all in.

“I’ve known Brady Morningwood my whole life and the only thing certain about the man is that his ass is delicious, he can throw a football like no other, and he’s deeply mad in love with one woman.”

“How do you know?” Luna whispers, as I keep guiding both of her shoulders towards the circus wreck on the floor.

Both of us ignore the background noise of Blanche and Moira setting up the self-tanning station.

“Because he’d be mine if he didn’t love you.” I send her a not so innocent wink and watch as her cheeks flush a hot pink, and a satisfied smile spreads across her face. The only thing better than a joyful smile on her face are those god-awful roots being touched up. I mean my God; she is married to Brady Morningwood of Beaver Falls, so that Luna needs to begin strutting her shit around, instead of being a hot mess with a kid attached to each nipple.

Eeewww, bbbbooooobbbiiiees, gross! I’d rather be raised by a wild herd of goats. I mean a goat’s nipple is much more goat nipple-ish. Shit, estrogen is estrogen. Shit, Fuck, Bitch.

“Blanche, up now,” I bark, so confused about wanting to go find a goat nipple to test out. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing hair right now.

When my vision lands on Moira and Blanche wrestling with the self spray-tanning jug, my prior thoughts are completely justified.

I’d like to blame it on the booze, but it’s worn off. Blanche perches up on both elbows, aims the spray-tan gun like a modern day sniper, hollers, “Don’t move, Whoira, or your ass is mine.”

My concentration may abort mission at ass, but it’s only for a split-second before I’m leaping down on the boobie pile to recover the gun with the darkest tanning spray in it. I used it last on Kathy and lord knows that bitch likes to be tan. Blanche is clearly on a mission with her trigger finger more than ready to fire.

My vision darts to the cord, and yep it’s connected to the machine. It’s only a split second when Blanche’s finger pulls the trigger back. Dark orange, nearly brown, liquid exits the tip of the barrel of the spray tan gun. Seconds pass by before I rip Blanche’s hand from it.

Everything happens in slow motion, my hand pulls the gun away from Blanche, Luna goes on about Brady’s, ass sipping from a cock and balls flask, and then the dark liquid splatters all over Moira’s face. I mean Oscar of pornography couldn’t have filmed it better. The splatter covers her from forehead to chin, and even speckles her neckline.

“Blanche,” I hiss into her ear.

My best friend shrugs underneath of me. With the spray tan bottle firmly in my control. “My fingers and toes were crossed when I said truce, whore.”

“Blanche Morningwood.” I relax onto the wall with the spray tan bottle in my secured safety.

“Quincy. The best drag I’ve ever seen…Queenie who attempted to snag my virginity even knowing you were gay as gay.”

“Yes, Blanche.” I relax a bit back into the sheet rocked wall knowing no one else will be getting a jet spray to the face beside Moira.

“I lub you. I mean like really love you.” One of her hands grips onto the spray bottle I’m holding. “The day I lost the baby and lost all sense of reality, I wanted you to show up, and you did. I lub you, Queenie, forever.”

“Are you drunk?” I ask her, watching Moira racing off to the bathroom. I don’t have the heart to tell her that the damn coloring in the bottle was the darkest of the dark. Blanche hit pointblank, and it will no doubt leave a mark no matter how fast Moira gets the fast acting bronzer off.

“I’m fucking wasted.” She finally responds.

“I know.”

“Did I sing into Moira’s nipple or did she sing into mine?”

I only chuckle at the question, watching Luna take another indulgence off the cock flask. It may be the only other time I’ve seen her relaxed, besides when Brady pounded the fuck out of her.

Oh, God that taught ass. His perfect hair and manly ways.

I whack my pecker down, knowing this is a soccer mom moment and no wood is allowed.

“Baby girl,” I brush over the hair matted to her forehead. “The only thing I heard, or saw, was you and Moira making up.”

“Yeah, we’re friends now.”

“You just made her face about twenty shades darker than normal, Blanche.”

“Queenie, I tolds you my fingers and toes were crossed like in firstest grade. It was the final stand, but I’m friends with Whoira now.”

“Oh God, you are drunk.”

“I’m fucking wasted, Q.”

“It’s okay, baby girl.” I continue to work her hair through my fingers and firmly hold the spray tan gun.

“But I don’t wants to lose Clancy or Beaver Falls.”

“We know.” A new voice joins us and it takes everything inside me to not raise an eyebrow.

Moira who’s already riper than a peach and darker than a fucking Idaho spud smiles back at us. I’ve never noticed how white her teeth were or is it the…

M
oira

Scrub, Scrub, Scrub

Surprisingly, being bent over the backseat of a Honda Civic getting fucked by my kid's soccer coach wasn't my rock bottom.

No, I’d already been there many times before. When I gave into the hot jock and fucked him in the locker room, winding up pregnant at sixteen. Then, of course, when I was finally getting my shit together, but decided a weekend at a Taxidermy convention was the perfect time to sleep with a guy in a cover band who graced me with baby number two.

But I guess I should start at the beginning. How I ended up in a friends with benefits relationship with, Miles Tucker, my kid’s soccer coach.

After the shit show at Queenie's, I wanted nothing more than to pass out and try to forget everything. But, I still had spray tanner all over my face, so a trip to the only store in town would have to do.

I checked the time on my phone. I only had thirty minutes before I had to be home and my mom had to leave for work. I should have been thankful she was watching the kids because it was like pulling teeth for her to even acknowledge them. The fact that she was a teen mom and daughter of a teen mom, you would think would give me more sympathy. Nope, I was the youngest in a long line of teen sluts and the only one who wasn’t a bartender and "entertainment" at Woody's Bar and Grill.

I kept my head down, my heels the only sound in the late spring night air.

Things weren’t exactly hopping in Beaver Falls on a Saturday night, so I was hoping to get into the store, grab some face wash, and get the hell out.

Keeping my head down, I walked the linoleum path and headed toward the pharmacy aisle.

"What the fuck is going to scrub off this mess?" I muttered, picking up a store brand exfoliator.

"Moira?"

Shit. I recognized that voice. Superior. Haughty. A little higher pitched and kind of sexy.

I turn slowly to see Miles, Harry's soccer coach, standing with a small basket of groceries in his hand. He always looked out of place on the soccer field with tousled hair that curled behind his ears and black frame glasses that highlighted his chocolate brown eyes. Even though the temperature was heating up, he still wore a plaid button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and khakis like some preppy schoolboy. A preppy schoolboy that I may or may not have had a wet dream about.

"Oh, hello, Coach Tucker," I said, shielding my face with my hand.

He stepped closer and grabbed a bottle of Epsom salts from the shelf. "Spray tan gone wrong?"

I raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

He handed me the Epsom salts. "I tried to impress a girl in college by getting a spray tan. Instead, I got orange and she got herpes from some guy on the rugby team."

"Ew," I muttered.

"But I did learn that you mix Epsom salts with lemon juice and scrub, scrub, scrub, until it takes away that orange mess. I can even help you with the mixture if you want. I may not be the chemistry teacher, but I can try," he said, the smile broadening on his face.

I couldn’t help but laugh. "Are you flirting with me right now?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a blush creeping on his cheeks. "Am I that bad at it? And if you’re going to call me on it, at least call me Miles instead of Coach Tucker."

"Okay, Miles," I said, the words sounding strange as they rolled off my tongue. "I don't think it's exactly appropriate that my daughter's teacher is trying to pick me up at the Piggly Wiggly."

Normally, I would’ve jumped on the man and let him take me in right there in aisle seven, but I needed to change. To settle down and not just be “Moira The Whoira” as I’d heard Queenie and Blanche call me when they thought I wasn’t listening.

Miles smiled, bringing out the dimples at the corner of his cheeks that made me just want to sit on that face. "Technically, Harry doesn't have me in History for another year and Brannigan graduated from fifth grade."

"So what? You just expect me to get down on my knees and suck you off here next to the body washes? Well, sir, just because I dress a certain way doesn't mean I'm going to suck the soccer sweat off your dick," I said, jabbing my manicured finger into his sweater vest covered chest that was much more defined than I expected. Turned out the alcohol was still in my system and I was a bit more brash than normal.

Miles took my hand on his chest and interlaced our fingers. "How about I walk you home?"

I sighed. "Because I sound like a crazy person?"

He laughed and pinched his thumb and forefinger together on his other hand. “A little bit."

I sighed and put my hand down, before throwing the Epsom salt in my basket. "Okay, Miles, you can walk me home."

W
alking Beaver

"How did you know I live within walking distance of the Piggly Wiggly," I asked, swinging my plastic bag between Miles and me.

Miles laughed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his khakis. "Lucky guess? Everything seems to be in walking distance in this small town, and I've seen you and Luna walking the kids to soccer practice and games every week."

"So you've been spying on me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head. "Just observant, I guess."

With the alcohol still burning in my stomach, I spat out the word vomit that was sputtering in my throat. "Why be observant here? I mean, obviously, you're smart and young, and have a lot going for you. More than some small town in Iowa."

He laughed, taking one hand out of his pocket and swinging it between us, almost hitting my hand in the process. "Well I could say the same for you."

I tossed my head back and laughed for good measure. "I'm a third generation town bicycle. A teen mom with a taxidermy certificate. You have a fucking Masters and a smile that makes me want to throw my panties at you."

I turned to look at him as he raised an eyebrow.

"Is that you or the alcohol talking?" he asked.

I sighed, stopping at the corner of Beaverton Blvd and High street. "Okay, so I may still be a little drunk and covered in self-tanning spray, so I'll drop some truth bombs."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Truth bombs?"

I put my hand up. "Don't interrupt."

He nodded. "Okay."

"One, you're cute and you know I think you're cute," I said, ticking off the fingers on one hand.

"Two, I'm a slut. You can say whatever you want about that, but I'm twenty-six with two kids and not married. I know what I am."

I sighed and ticked off my third finger. "And anything that would happen between us would just end badly."

Miles smirked and took two steps forward, closing the distance between us. Slowly he took his right hand and lifted my chin so that my eyes met his light brown ones. "We each chose different things to do with what was holding us back. I could have easily been you or you could have been me."

I raised an eyebrow. "You'd be the town slut?"

He laughed slightly before shaking his head. "Is this the point where I tell you to shut up and kiss me?"

I leaned in closer, whispering into his lips. "Yes."